Glee 1. Bus

All the way there, she had been trying to delete every kind of thought that would pop into her head. _They all know my secr - _erase. _I'm on the bus with my cheerleading trunk packed with – _don't even go there_. They kicked – _fuck off. She quite successfully annihilated every real start of a deeper or in any way emotional thought and probably would have been proud of it if she was not somewhere acutely aware of the fact that pretending like this was not happening most likely would not do her any good.

It was not until she got off the bus that she realized where she was, where she had more or less subconsciously been heading for the last hour. The first twenty minutes of that hour, she had been walking, furiously walking, in circles around a nearby block in Lima Heights.

It was hard to tell whether it was because of the initial shock or because of something else, like highly effective self repression, but not even then was she allowing herself to think about what had just happened.

The only thing she consciously tried to do was putting all her fury into the stomping of her feet, putting all her anger and frustrations into this one thing, this actual physical motion. She probably owed one Sue Sylvester that tactic.

Not that she felt any kind of debt of gratitude towards Sue Sylvester, not after this. Santana did not allow herself to think about any of this, though, she just walked on with stomping feet and clutched the shoulder strap of her trunk harder.

That was the first twenty minutes. Then she noticed the bus stop and halted. As her channel – her steady movement – had stopped, thoughts began to appear in her head again. The first one she managed to grasp was simple: _take the goddamn bus, Santana, and get the fuck out of here._

Later, she would realize that retorting to lame, everyday American swearing instead of her usual radiating bitchiness even if it was only in her own head, was what being mentally exhausted felt like. It was what if felt like, when you lost so much all at once.

The bus came within five minutes, which was a really good thing because Santana could not stand the prospect of having to wait any longer to just get out of there. She couldn't stop the thoughts from pouring into her head when she was just standing there, waiting.

Those five minutes of waiting was the only thinking she did during that hour, and all she managed to conclude from the conflicted, chaotic and disturbing thoughts that threatened to blow up her mind, was this: _I can't go to Brittany's house. _There were multiple reasons for that.

If Santana had been thinking clearly, she would have been able to see that none of those reasons were completely valid, but she was not thinking clearly. She had never been this far from thinking clearly before.

Standing by that bus stop breathing the rough November air, all she could think was that going to Brittany's house would practically be the same as outing her and Santana was not going to do that to anyone, not after this, and least of all to Britt.

All she could think was that she could not go to Britt's house because Britt's parents might have exactly the same kind of freak-out Santana's own parents just had displayed.

If she had been thinking clearly she would have remembered that Brittany's parents were complete hippies and that the sign on their front door said "peace, love and understanding". They probably wouldn't have cared at all.

However, that was not what Santana was thinking. She was thinking about how she could not possibly _out Britt_, and besides… she was not even sure she would be able to explain this to Brittany. The effort it would take to explain what just had happened to Brittany, was exhausting just to think about.

So as much as she wanted her Britt right now, there was no way she would go to her house now. She wanted to, she really wanted to, but Brittany was the only person Santana was not selfish around, and she was not going to change that now.

And so, Santana got on the bus not with an actual idea of where she was going, but rather with a distinct decision where _not_ to go.

The bus ride had been ridiculously easy compared to the waiting. The steady pace of the bus, the humming noise of the engine and the hissing of the opening and closing doors provided welcome distractions and made the deleting of thoughts immensely easier.

Having shut a good deal of herself off, she had not paid much attention to where she was actually going. All she knew about her destination was _away_ and _not Britt's._ So when she got off the bus, taking a careful step down to the pavement, she was surprised at her own movement.

She was surprised that any part of her knew where she was heading and where to get off the bus, and even more surprised that part of her apparently also knew how to control her body.

Normally, that feeling would probably have been a bit freaky, but this was not normally and frankly, Santana was happy that she did not really have to think in order to actually do something.

The second she heard the bus move on behind her she looked around to see where she was, where she had apparently decided to go. _Oh_, she realized. _I'm on my way to the Hummel's. _

She had never really been there before, but she still knew where it was. She passed the house whenever she would pick up Brittany for something. Brittany would always point at the house and absentmindedly say something in the lines of "I liked Kurt's old room better, but I totally get why they moved. It's just not right to keep unicorns in basements."

Santana hesitated and allowed herself to simply stand still on her spot on the pavement. She needed to think – or maybe not properly _think_ in the meaning of actual reflection, but she needed to figure this out. Why was she going to the Hummel's?

_Because Ladyface's dad had been there when they showed her the video, _Santana stated drily._ And because he seemed kind of supportive,_ added a voice that kept reminding Santana of Brittany but that she realized was what other people would refer to as their "good inner voice". _And because he has got to have some kind of history with gay teens coming out._

The last thought she let pass through her mind before she started walking towards the Hummel's, was this: _only being able to come up with Sue Sylvester's nicknames for Kurt Hummel is a bad sign. The ultimate sign of being off your fucking game._

It was not until Santana was on the doorstep that she allowed herself to be nervous. Nervousness was not a feeling she was used to, because usually nervousness did not really come to her naturally. Usually, she could stall the nervousness and replace it with a bitchy attitude before it got a footing in her mind.

Her usual defenses were down, not only or even mostly because of the situation, but because of the way she was still blocking her thoughts and feelings. She could not bring herself to act normal when she was focusing all her energy into not feeling at all.

Later, she would not remember raising her arm and ringing the doorbell. All she would be able to recall was the muffled sound of the bell behind the door, and the way her heart pumped so violently that her entire chest quivered.

Later, she would not remember waiting for the door to open. All she could recall was hearing the hasty stumbling of big feet in the hallway. After that, the door flung open so quickly Santana almost jumped backwards.

It took her a good half second to realize who was standing in front of her and when she realized who it was, it did not take long for every feeling and every thought she had been pushing away the last hour, to come right back to her.

_Finn fucking Hudson_, Santana thought and could almost feel her facial expression darken._ Karma is a bitch._


	2. Doorstep

In the brief second or two it took Finn to grasp who it was that he had standing in front of him, Santana managed to mentally scold herself.

How was it even possible that she had not considered this before she decided it was a perfectly viable plan to go to the Hummel residence? How had she, even in the middle of the fucking soap-opera drama that was this night, forgotten that Finn of course lived there too?

She had even performed at that fucking wedding, and still did not even slightly consider that Finn, _the idiot who outed her to everyone_, lived at the place she had selected as some kind of refuge?

At the same time as she cursed herself over and over again, she knew that it was probably, objectively speaking, not completely inexplicable.

She had been blocking out almost every kind of thought. She had admittedly not elaborated the plan to go to Burt Hummel very much at all, she hardly even knew that going there was her plan in the first place.

But still. Santana had just gone home to the person she wanted to see least in the entire world, without even briefly considering that he would be there.

Finn finally interrupted her furious thoughts with a face that would have been hilarious given other circumstances accompanied by a partly angry and partly just confused uttering:

"What the…"

Santana really had to resist the urge to simply slap him again. She could feel her right hand twitching and the stash of whale-related insults she had been saving up on for the last week was practically poking her in the back of her head.

The thing about other people, Santana had come to realize more than one time, was that when she started disliking them, there was mostly no turning back. As soon as she started to really, really dislike someone, she started hating _everything _they did.

Right now, for example, she could not imagine anything that could possibly be more annoying than that weedy face Finn was pulling, and that completely clueless, ignorant and simply _stupid_ attitude she could hear in his voice.

And the thing about this, Santana had come to realize more than one time, was that the things she hated most about the people she had started disliking, were the things other people praised the most about the morons.

Rachel, for example, probably loved Finn's weedy face. She had most likely just renamed it – in her eyes it probably was not weedy. In her eyes it was probably just naïve or something lame like that.

Santana just hated his guts. She did not say anything, though. She just stood there and stared at Finn.

"How dare you come here", Finn hissed. "This is my house, Santana! How dare you come here after what you did?"

Santana felt herself snap.

"After what _I_ did?" Her eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms and took a step toward the tall teenager in front of her. "You listen to me, you weedy fucking whiny dinosaur and you listen to me _carefully_, because I'm about to…"

"No, no way, there is no way I'm gonna let you talk to me like that", Finn loudly interrupted her. Or, rather, tried to interrupt her because there was really no stopping Santana Lopez when she had once gotten started. Finn's unorganized objections did not stop her in any way at all.

The only effect it had, was that they now both shouted at each other at the same time and that Santana raised her voice a notch just to let Finn know that even though he might not be listening to her right now, she was still winning this fight.

She was thankful she had apparently got her ordinary self back again, even though having her snappiness and bitchiness back apparently also meant having all the other thoughts and feelings back.

Her own screaming, her own words, were muffled in her head – even then, in the middle of something that was probably one of her more memorable attacks. All the thoughts and feelings she had been blocking out was suddenly there like three or four extra layers on her mind.

Santana could not hear herself properly; there was too much going on in her head. She was just grateful that she could trust herself to shout at Finn on autopilot.

She was not sure for how long they had been yelling at each other when they were interrupted. It could have been for less than ten seconds, but it could also have been for minutes. She had no idea – time was really not one of her primary concerns right now, and she seemed to have lost the entire concept.

Finn had not been able to interrupt her, but both Santana and Finn immediately fell quiet when two more people turned up in the hallway.

Slightly ahead of his father, was Kurt – dressed in something that looked like a silk pajamas and some kind of sweat headband. He seemed to have been running down the stairs and through the house, judging by the light but quick sounds of his footsteps as he approached his stepbrother and Santana.

And right behind Kurt, was the still impressive Burt Hummel. Santana could remember having laughed the first time she saw Kurt's dad, simply because she honestly could not imagine how Kurt could even possibly be related to a big, macho mechanic.

Burt Hummel did not move with the same light steps as his son, nor was he running. In his case, it was more like marching.

At the exact same time Santana and Finn noticed the other two and fell quiet, Kurt, still running towards them, let out a rough "Hey!" as if to stop them before he realized they had already stopped screaming.

"What", Kurt breathed and finally halted, "what is going on here?"

Burt did not say anything, but the way he just stood there, solid, behind Kurt with a resolute face was enough for both Santana and Finn to know that he agreed not only with the question his son had just posed but also with Kurt's exact tone.

It was Finn who first managed to come out of his tongue-tied state.

"It's Santana", he blurted out. "She started it! She just came here, after she _slapped me_ today, she still came here, she just…"

"Oh, believe it or not, cheeky-boy, I _did not _come here for you", Santana cut him off.

"It's not about who started what, Finn!" Kurt cried out.

"But she _came to my house_", Finn repeated, staring at his brother in disbelief. "_She_ came to _my_ house, after _she _slapped _me_!"

"Kurt's right, Finn. It's not about who started what", Burt said in a dark voice. He did not seem to know which one off the teenagers he should be looking at, so his eyes darted between the vexed Santana and the bewildered Finn.

"But she _slapped_ me! She's been horrible to me for ages and…"

"Finn! It's not about that", Kurt interrupted him again, his voice vibrating with irritation and annoyance. Then the slender boy in the silk pajamas turned his gaze to Santana, and the change in his voice was obvious when his usual, high voice softly said:

"Santana, what happened? Why are you here?"

The concern was real and when Santana saw Kurt's distressed face, she felt it as if she was breaking, because it was so clear to her that Kurt already got it. He knew exactly why she was there; he only asked to confirm his suspicions.

It was a relief for Santana to realize, that at least there was someone who _knew_. Kurt was smart, he knew how to put two and two together. He knew that she had been outed and he knew that she was standing on his doorstep with a trunk over her shoulder.

She knew that her voice was going to crack even before she opened her mouth to answer Kurt, but she still did it. She made an effort not to look at Finn or Burt, because then she would have probably just started bawling. Instead she fixated Kurt's eyes.

"I… I was… they kicked me out", she said, voice sure enough cracking. Kurt did not say a word, he just pressed his lips together and Santana could swear that his eyes were getting glossy.

Finn seemed to have stopped breathing, but instead of staring at Kurt and Burt, he was now gaping and staring at Santana.

"Wait, what?" he said without taking his eyes off her. "Seriously?"

But before Santana could even shoot Finn a withering look, Burt Hummel gently gave Finn a little push and stepped out in front of both Kurt and Finn. When Santana saw his worried face, the resemblance to Kurt was suddenly obvious.

"Come on in, kid."

"I don't even know what I want from you", Santana hesitated.

"It doesn't matter", Burt said and motioned her into the hallway. "We've all got some things we need to talk about and I don't just leave kids to deal with stuff like this on their own, okay?"

Santana tried to focus on her legs moving when she stepped into the hallway, tried to focus on one foot before the other and not on the actual situation. She really tried to block things out again, but she did not really succeed.

Instead, the sensation of a home overwhelmed her. Someone else's home. The scent, the soft colors, the carpet beneath her feet. A home. The word kept repeating itself in her head, and she did not really get why until it suddenly hit her: _she didn't have a home anymore. She really didn't._


	3. Kitchen

It was a weird feeling, sitting down at the Hummel-Hudson dinner table with four pairs of concerned eyes just watching her. Santana found it awkward, which yet again was one of those feeling she was simply not used to.

Finn was almost hiding, practically lurking with his back hunched by the refrigerator, and judging by the little Santana had seen of his face from the hasty glance she had shot him when they got into the kitchen, his expression seemed frozen, like he did not really know where to go or what to say so instead he just shut down.

Burt was breathing heavily with a face Santana could tell was raging, even though he clearly tried to compose himself. He was sitting down on a chair at the other end of the table and Santana could not tell whether it was because that was his usual place, or if he just wanted to give her some space.

Carole had already been in the kitchen when they entered. She had been looking like she had been on her way into the hallway as well but had not made it quite as far as her other family members, apparently detained by the dishes she looked like she had been in the middle of finishing up.

Now, Carole was hovering by the sink, her anxious eyes almost annoyingly sincere, and arms crossed in an uneasy way with her fingers fidgeting.

Kurt was the only one who seemed to be doing anything. He had immediately rushed to the fridge, then to one of the kitchen cupboards and then to the stove. Santana had been watching him with big eyes, uncertain what he was up to. Now, however, when he was gently putting a ridiculously big cup of hot chocolate down on the table in front of her, she could not help but actually smile.

"There you go", Kurt said and quickly sat down in the chair next to her. "It's… it's just some hot chocolate, but I added a little cinnamon and cardamom… I'm sorry, I know it must seem really trivial and random at the moment… it's just that… you just looked really cold."

Santana had not noticed before, but she really was cold. _Huh. Walking around a November night in Ohio in practically nothing but your cheerleading uniform and a light coat will do that to you_, she thought and bit her lip.

"Thanks for the chocolate. And you're right. I am cold", she said, surprised at the hollowness in her own voice. "I walked for a while before I got on the bus, and then I walked here and…"

Her voice did not only seem hollow to her, it seemed positively alien. And her phrasing, something was off. She could not quite feel herself connecting with the words she was saying. It was surreal, trying to say anything about what had happened. _No matter what I say_, she realized, _it's going to sound so half-hearted, stupid and completely fucking lame._

"Shit", she said and thereby mentally proved her own point. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you."

She cupped her hands around the warm cup of chocolate, sniffed it and closed her eyes. She felt as if she was sitting on stage in front of an audience, but with no idea of what she was supposed to do.

It was as if she had forgotten the lyrics to a song or entered the wrong scene, and she had never even done either of those things and had no idea how to cope with that feeling. So in lack of anything better to do, she raised the cup of chocolate to her mouth and sipped it with her eyes still closed.

It was warm but not scolding hot, and sweet but not sickening. It was perfect and Santana caught herself thinking that she might have to force Kurt to make it for her again sometime.

Her silent sipping was interrupted when Burt spoke up from the other side of the table.

"Don't be sorry, kid", he said still not fully hiding his anger, which made the statement sound kind of contradictory. "It's late and you look like you need some sleep. We'll set you up in Kurt's room and we'll talk tomorrow."

Santana opened her eyes and immediately turned to Kurt, expecting to see him at least react to his father's decision, but Kurt's eyes were still steadily watching her without any trace of objection to the plan. Instead of even throwing a glance at his father, Kurt simply nodded and said:

"If you want to be alone, that's perfectly fine and understandable. I can sleep on the couch. Either we do that, or we'll set you up with a tent bed and you'll room with me. But really, Santana, I understand if you want to be alone. I'm perfectly fine on the couch."

And his words were so sincere, Santana almost choked up a little – not that she would ever admit it to anyone. She did so not have a soft spot for Kurt Hummel.

"I don't think I want to be alone", Santana answered without thinking, because it was suddenly so clear to her that she really did not want to be left alone, did not ever want to feel alone again after having experienced the kind of loneliness she had endured tonight.

"I'll go get the bed", Carole offered from her spot by the sink. She looked happy to finally get something to do instead of just standing there, fidgeting. Santana watched the woman give her a soft smile and then set off towards what Santana supposed was the attic to fetch the bed.

"You take a shower and try to get some sleep, Santana", Burt said and Santana thought it was almost odd having him say her name instead of just calling her "kid".

She nodded slightly, took a bigger sip of the chocolate and then stood up. Her legs were actually trembling a little. Not enough for the others to notice, but Santana knew that if Sue Sylvester had been anywhere near her, she would have sensed it in a heartbeat.

Kurt stood up almost at the same time as Santana, Burt following a second or two later. Finn seemed to be torn from his frozen state of shock when everyone else in the room moved. He looked up and Santana would have snorted at his perplexed expression had she had the energy.

Instead she just let herself be led through the living room, up the stairs and into the bathroom. She felt blanked out again, but not because she blocked everything out this time, it was more because she literarily did not know what to think.

She took her clothes off quickly, let them fall into a little heap on the tiled floor, and stepped into the shower. In the same second as she realized she had not brought any kind of toiletries, she noticed the abundance of products that seemed to be taking over every possible spot in the shower.

_Who knew your obsession with skin and hair care would come in so handy, Hummel?_ she thought and turned on the tap, letting the water furiously pour down her back.

She stood there, motionless for something she at least supposed was a long time, still not completely grasping the idea of time. She had no idea what time it was – but Burt had said that it was late. That could probably mean anything, though.

She carefully washed her hair and tried on three or four of Kurt's other products just for the heck of it. But mostly, she just stood there, letting the water make her frozen body warm again.

Eventually, she started hearing muffled voices from outside of the bathroom, from the hallway that connected the bathroom with the rooms she had vaguely interpreted as Kurt's room and Finn's room on their way there.

Intrigued, she almost automatically reduced the stream of water from the tap, just to be able to hear the voices outside better. She immediately identified the voices as Finn's and Kurt's.

Their voices were raised, like they were having an argument. _Interesting_, Santana thought and without really thinking much about it, she turned the tap off slowly in order not to make the lack of sound from the shower too obvious. She really wanted to hear this. _At least I still have my curiosity. _

She stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel from a hook on the wall and pricked up her ears.


	4. Hallway

She could hear them surprisingly well with the water turned off.

"… no, Finn, it doesn't matter what she did to you! I know she's a bitch, even _Santana _knows she's a bitch! You had no right to do what you did!"

"But you hate bullies!" The confused anger in Finn's voice alone was enough for Santana to be completely capable of picturing his face.

"Did I tell you to stop bullying by shouting about someone's sexuality in a crowded frickin' hallway? I don't think I did, because that is so low I don't even know what to say."

Kurt was not shouting the last sentence as he had the first one, but Santana could tell he was feigning the calm, or at least not succeeding in making it real.

"I'm just saying I couldn't possibly have known all of this was going to happen, all of this isn't my fault! How was I supposed to know someone was going to make a _campaign video_ about it? How was I supposed to know her parents would kick her out?"

Santana felt her chest clench at that.

"I know you couldn't have known exactly what was going to happen, but seriously, _we live in Lima, Ohio_, you knew that _something_ was going to happen!" Kurt sounded furious. "What, did you think she didn't come out because she didn't like the idea of a pride parade or something? Because she didn't feel like she could handle a few disgusted coughs behind her back? It's _Santana_, for crying out loud, Finn! Don't pretend like you didn't think she had her reasons!"

"Don't try and act like you wouldn't have done something if it was you! She's been on my back the entire week, she was _tormenting_ me! You would have cracked too and it was the only thing I could think of that would actually get to her!"

"I would not have done the same thing, don't you dare, Finn", Kurt spat and Santana was baffled at how harsh his voice was. "I would never out someone no matter how much they 'were on my back'."

Santana froze, because suddenly she realized that Kurt knew exactly what he was talking about and that Finn was probably – completely unaware, of course – pressing more than one of Kurt's buttons right now.

Finn would not realize, of course, but compared to Kurt keeping _Karofsky's_ secret after all he put Kurt through, outing Santana after a week of admittedly cruel and horrible but yet mostly trademark bitchy Santana-insults would seem… well, it spoke for itself, she figured.

"How do you know?" Finn shouted. "You don't know how you would react if you were the one she…"

"Yes, I _do_ know that, Finn, I _do_! Believe it or not but people have been 'on my back' as well through the years, you know that! And I know for a fact that I would not out someone because of it!"

"What are you even talking about? Wait, are you saying… who?"

Santana contemplated for half a second if this was a good time to step into the hallway just in order to at least save Karofsky from being outed, but quickly realized she was not dressed or even swept in a towel yet, and before she could even finish that sentence in her own head Kurt's shrill voice interrupted her.

"No, no, Finn, why don't you get it? I won't tell you who because _I don't believe in outing_! What part of this is it that you're having a problem understanding?"

Santana breathed out at that and reminded herself not to underestimate Kurt Hummel like that again. The boy had standards, he would never crack open like that and out Karofsky in a simple argument with Finn Hudson.

"You know what, not that we're anywhere near finished talking about this, but I don't want to talk to you anymore right now", Kurt said in a tone that Santana recognized as Kurt giving up because he was so close to exploding. "But you try and get some sleep knowing that your absolute idiocy got a girl kicked out of her house tonight, because that's what it did, and I _don't care_ how indirectly you think that was. Goodnight."

Then there was a slam of the door, and Santana mentally gave Kurt some credit for being dramatic. She felt exhausted just from listening to the conversation. She had not even been a part of it and it still felt like she had been the one shouting, gesticulating and spitting the words out.

"Shit", she heard Finn mumble outside, and then there was another closing of the door, although a lot less violent than the first one.

She squeezed most of the water out of her hair before she wrapped the towel around herself and unlocked the door. She stepped into the hallway and looked at the door in front of her.

It was obviously Kurt's door, judging both by the slam and by the big sparkling campaign poster he had put up on the door. The sight of the poster made her heart sting a little, since they immediately made her think of Brittany.

She had not even told Brittany what was going on yet, and she knew she had to, both for her own sake and Brittany's sake.

She missed her, she realized. She missed her so much it was ridiculous, and still she knew she would not have been able to handle seeing her tonight. It would probably have been too much. She would probably have started crying and never stopped.

She sighed, and for a brief second Santana wondered if maybe she should knock, but then straightened out her back and pushed the door open. _Santana Lopez does not knock._

Kurt was sitting on his enormous bed, iPhone in hand. Santana suspected he had been tapping the keyboard intensely before she entered – now he was looking up at her, clearly surprised.

His surprise could have had something to do with her sudden apparition, but it probably had more to do with the fact that Santana was not wearing anything other than a towel, and her hair was still so wet it was almost dripping.

"Oh, you…" I can go if you…" Kurt was speaking in a high, nervous voice that made Santana snort. "When did you… did you…"

Kurt was obviously wondering about when she had gotten out of the shower, and thereby how much she had overheard of the conversation between him and his step brother.

Santana wanted to answer his incoherent attempt to a statement with a snarky, bitchy remark in order to show both Kurt and herself that she was still capable of that – that it was not like she was changed beyond recognition or anything. She was not entirely sure she could pull it off, though.

"Of course I heard your little catfight out there. What, did you think your voice was getting so high it was turning into some kind of ultrasound too high for me to perceive?"

_Not bad, _she thought.

She could barely stop herself from adding something about how Finn still would have been able to hear him since he was, after all, somewhat of a whale. She managed to keep it to herself, however, and instead examined Kurt's facial expression thoroughly with narrowed eyes.

At first he seemed a little taken aback by her remark, but the wide eyes were quickly replaced by something Santana interpreted as a disguised smirk.

She knew that Kurt realized this was her way of showing that she was at least almost okay, and she knew in return that his smirk was his way of letting her get away with the kind of bitchy comments she knew he thought of as bullying.

Right now, in this specific situation, he would not give her any crap about her attitude, and Santana was silently grateful that he gave her that.

"And to answer your other unfinished question; no, you don't have to go just because I'm about to change. It's not like I'm gonna catch you looking at me or something. You're so gay you would probably squeal and close your eyes at the mere sight of a boob."

She was happy that she still had it in her, that she had not completely lost herself yet, that she at least still had her wit and her attitude. _I'm a bitch because I'm angry_, she thought to herself – a thought she every now and then had returned to during the last year. _And right now I have the fucking right to be angry._

"That's so not true", Kurt replied with a raised eyebrow and sudden air of superiority. He was just about to say something else, something sharper and more pungent, but Santana interrupted him before he had even gotten started.

She simply reached for the edge of the towel she was wrapped in and let out an honest laugh when Kurt was proving her _exact_ point so well it was ridiculous. What he was doing was pretty much the definition of closing your eyes and squealing.


	5. Bed

The two of them laughed for a while – both surprised that they were even capable of such a thing right now. Although their laughs were a little harsh, raw and quite quickly over, it was enough for Santana to at least feel that she was not completely lost.

Running on autopilot, yes. Not in contact with her own emotions, yes. Tired beyond anything she had ever experienced, yes. Freaking out, yes. But completely and utterly lost? The answer to that question probably was not an obvious "no", but the point was that it was not an obvious "yes" either, and for now she would have to settle for that.

"Listen", Santana said when their laughter was gone, still only dressed in a towel and starting to get a little cold again. "Do you think I could borrow something to sleep in? I didn't really… have time to pack properly."

There it was again; that weird tone in her voice that she knew meant that even though she needed to get the message across, there was no way she could make her own words sound less shallow and crude.

When she talked about anything that had happened tonight, when she tried to put it into words everything that came out of her mouth sounded like a joke.

It did not sound like it was for real, not for one second and Santana knew that there was probably nothing she could do about that. But the obvious and salient contrast between the plastic feeling that surrounded the words and the absolute, definite and so horribly fucking real feeling of getting your own front door smacked in your face, was almost ridiculous to her.

_I didn't have time to pack properly_. That was, of course, one way of putting it, but compared to the absurd reality she felt with every heartbeat, the statement "I didn't have time to pack properly" seemed like a sick joke.

Kurt almost flinched when she said it and Santana was grateful that he seemed to understand what else there was underlying that sentence – what she was not saying. The underlying pain, frustration and pure sorrow.

He looked at her for a second and then nodded.

The tent bed was set up by the foot end of Kurt's wide double bed, and it was immaculately made with the cover neatly folded down as if in a hotel – most likely Kurt's work, Santana figured – and her Cheerios' trunk carefully placed on top of it.

The placement of the bed _did_ block the entire passage from the door to the desk and drawer section, but Kurt did not seem bothered at all as he climbed over his own bed to get to the drawer.

He pulled out the middle drawer and took out a carefully folded set of pajamas. It was dark green and as silky looking as the one Kurt was wearing, and even though Santana usually slept in a T-shirt she liked the idea of wearing the cool fabric.

Kurt turned around and reached his arm out to Santana over the bed, handing her the clothes.

"How much did you manage to pack?" he asked as she took the pajamas. Kurt looked down at her trunk for a brief second and the up at Santana again and she knew that there were so many things in his head that he restrained from asking about.

How much time they had given her to pack.

If she had known how they would react.

How mad they had been.

What reasons they had given.

Everyone of those things that Santana knew that every gay kid in at least Lima, Ohio had at least considered could happen if they ever came out.

Kurt did not ask, however, and it was strange because Santana felt like she wanted to tell him. Maybe not now, not in this state of immense fatigue she was currently in and maybe not while changing clothes, but still. She wanted to tell him.

Santana put the green pajamas down next to the trunk on her bed. She opened it and quickly went through the bag looking for a pair of panties. She got them out and quickly stepped into them under the towel. Kurt simply blushed and turned his head away this time.

She pushed the trunk a little towards him for him to see, and then looked up at him as she grabbed the pajamas again and pulled the pants on.

"Not much", she said shortly and reached back down for the pajama shirt, "I basically grabbed my laptop and basic clothes and then I was out of there."

She could tell Kurt was trying really hard not to start crying at that, because she could see the way his eyes were getting watery and the way his lips were getting pursed.

It struck her that she still had not even cried. She knew that she probably would, eventually, that this was not the kind of thing she could go through without breaking down at one point.

Maybe it was because she was too tired. Or because she had been blocking herself out ever since it happened. Or because none of it had really sunk in yet. But so far, all she felt was that she was tired, so fucking tired, and not so much the unstoppable sadness she knew had yet to come.

"I'm sorry, Santana", was all Kurt said after standing there on the other side of his bed with his eyes brimming with tears for a while.

"Yeah", she said with a voice raspier than usual, "I know."

She lifted the trunk of the bed, placed it on the floor and sat down on the bed. It made a slightly squeaking noise which made Santana look over to Kurt who smiled at her apologetically as he sat down in his own bed.

"We'll sort it out", he said as he crawled in under his cover, "just try and get some sleep."

"Honestly I think a squeaking bed is the least of my problems", she said and lay down.

Lying on the bed, she looked down at her trunk. It was a rather depressing view, she decided and was just about to push the trunk in under the bed when she realized that her phone was in one of the pockets of the trunk and that she should probably check it.

That she should probably notify Britt about what was going on.

"Can I put the lights out?" Kurt asked, yawning. Santana turned to look at him. He seemed small in that big bed, tangled up in his cover and with his hair not at all so cautiously styled as she was used to.

"Wait a minute, I need to… I need to get my phone."

She reached for the phone, fished it up and stared at it. She flipped it up and looked at the screen. There was only one message. A message from Brittany, saying goodnight.

There was something ironic about that. Goodnight. This was after all the exact opposite of a good night.

"I need to tell her", she suddenly blurted out and turned to Kurt before she had even reflected upon talking with him about it. "I need to tell her, but I have no idea how to even…"

She trailed off and started staring into the air behind her cell phone. She did not even notice that Kurt came crawling her way, towards the foot end of his bed. It was not until he reached out his hand towards her phone that she even reacted.

He was looking at her, asking permission for something and it took her a couple of second to realize for what. When she did, however, she simply gave him the phone.

Kurt's fingers were tapping the buttons on her phone quickly. Then he gave the phone back to her and looked her in the eyes.

"There's no good way of saying it anyways, Santana. No matter how you phrase it -"

"- it's going to sound incredibly, fucking lame", she filled in. Kurt nodded and Santana's eyes wandered back to her phone where Kurt's words now where looking back at her.

_My parents kicked me out. I'm at Kurt's house. Don't worry. Need to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow._

She hit "send" without thinking much more about it. She was relieved that Kurt had written it for her, because otherwise she would most likely just have been laying there with her phone in her hand without writing anything for hours.

She put the phone down and looked over at Kurt again, closed her eyes for a second and nodded a silent "thank you".

When she opened her eyes again Kurt was smiling, even though it was far from a happy kind of smile, as he reached for the light switch.

It was reassuring, somehow, knowing that she was not alone, not even a night like this. And even though she had never imagined herself sharing a room with Kurt Hummel, or looking for comfort in his house, it did at least not feel wrong.

It did not feel wrong and she knew that at least technically speaking, she was not alone.

"Goodnight, Santana", she heard Kurt's voice yawn.

Santana did not answer him, not properly. She simply grunted a little to at least acknowledge him, but she did not tell him goodnight, because she could not bring herself to say those words.

She knew there was no way this was going to be a good night, not in any way.

She might not be completely alone and she might be wearing a silk pajama and lying under an admittedly nice cover, but she knew that once silence really hit the room and she was left with nothing but time to think about this night, it was not going to be pretty.

_There are two possibilities right now_, she thought, _either I sleep for thirteen hours out of pure exhaustion or I sleep for none because of too much thinking._


	6. Home

**A/N: I really wanted to get this chapter out before the episode airs tonight and this one goes AU. I hope you will all stay with me, though. I cannot thank you enough for the story alerts, favorits and above all reviws. I would never keep doing this in the rate I am if it were not for you. Enjoy this (fantastic) chapter and enjoy your Glee tonight!**

Santana could hear Kurt fall asleep. Not that he snored or made much noise at all, but she could hear the change of rhythm in his breathing, the adjustment his body made when it finally settled down, relaxed and simply slept.

His steady breathing was soothing in one way and unsettling in another. Kurt going to sleep stressed her a little and she felt as if she just wanted to hurry herself into actually sleeping.

Of course, such a technique would never work out and Santana did not really feel like freaking out in the middle of the night just because she had rushed and urged herself into falling asleep.

There was only one thing she could do. Wait. Wait for sleep to find her.

Patience had never been her strong suit.

There was no ticking of a clock, no disturbing creaking noises from the windows and not even the squeaking tent bed made any noises unless she started rolling around, and she did not.

The lack of noises should have been a good thing. It should have made it easier for her to fall asleep. Unless there were annoying noises and sounds around, Santana tended to fall asleep quickly.

She glanced at the alarm clock at Kurt's nightstand. 02.13, it said. When she sent that text to Brittany it had been 01:45.

_Half an hour_, she thought, _that's not a good sign. I usually fall asleep within fifteen minutes at home._

She had not even finished that thought in her head when it hit her again, the clenching feeling that grabbed a hold of her entire chest, the feeling of really fucking losing a home.

She had always imagined heart attacks to feel that way. Your chest tightening, intense pressure simply not letting go of your torso and air not even attempting to make its way down your throat.

Santana closed her eyes hard, naively hoping that shutting them would mean that feeling might go away. She felt her entire body becoming more and more tense, she felt her shoulders become stiff and how everything, every part of her, suddenly wanted to scream.

For a weird moment she imagined her pores letting out a roar, a bawl, a bellow. And maybe it was the comic part of that image that tore Santana from her panicking state.

It was not over right away, but she could feel the tenseness, the _cramps_ and even part of the deep anxiety in her body fade away, if not slowly then at least gently.

She tried her best not to gasp when she finally remembered how to breathe again. She managed to breathe in rather normally, managed not to gasp and not to cough. She was simply breathing.

_I keep fucking forgetting that I don't have a home_, she heard herself think. _And I freak out big time every time I remind myself what happened._

She closed her eyes again and sighed, changed position a little in the now squeaking bed and noticed how her pulse had almost gone back to normal now.

And somewhere around there, she allowed herself to at least think about it. To acknowledge what had happened. To go over it in her head. To stop blocking out thoughts. To actually remember what had happened just a few hours earlier.

Later, she would not remember in what end she had even started. If she had started going through the events chronologically or if it was just one big mess. Probably the latter, but she was not certain.

Lying in a squeaky but comfortable bed, in unfamiliar but pleasant clothes listening to non-existent sounds, everything began to really sink in.

It came to her in awkward sentences, quotes, scents and vivid flashbacks. And somewhere in between the harsh voice of her father, the loud and raging Spanish from her mother and the silent disgusted glare of her brother, Santana fell asleep.

_They had just finished dinner and Santana was unable to stay still on her chair by the short end of the Lopez dinner table. She was trying to not fidget so much, to stop drawing cats in the leftover sauce on her plate with her fork._

_The nervousness in her stomach was growing stronger and stronger by the second, though. She knew that she would have to say something, have to actually tell them, before her mother would rise up and start clearing the table._

_She knew that she had to, because now they were all here and this was her absolutely last chance to tell them all before her dad turned the TV on to watch the news and that video would start playing._

_Or maybe it would not. Maybe it was not about to air until tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or next week. It did not really matter. The point was that it very well could air right now or the exact second her dad turned the television on._

_And even though she hated the idea of coming out to them, of telling them what she knew they were going to be so fundamentally opposed to, letting them know through a badly edited campaign video was even worse._

_She had to tell them and she had to tell them now._

_So she pushed her chair backwards and stood up. Took a deep breath before lifting her chin up a little defiantly. Looked around the table, took in the surprised but still blissfully unknowing looks she got from her family._

"_Tengo que contarles algo que realmente no quiero contarles", she had started (I have to tell you something I really don't want to tell you)._

_Santana watched her mother's eyebrows change shape as she frowned, her father's eyes to simply narrow and her brother's expression simply look puzzled._

"_Pronto será obvio de todos modos", she continued (Soon it will be obvious anyway)._

_And then, suddenly she changed to English. If there was a reason why, Santana did not know about it. She just did it._

_Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the Jesus on the crucifix above the bureau in the hallway was visible from where she was standing, and because the language of religion in Santana's mind was Spanish. _

_Maybe it was completely unrelated. Maybe she just needed to tell them this in the only language she had ever used when talking about this._

_Maybe she just panicked and let her mind crash and mix up the languages._

_Or maybe it was because of all those things._

"_I'm a lesbian", she stated, all of a sudden uncertain where to place her gaze. "I'm gay."_

_And then everything went sort of blurry and she was in her room, rummaging through her things, her parents yelling in the background, nothing happening in the right order anymore._

_Their words layering over each other, a horrible, confusing mix of Spanish and English insults, a chaos of things she never wanted to hear leave her parents mouths._

_Disgrace. Tortiellera. Get the fuck __out. __¿Por qué, Santana, por qué? __Never come back. I don't care about your stuff, just get… Repugnante._

_It just continued, the words, the slurs and the yelling, not making any sense when layered on top of each other, not making any sense when taken out of context… if there even was a context to begin with._

_Because what more context could there possibly be, than Santana telling them her secret and them and their words dissolving into chaos?_

_The chaos of their words, the rummaging among her things, the stuffing of laptop and random clothes into her trunk, the feeling of uttermost hopelessness starting to build up inside her._

_The slamming bang of the door, shut in her face. Or, technically, shut against her back because there was nothing in her, not a single cell, that wanted to turn around and look them in their outraged faces one last time._

_It was enough now. No more._

_And then it all started over again. The fidgeting at the table, the glancing at Jesus on the crucifix, the first comment from her father in a raw and raucous voice, the excruciatingly hypocritical ranting about Jesus from her mother and the shockingly inappropriate gestures from her brother. _

_It had started all over again. This time she heard the speech from her dad that was way worse and even more clichéd than in her wildest and most horrible nightmares about it. This time she saw her mother burst into tears before Santana ran into her room to start packing._

_It would probably not even qualify as packing._

_All over again._

_The voices started again, the chaos building up again, the door slamming again and…_

"SANTANA", Kurt screamed and Santana felt her entire body shake violently. Had she been a little more awake she would actually have been impressed that Kurt had the strength to shake her like that.

Now she was in no state to feel the slightest impressed. She had never liked it when people woke her up.

Especially not like this. Screaming, shaking her with panicked eyes when it was still dark outside.

"What the actual fuck, Hummel?"

"Oh God", Kurt said and let out a relieved sigh, letting go of Santana. He sank back into his own bed, breathing heavily.

"It's not even morning", Santana hissed and sat up leaning against her elbow, "what was that about?"

At that Kurt sat back up again, posture as straight as ever. He looked worried, now. Confused and worried.

_His facial expressions are changing way too fast for this shit to make any sense_.

"You were having a nightmare", he said slowly, looking at her hesitantly.

"Oh."

Because, _oh_. She frowned and closed her eyes in an attempt to remember what she had even been dreaming about, but since she had a pretty good idea what it was most likely about, it was not too hard to remember.

_The funny thing is, _a voice said dryly in her head, _that it wasn't even a nightmare because all of it had actually happened._

"Are you okay?"

"I… I think so." Santana opened her eyes again and looked at the boy sitting beside her. "I didn't… I didn't _say_ anything, did I?"

Kurt did not say anything. He simply continued to look at her with those worried eyes and bit his lower lip, which was an answer good enough for her.

"Fuck."

"Don't worry", Kurt hurried to say, "it was mostly in Spanish anyway."

Santana sighed, fell back into her bed and let it squeak around her and let out a moan.

She caught a glimpse of the alarm clock again. 4:01. Not the best of nights.


	7. Ceiling

**A/N: Sorry for keeping you waiting a bit longer than usual this time. I'm going to have a busy week, too, so we'll see how much I can get done, but don't worry – I'm addicted to writing this so I won't stop. This chapter kind of wrote itself – I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. Thank you all again for everything – you keep me writing.**

They lay quiet for a while. Santana was staring into the ceiling, letting her eyes gradually get used to the darkness, breathing heavily. Kurt had curled up by his foot end instead of lying in his bed in the usual manner.

To be more exact he was kind of sprawled over the bed diagonally and even though his change of position had been discrete, and disguised by Kurt stretching for his phone to check it, Santana knew he had moved over there to not be too far away from her.

He was watching over her. Or maybe not so much watching as simply making sure that she was alright by being just a little bit closer than a double bed away.

It was sort of cute in an extremely weird way, Santana realized.

Kurt's breathing was not as heavy as Santana's, but it still was not quieter because he was pressing his cheek against his mattress and his exhalations made a soft noise when brushing against the fabric.

Santana listened to his breathing, and then to her own, and then to the not very synced mix of their two different rhythms.

She surprised herself by being the one who broke the silence. She was still staring into the ceiling, now so used to the darkness that she could see the outlines of Kurt's lamp.

"I just can't believe this is fucking happening", she said without turning to Kurt.

She heard him take a deep breath before he answered.

"Santana, you know that they're wrong, right?"

Santana did not answer, she just continued breathing and staring into the ceiling. She had no idea what she was supposed to answer to that. _You know that they're wrong, right?_

It was strange thinking about it, because so far she had not really gotten a chance to do so –to consider the moral aspect of what her family had done tonight. Santana had been too busy simply grasping that it had happened at all.

_Wrong._ The word her parents used to describe what _she_ was doing, and the word Kurt was now using to describe what _they _were doing.

A large part of her wanted to scream that _yes, of course they're wrong, what's there more to say?_ but not all of her seemed to agree.

Part of her just kept repeating her mother's words in the back of her head. _It's a sin. Tortillera. Vergüenza._

Throughout the years Santana had just put so much effort into hiding that part of her, the part she knew that if she even _acknowledged_ it to herself, it would get her into so much trouble.

She had hidden it, not talked about it, looked away and even tried to fix it, _to mend it._ Sleeping with every guy she could get her hands on had been her tactic.

And now that she was not hiding it anymore, now that it was suddenly, against her will, out in the open for everyone to see, it was hard to just accept that part of her as something that _was not_ wrong.

That the thing she had been told was wrong for her entire life, the thing she worked so hard to conceal and just make it go away, was something that was not _wrong_.

It was just hard to accept, even though she knew that Kurt had reason, that her own parents hated her for something that was not _wrong._

She knew that Kurt was right, that she was not the one that was _wrong_. Every second she spent with Brittany proved that. There was no way something as magical as that could be wrong.

She knew that and she wanted to answer Kurt by screaming exactly that, but she could not bring herself to do it.

It was not wrong. _They still kicked me out for it._ It was not wrong. _So many people are still going to hate me for it._ It was not wrong. _They still stopped loving me for it._

She did not answer. It was still her and the ceiling.

"Look, Santana, _whatever_ they said, they were wrong, okay?"

She still refrained from answering. She could hear Kurt move around a little and assumed he was leaning on his elbows, looking at her. It felt like that was what he was doing, at least. She could feel him looking at her and it was odd because she had a really clear picture in her head of how worried his eyes were right now.

"You know I'm not religious", he suddenly said as if starting over. "I'm not religious but even if I were, it's not a sin, okay? It can't be. Love can't be a sin. I really think that if there was a God, he would be more occupied with dealing with all the hatred and…"

"I don't care about God", Santana snapped back and finally stopped staring into the ceiling and faced Kurt instead.

She was shooting him a look that was so obviously annoyed and angry that he could not possibly miss it regardless of the dark room. She was frowning, narrowing her eyes and simply glaring at him.

If it was one thing Santana was really, really good at, it was glaring.

No one could take her glares for long. Most people flinched away immediately and decided that Santana Lopez was way too scary to mess with, and for a brief moment Santana was actually worried that her little outburst would make Kurt flinch away and back off too.

That was also the reason why she felt a slight feeling of relief wash over her when Kurt Hummel let out a little laughter.

"Well", he said and Santana could swear she saw him smiling wryly at her in spite of the darkness, "thank God for that!"

"The next time you make another stupid pun like that I'll smack you, you hear me, Hummel?"

"Loud and clear, captain", Kurt said and grinned before falling serious again. "But honestly, Santana – I know that people have been telling you that it's wrong. It's not. And I know that it sucks that we have to change the entire world, and I know that it seems easier to just change ourselves. But the point is that there is no point in changing who you are just because other people are narrow-minded."

"Been practicing that speech for long, have you?"

Just as she started worrying that she had scared him off again, he proved her wrong again and laughed.

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean", Kurt said and scooted closer to her, reached out his hand and grabbed hers. "I just really wish that you weren't forced out of the closet like this."

The warmth of Kurt's hand against hers and the indisputable comfort it gave her made Santana smile. And even though this smile was as faint as the others she had tried on tonight, it was real and that was what mattered.

She nodded towards Kurt and pursed her lips together and closed her eyes. She knew that the gratitude was clearly visible in her face and she did not bother to say anything else.

She gave in to a big yawn. _I'm tired. No, scratch that. I'm fucking exhausted. I need to sleep._

Kurt pulled his hand back and lay down on his bed again as Santana sunk back into her sleeping position in the noisy bed.

"I just really want to sleep. I need to sleep", she mumbled into her mattress.

"Don't worry", Kurt answered.

Santana was not so sure about that because she could not shut her brain off for a second. Every thought that went to her head led to another and all of them, every single one, came back to the door that had been slammed shut behind her.

She was not so sure she could sleep – at least not without waking up in the same manner, with Kurt terrified and her head pounding because of every relived unprocessed memory echoing in her head.

But as Santana would later realize, there was a breaking point for everything and everyone, and her and sleep was not an exception.

After some fifteen minutes she fell asleep out of pure exhaustion. Not even the pushy, insistent and bothering thoughts could keep her awake anymore. It might be argued that what she did was not even to fall asleep. The more accurate description would be that she practically passed out.

She passed out eventually in her tent bed by Kurt's foot end, sleeping so tight and laying so still that it did not make a sound with Kurt still half awake, keeping an eye on her.

There was no room for nightmares this time and the only thing Santana would remember when she woke up eleven hours later to a sunny Saturday afternoon in November, was pure and freeing unconsciousness.

Eleven hours of peace and quiet before her thoughts came back in her head. Eleven hours of peace and quiet before she needed to feel anything at all again.

Needless to say that it was a welcome break.


	8. Stairs

**A/N: Yet again another chapter that I publish only hours before Glee comes on in the States… I need to change rhythms while writing, I think. Thank you all for your kind words and please know that they are much appreciated. And, oh, if you want to rant for a while about how you feel about the show handling the outing or general opinions on this, please do send me a message!**

Waking up in the afternoon was always a strange feeling and Santana always felt terribly disoriented when it happened.

Normally, it happened after really late party nights. She would wake up with her head pounding and her memory blurry. She would slowly open her eyes (sticky from yesterday's smothered mascara) and find Brittany's blonde locks tangled in her own fingers. She would close her eyes again, try and push away the headache and instead enjoy the fact that she had slept half a day.

At first she was a little surprised that was not what happened this time. The initial sign all pointed towards that kind of hangover afternoon morning: her head was pounding, her memory blurry and the light in the room (clearly not her own room) was unmistakably afternoon light.

The first disoriented moments after she woke up, she focused all mental activity towards locating herself.

This was not her room. And it was not Britt's place either because she knew the feeling of that bed and this was not it. Maybe she had crashed at whatever party she had been to yesterday?

Yesterday.

Why did that word make her stomach churn?

The answer came to her not so much by realization but more like something that suddenly just clicked in her head. There was no slideshow of memories flashing through her mind and she was not shocked to remember what happened.

All that happened was that everything started to make sense again and that Santana sat up, noticed that Kurt's bed was empty and neatly made, and then looked over to the alarm clock.

15:33. _You have got to be kidding me_.

Groaning a little, she crawled out from under the cover and put her bare feet to the floor. She looked around in the room. It looked different than it had done in the artificial light of the lamps last night. Her tent bed fitted in even worse in the warm afternoon light – somehow it made it more obvious that it was not supposed to be there.

With darkness behind the windows and only the lamps lighting up the room, it had at least not looked so terribly out of place – had an outsider seen it would have looked like your classical sleepover.

She shook her head a little and stood up. She grabbed the trunk beside her bed and put it slowly on top of the bed. She rubbed her forehead a little and then zipped the bag open to dig out some clothes.

It was really not an impressive sight and Santana resisted the urge to throw the entire thing across the room. Instead she sighed and pulled a pair of jeans out, thankful that she had been in enough possession of her senses to not only bring completely useless clothes.

Quickly she pulled out a wrinkled shirt from the trunk and searched the floor for where she had left her bra last night but could not find it.

_The bathroom_, she realized, _I just dumped all my stuff in the bathroom. _

She had not even packed another one. Maybe it was still lying with her Cheerio's uniform in a pile on the tiled bathroom floor, but if she knew Kurt Hummel correctly, it was more likely that he had folded it neatly and stashed it away or put it in the laundry basket.

Annoyed, Santana pulled off her pajama pants, replaced them with her jeans and then headed out the door still wearing the pajama shirt to go see if Kurt could tell her where he put her bra.

_Well that's a question I never thought I'd ask him._

Walking out in the corridor, taking a turn to the left for the stairs and then slowly pattering down the stairs, Santana felt like she had never seen this house before.

Technically, that was not that much of a stretch. She had only seen it once, and that was last night and last night it had not only been dark, but she had practically been a zombie.

But it was still an odd feeling, looking at the family photos on the wall and listening to the little creaking noises from the steps. She could not quite understand why it felt so odd – there was always a first for walking through someone else's house, and this felt way weirder than it used to feel.

It could of course have something to do with the fact that this was the first house, the first_ home_, she was walking through after having lost her own.

Reaching the last step she did her best to shake the thought and paused a little trying to remind herself in what direction the kitchen was located before she caught a glance of a kitchen cupboard and started walking towards it.

"Uh, Santana", a voice suddenly said behind her, which made Santana spin around immediately. She had been so convinced that Kurt would be in the kitchen that she had not even considered that he might be somewhere else.

Or that it might not even be Kurt.

It was Finn, and from the looks of it he had been sitting in the sofa when Santana came down the stairs. He was halfway up now, awkwardly waving his hands in front of his body, not knowing what to do with them.

At first he looked straight at her, but only for a second. Turning away his gaze from her the moment he had registered her quick spin seemed to be what his instincts told him to do, because suddenly he was watching the floor sheepishly instead.

"Finn", she breathed out. Her body was tense and she could hear her voice vibrating a little, but she could not really tell if it was out of anger or pure shock.

Probably both, she realized as her clenching chest did not really go back to normal after the initial surprise of finding Finn there. The more she looked at him, the more she felt that so very, very familiar anger bubble up inside of her.

She could not figure Finn out. He had always, _always_ tried so hard to be what people in general considered a good person that it was almost painful to watch. His attempts were so _obvious_ that Santana's usual reaction was to snort and look away.

He always tried so hard to be a good person, to have a good heart and whatever other sappy shit others considered so nice and perfect, and then he just went and spilled her secret like it was nothing to him.

It was like he did not even _get it_.

"Uh", Finn interrupted her thoughts. "There's like… food in the kitchen."

Before Santana could retort with a _"No shit"_ so filled with venom it would probably make Finn's eyes pop, another voice cried her name from somewhere behind her.

This time it really was Kurt, but that did not make her reflexive spin any less dramatic nor instant.

"Kurt", she stated and mentally slapped herself for almost stuttering at that.

"I'm glad you're finally up", Kurt answered but Santana knew that what he really meant was _"I'm glad you got some real sleep"._

"Have you seen my bra?" Santana asked, shifting her weight to her right hip, well aware of how odd and out of the blue that statement was.

Kurt did look a little taken aback and startled, but he seemed to grasp the context after a confused half second, because he started nodding before composing himself enough to actually answer her.

"Yeah, yes, I mean, I… I washed it when I did laundry this morning", he said, and when he saw Santana's worried look he hurried to continue. "It should be dry by now, it was the first thing I… it's in the laundry room. Come on, I'll show you."

Part of Santana wanted to know what hilarious face Finn must have pulled during that entire conversation, but she did not bother to look back and check when she followed Kurt to the laundry room.

Kurt gently took her bra down from the clothes line while Santana stood with her arms crossed and watched the odd sight of her Cheerio's outfit drying next to one of Kurt's odder clothing items that looked a lot like some kind of poncho.

He handed the bra to her, gave her a faint smile and turned around to walk towards the kitchen again.

"I'll set the kitchen up for the best combined breakfast, lunch and afternoon snack you've ever had, okay? You just go get dressed and it'll be ready for you in a couple of minutes."

When Santana walked down the stairs five minutes later, she was dressed in jeans and that wrinkled shirt and holding her phone in her left hand. She was not, however, wearing any socks.

Socks were apparently one of those things she had not really managed to pack, but Santana could not bring herself to actually care. It was not that cold, and there had to be socks she could borrow.

Her hair was a little messy since she had only brushed through it once and then pulled it into a tight but not too neat pony tail, and as far as make-up went… she had not quite gotten there yet.

She probably did not really look like herself at the moment – there were so many details that were wrong. The lack of socks, the messy hair, the lack of make-up and the random, sloppy outfit. She forced herself not to think too much about it when she walked into the kitchen.

Kurt was wearing an apron and seemed to be putting the last thing down on the table and Burt was sitting at the same place he had been sitting yesterday, with the same face of complete and utter anger and worry.

Finn was not in there, and Santana was grateful for that. There were only so many things she could deal with at once.

The table, though, looked like a buffet and she almost let out a laugh.

"Jeez, Hummel, did you order catering from Breadstix or what?"

Kurt just smiled at her, untied his apron and motioned Santana to a chair. She did, and after a few second of simply _looking_ at the food, she reached her hand out for the breadbasket.

Burt Hummel grabbed it immediately in order to pass it on to her, as if he had been waiting for her to make a move. Surprised, she looked up at him.

Furious, she noted. He looked furious.

"Uh", she started as she took the breadbasket, "is there something wrong? I mean, did I do something, because you seem kind of… mad."

It was actually fascinating to watch the expression in the elder Hummel's face change so quickly – from fury to horror to the softest expression Santana could ever imagine the mechanic having.

"Oh, no", he hurried to say and Santana was yet again surprised at how thick his voice sounded, so obviously… upset. "No, it's not that. I'm just really pissed at your folks, okay?"


	9. Table

**A/N: So, sorry about that little break – but here I present to you: a chapter slightly longer than they usually are in this fic. So, I know it's frustrating that Brittany is not around yet. She will be though, don't worry. I also have to say that I was really, really excited about the feedback and reviews you gave me last week. I love that you keep it up – that I'm not forgotten yet! ENJOY this chapter now, loves!**

It took Santana a while to process Burt Hummel's honest statement. She lowered her eyes, scrutinized the content of the breadbasket and then carefully took out a nicely round roll with sesame seeds on top of it.

"Yeah", she finally said as she put the piece of bread down on the table in front of her. "That makes two of us."

Because, that was it, Santana realized. _I'm just really pissed at my parents_. For the moment the hopeless misery she had been caught up in since last night had been replaced by anger.

It was a feeling she was a lot more used to than misery, sorrow and pain and in a lot of ways it was a relief. And maybe – probably – most definitely – it was temporary, but it was still nice.

It was still a really nice break to simply feel _angry_. Maybe it was a bit more toned down than her usual anger, maybe it was not as _satisfying_ and biting as her usual anger, and maybe it was still hidden under some layers of hopeless misery and indifference, but still – it was anger, even though it might only last for a couple of minutes.

Santana buttered the bread looked up again, meeting both Kurt's and Burt's eyes in the motion.

They might have expressed more, but all Santana registered before she felt a sudden need to change the subject really fast before she started bawling, was concern.

"So, where's mrs… is it Hummel or Hudson nowadays?"

"We usually stick to 'Hudmel'", Kurt giggled and looked to his father.

"But it's Carole to you, kid", Burt hurried to fill in. "And she's working. She had a weekend shift this week."

Santana took a bite of the bread and slowly nodded towards Burt, and watching him she realized that she was nowhere near escaping a talk during this breakfast about last night, her parents and her new status as a fucking _homeless_ teenager.

"Santana", Burt started, "I'm gonna go talk to your parents today."

She almost choked on the bread. She felt her eyes widen in shock and something that was way too similar too horror to be considered normal in combination with eating breakfast.

She knew she was staring at Burt and she knew the look she was currently giving him was so intensely shocked she should probably feel embarrassed. She almost did. Burt was looking her straight in the eyes, calm as ever but with clear traces of tense anger in his face – but it was also a look of interest.

He was scrutinizing Santana's reaction.

She coughed to avoid choking completely and quickly blinked, and before she had figured out what she could even possibly answer to something as out of the blue as that, she heard herself actually say something.

"It's not going to work. No matter what you say Mr. Hummel, they're not gonna let me move back in."

Santana did not move an inch. She simply sat there. Bread in one hand, the other hand doing some kind of attempt to a gesture and the rest of her so completely still she felt like she was posing for a picture.

She was watching Burt in horror, watched the color first drain from his face and then quickly return again, getting more and more red by the second.

"No", he growled. "No, that's not what I meant. It's not like that, kid – Santana… listen, I would never…"

Santana frowned, because Burt's words seemed to be stuck in his throat. He was looking straight at her with a strange and almost tear-filled hollowness in his eyes.

She quickly glanced over at Kurt, only to confirm that she was actually watching this happening. Kurt was looking at his father too with a deep frown on his forehead, which made Santana quickly snap back to watching the elder Hummel.

Then suddenly he seemed to regain some power over his words..

"… I would _never_", he said, voice still thick but not shaking, "I would _never_ let you go back to a family that _ever_ treated you like that."

He looked up at her, caught her eyes again and Santana was once again baffled at how much alike he and Kurt were, after all. It was something about the eyes. Something so direct and piercing.

"I'm not gonna make them 'take you back'. Listen, I'm gonna go there, yell at them and give them a piece of my mind and make damn sure they know that I think they're really, really wrong about this and shouldn't call themselves parents. But I would never even _let you _go back to a family like that."

_What's up with all the improve speeches?_ Santana thought, but quickly pushed the thought away and tried to focus on what was actually happening. _So not a moment for a bitchy comeback._

After staring into the air for a second, Santana gasped a little for air and then practically blurted out a question, the only thing that was _really_ on her mind. It came out shakily with a nervous edge that was impossible not to notice.

"But where am I supposed to go?"

Burt Hummel's eyes grew wider in surprise. Unsure what to do, or what to think or what to say, Santana's gaze flickered over to Kurt. His eyes were just as wide as his father's and he looked even more baffled.

"I thought that was pretty clear. You're staying here", Burt said from his place across the table. His voice was surprisingly straight forward, not rough as it had been all the other times he had said something that filled with emotion.

This was a simple statement and he made it sound so, so obvious.

"Not just for the night", he continued slowly, emphasizing every word in an apparent effort to make sure there was no way she could misinterpret what he was saying. "For as long as you want. All right? You got that?"

Santana did not know quite what to say – if there was a protocol for this kind of conversation anyway, a handbook telling you what to do when someone just offered you a _home_.

Fuck protocols, anyway. Santana Lopez had never followed one either way and she was not about to change that now.

"But… what about… Carole? And… _Finn_… there's no way he's okay with…"

It was probably a stupid thing to do – questioning the offer of a home when you did not have a home, but she could not really help it. She needed to ask, she needed to understand how they could simply _offer_ her that.

She needed to know how it was possible that she would find some kind of permanent refuge in Kurt Hummel's house.

In _Finn Hudson's_ house.

"Carole is fine with it. She didn't hesitate a second", Burt smiled gently.

"And… Finn?"

"Don't worry about him", Kurt quickly interjected, meeting Santana's eyes with an assuring nod and a wry smile. "He might protest a little, and he sure as hell does not get it right now, but… I'll take care of that."

They both looked at each other, Santana still baffled and unsure what to do, and Kurt tipping his head slightly before he added:

"Besides, you know how set he is on being liked and being a good person. Once he _gets it_, he'll be thrilled you're here."

Santana grimaced and let up a small grin.

"That's exploitation, you know that, right?" she said with a snort.

"Yes I do, but Finn most definitely does not", Kurt retorted quickly.

Santana let her grin grow a little wider and then looked back at Kurt's dad, transforming her smile into a serious expression again.

"You're staying here, okay?" he grunted.

"Okay", she answered quietly and bit her lip.

She looked down on the table again and realized what this had been all about from the beginning. Eating. Her stomach immediately made a dissatisfied sound and she lightly tapped the bread with her still nicely manicured nails.

She looked at the bread for another second before she started eating it for real – practically shoving it in, manners lost somewhere along the way.

Not until she had finished the piece of bread and reached for another one did anyone say anything.

"So I'm gonna drive up there. I was thinking I should probably do it right away", Burt said. "Lima Heights, is it?"

Santana nodded and opened her mouth to tell him the exact address, which already felt like an odd thing to do – instructing your friend's dad how to get to your (ex) house to yell at your (ex?) parents? It just seemed wrong.

It seemed like something she never thought she would ever do.

But before a sound left her lips, Kurt had picked up his iPhone and started tapping away. That reminded her of something. _Brittany. I've got to talk to Brittany._

"Don't bother, he'll need to plug it into his GPS anyway", Kurt stated with a raised eyebrow. "What are your parent's names?"

"Uh… It's… Maria Cortina-Lopez and Felipe Santiago-Lopez."

Only that alone, saying her parents names out loud or even thinking about them clearly for the first time since it all happened, seemed unreal. Surreal.

"Uh, Mr. Hummel –"

"Burt."

"Uh, Burt, then… is… are… are you going to go up there alone?" Santana finally asked, her right hand still hanging awkwardly in the air, reaching for a piece of bread but not so very focused on that purpose.

Burt appeared confused when he looked at her again. His frown was as good a question as any words could ever have been.

"Because, maybe I should… they… they're kind of… it's probably going to be a lot of screaming in Spanish. They're catholic and…"

Santana trailed off. She had no idea what she was trying to say, she only knew that letting Burt go up to scream at her parents without some kind of warning might be unwise.

Still, though. Burt Hummel did seem like the kind of person who could handle it.

"Just… be careful, or whatever."

It was not her most eloquent statement, but it would have to do. Right now Santana did really not blame herself for not keeping her usual standards.

"I'm running for congress", Burt said with a smile. "I'll just consider this practice for dealing with religious bigots."

Burt stood up and walked towards the entrance of the house, motioning Kurt to come with him.

"Kurt, you wanna help me put that address into the GPS?"

Kurt basically bounced up and flounced after his father, once again making Santana note how different they were just when she started to see the similarities.

"Sure", he said and turned around to look at Santana. "I'll be right back, Santana. You just eat something in the meantime."

The elder and younger Hummel both turned their backs against her and walked into the hallway, and Santana took a deep breath before she let any thoughts pass through her head.

When she breathed out the thoughts came gently rushing by.

_Maybe he could get some of my stuff. My school things on my desk. Another bra. Clothes. My… my diary. My fucking diary._

Without really thinking much about it, Santana pushed her chair back to get up and talk with them in the hallway, but the screeching noise made by the moving chair made Kurt stick his head into the kitchen.

"Santana?"

"I was just, uhm…" Santana had not quite stood up but was on the verge of doing so, which mostly meant that she looked like she was sitting both uncomfortably and awkwardly.

"I was just thinking… maybe he could try and get some of my stuff?"

"Oh, oh, of course", Kurt said and looked like he jumped at the realization that it was actually possible to do that. "Dad, you need to see if you can get some of Santana's stuff."

"Santana's stuff?" she heard Burt grunt from the hallway and the sound of a jacket zipper. "Didn't she bring… oh. Shit. I'm gonna tell those bastards to…"

"Uh, anything in particular you were thinking about?" Kurt asked and Santana could not help but smile at the thought that he probably did it only to distract her from the swearing his dad was engaging in.

"Yeah… I'll… I'll make a quick list. You go do the GPS thing", she stammered and reached for a pen that was lying on top of the newspaper. In the corner was an unfinished crossword.

Santana quickly scribbled down the first things that came to her mind on a piece of paper she tore out of the last page of the paper. It was, she had to admit, uncomfortably similar to the unorganized packing she had done last night.

She pushed that thought away, grabbed the little list on newspaper and headed out the hallway, pushed the door open and let the cold November air brush through her hair.

She could not resist the urge to lightly patter down the doorsteps and towards the car Burt Hummel was sitting in and Kurt was halfway climbing out of.

The asphalt was cold against her bare feet, but she enjoyed it. It was a real feeling. A proper feeling. One out of a few she had felt this morning.

Anger and cold feet.

"Here's the list", she said and handed it over to a surprised Kurt, and then turned around without looking back, smiling because she knew that both Hummel's were staring at her. Staring at her bare feet.

Now it was time to finally eat her breakfast, no matter how late and delayed it was.


	10. Telephone

Even though Santana had heard Burt starting the car and driving off (which had left her with a clenching stomach and an uneasy lump in her throat), and heard Kurt enter the house, closing the door behind him and locking it, Kurt did not come into the kitchen at all until she was finished eating.

It was not until she had stood up and put her plate down by the sink that he stepped into the kitchen, smiled at her and started clearing the table.

For a brief second she wondered why he had been keeping out of the kitchen, but when Kurt discretely cleared his throat a little behind her she realized the answer and quickly stepped aside.

_He's giving me space. Just like Burt did at the table last night. _

It was nice, having space. Being _given_ space. That they stayed out of her face, refrained from inquiring about what had happened, about how she felt, that they let her be and still managed to be so very _there_.

She was not used to it, though. The space. It was nice and surprisingly comforting, but it was not was she was used to and therefore perhaps not her firsthand choice.

It was nice, but as she realized with a pang of guilt as she watched Kurt wash her plate and put everything back in the right place, it was perhaps not _everything_ she needed.

She needed more. Maybe not cry uncontrollably and sob into someone's arms, but she needed to talk incoherently about what had happened and have someone squeeze her hand and kiss her and tell her that _Santana, that really sucks but it's gonna be okay and you're the best thing that ever happened to me_.

Maybe it was a little ill-mannered of her, wanting the comfort to be accompanied by some kind of praise or acknowledgement, but right now all she could think about was that the people that were supposed to comfort her, acknowledge her and tell her she was amazing, had kicked her out faster than she had ever even imagined was possible.

So right now she needed someone to just remind her that she was loved.

It was not so much that she needed someone to love her. It was more that she needed the people that already _did_ love her to assure her that they had not stopped doing so, because _that_ was the issue.

Last night, people had stopped loving her.

What she needed right now, she repeated to herself, was to hear that _Santana, that really sucks but it's gonna be okay and you're the best thing that ever happened to me_, and maybe after all even give in to her instincts and simply cry uncontrollably and sob into someone's arms.

_No, scratch that_, she thought. _Not "someone". There's only one person I need._

"I need to call Brittany", she said the second she finished the thought. She said it so quickly she did not even change the direction of her gaze before she blurted it out, which made it look like she was talking to the kitchen cabinet more than she was actually talking to Kurt.

Santana slowly turned her head towards Kurt who was looking at her with big eyes, completely empty of the surprise Santana thought she would find. Instead of looking like he thought she just said something quite out of the blue, Kurt looked like it was the most obvious and logical thing in the world for her to say.

_And it kind of is_, a voice added in the back of her head.

"Invite her over", Kurt said, turned the tap off and wiped his hands dry on a nearby kitchen towel.

Santana felt cheesy even thinking it, but she did anyway; it was like everything felt good again when he said that and she thought about Brittany coming over.

Everything felt good again and Santana knew that what her body was doing right now, without her consent, was nodding like an idiot and smiling widely.

She was upstairs sitting on Kurt's bed with her phone in her hand before she knew it. She had hardly noticed how she had gotten up there at all; how she had run past the family photos in the stairs and almost collided with a shocked Finn who looked like he was heading out of his room.

She had not even felt a sting of anger when she rushed by him, and that was probably saying something.

All her focus was absorbed by something else; by the thought of Brittany. Brittany who had not gotten to know anything except for an informative but most likely intimidating text message composed by Kurt in the middle of the night.

Brittany who deserved to know more than anyone.

Santana stared at her pink phone for a second before she clapped it up and read the display.

Five missed calls and ten new messages.

It was not so much that Santana assumed that they were all from Britt, it was more that she honestly could not give a fuck about messages or calls from anyone else, so she ignored them all and called her girlfriend up instead.

The slow beeps in Santana's ears made her nervous. She was unsure whether it was telling Britt everything that made her nervous, or the thought that she might not pick up that did the trick and made her stomach do twists it should not be doing.

Probably the latter, because Santana felt an immediate rush of relief when she finally heard Brittany's voice. It sounded more panicked than Santana was used to hearing it – it was higher, the words came out quicker and the sadness was drenching Brittany's tone.

"Santana? Santana, it's you! I was so worried when you didn't pick up and I left messages and…"

"Yeah", Santana said and felt voice become a little thick, her eyes become a little watery and her chest becoming a whole lot less tense. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't pick up. I was sleeping."

"I even sent Rory and Lord Tubbington on a mission to find you but I think I just saw them in the garden so I don't really think they…"

Santana let out a small laugh, which made the first tear from her brimming eyes slowly make its way down her cheek.

Brittany was quiet in the other end for half a second before she quietly continued with a question.

"Are you… are you really at Kurt's house?"

Santana sighed.

"Yes."

"Did your parents really…"

"Yeah."

"I don't get it", Brittany sighed and Santana could picture her so clearly – Britt had probably sat down on her bed by now and sunk into her pillows with a frown on her face.

Santana hated it when there was a frown on that face.

"Britt", Santana said and let herself fall backwards into Kurt's neatly made bed. She landed with a thud and bounced slightly against the mattress. "Britt, could you come over?"

The bouncing and the vertical position made the tears flow freely down the sides of her face and she could swear that she was only seconds away from sobbing.

She breathed in hard and felt a tear land on her ear – it made her flinch a little. She tried to wipe it away but there were new, uncomfortable, _disturbing_ tears there at once again-.

"Could you come over, 'cause…" There it was; the sobbing. "'Cause I really fucking need you right now, B."

There was no pause between Santana's last statement and Brittany's instant answer. There was no half second where any of them took a deep breath, no moment of thoughtfulness where Brittany would formulate a response.

It was Brittany, after all.

"Of course", Brittany answered, "I'm right there. I'm there in ten minutes. I am. Don't worry. I'll be right there."

"I love you", Santana answered in the middle of a sob and tried not to think about how pathetic she would usually think this would look. Her, lying on Kurt's bed, sobbing like a baby and saying 'I love you'.

It was not the most romantic place or situation to say those words, but that could not matter less to her right now. Right now it was just the truth.

"I love you too. Santana, I'm gonna hang up now. I'll be there in five. Okay?"

"Okay", Santana whispered and took a deep breath, almost gasped for air, before she pressed the 'end call'-button.

The silence was both horrible - almost suffocating, and at the same time relieving. Santana sat up straight and stood up without even bothering to try stop crying or even wipe the tears off her face.

Instead, she let the tears drip down her face in awkward angles, let them leave wet marks on her shirt and let them keep streaming down.

She almost marched out of the room, down the stairs and past the kitchen. Kurt quickly stuck his head out with an inquiring look, to which Santana nodded and said in a shaky voice:

"She's coming."

She could not bring herself to say a word more – she tried but simply choked on the words. Instead she marched on into the hallway with a steady look on the door.

She tried not to be bothered by the tears, by the blurry sight and the twitches her body did every ten seconds when a new sob made her gasp for air.

Without thinking, she sunk down and sat on the floor in the Hummel-Hudson hallway, eyes fixed on the front door and tears _everywhere_.

The only sounds she was listening for was the sound of a car that she hoped would pull upon the driveway any minute now, any minute. All she wanted to hear was that doorbell ring.

So she stared at the door and hardly blinked for ten minutes.

When the doorbell finally rang Santana cried out, jumped for the door, fiddled with the lock and threw the door open.

Brittany was there. Eyes a little red-rimmed and hair a little messy, but so perfect that Santana had no idea what to do more than just stand there and let Brittany step forward and hug her so tightly that she forgot how tense she was.

So tightly that her twitching, sobbing chest started to ease up just a little bit.

They both stood there, tightly embracing, none of them even almost noticing the two teenage step brothers that were looking at them with concerned faces only a short distance away.

None of them said anything. Everything that existed that moment was the open front door, the whistling wind outside and the tight, tight hug.


	11. Car  Burt

**A/N: Okay darlings, don't be mad, but I decided to do a Burt-chapter. And this is it. Which means no actual Santana POV in this chapter. Also – sorry for not updating, but, you know – Christmas! I'm going to try and be quick with the next chapter (which will be from Santana's POV as usual). Don't be mad at me for keeping you away from our beloved Brittana, I just thought it might be good to see what Burt is up to at her house. Let me know what you think! Now, enjoy:**

Burt Hummel was an excellent driver. Some people working in tire-shops and garages were not. They were sloppy, did not pay enough attention to the road and had not quite grasped the rule book.

Burt Hummel had and it showed. It _usually_ showed.

As a matter of fact, he was a little worried how he would ever again be able to preach about the importance of safe driving, no texting no dancing in the car, and _eyes on the road_ to any kid again.

Because for once, Burt Hummel was not driving _safely_. It might not seem too grave to the uninitiated, because it was not like he was not keeping his eyes on the road or was texting and driving at the same time; he was simply unfocused.

He was doing the driving correctly. Almost correctly. Mostly correctly. His eyes were on the road but his thoughts sure as hell were not.

Instead of thinking about the traffic lights, he thought about how to not end his political career before it had even started by punching that poor girl's dumbass father in the face.

His fists clenched the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened, and he had not even _met_ the damn parents yet. He had only been driving for three minutes and was only at the first traffic light and he was already finding it hard to keep his temper.

The thing was, he thought as he pressed the gas pedal kind of late since a car was already honking behind him, that this entire thing just hit so close to home.

The broken look on that girl's face yesterday, the way her voice cracked, the way she had been screaming at Finn one second and breaking down the next – the way none of it was her fault.

The way people around her had turned against her when she needed them the most.

It hit so close to home it was ridiculous, because layered over Santana's face he saw the way Kurt had used to cringe every time he thought Burt might be catching on to him being gay.

He saw the horror that had been so obvious in Kurt's face that time Burt found him and two girls doing some kind of dance in some kind of really, really, tight clothing.

He saw the complete and utter resignation that Kurt had displayed when Burt found those tiaras.

He saw the fear that had been ever so present in Kurt's expression when he finally did decide to come out.

He saw the stinging hurt that his son had tried to deny after Finn threw that word in his face.

Burt never wanted any kid to ever have that kind of look on their face ever again, and even though he truly tried to make the world a better place and create a place for his son where none of shit like this would ever happen, something big and massive like this happens and there he is with a kid with that exact look.

Burt felt his grip on the wheel get even tighter as he realized that _this_, this that had just happened to Santana, was exactly what Kurt had been afraid of, and Burt felt his head throb a little at the thought that some people would actually do this to their kids.

That some people would not just get over themselves and be there for their kids when they needed them to be.

That he was about to _meet _two of those people.

He was seriously doubting he would be able to make it without succumbing to violence.

_Remember that thing Kurt always goes on about. Fighting with words. His sword's a tongue? Is that how it is? Whatever._

So when Burt finally reached the front door with a doorplate that simply said LOPEZ, he took a deep breath, pressed the doorbell and then made a point to stick his right hand into his pocket and gripping a big trunk tightly in the other just to not immediately give in to the temptation of pounding the first person he sees in there.

It turned out that he was more capable of doing that than he thought, because the person opening the door is not at all what he had been expecting.

It was a kid. Practically a kid, anyway. He looked like he was somewhere around twenty years old, was dressed in a tank top and a pair of baggy jeans that even Burt could tell that Kurt would snort at, but there was no way that kid is the one Burt is looking for.

_Probably a brother_.

"My name is Burt Hummel and I think I might be looking for your parents. I wanna have a word with the parents of Santana Lopez."

The kid did not answer and did not move but merely gaped at Burt who was pulling his scariest "angry macho mechanic" face, as Kurt once had put it.

"Well? They in?"

The kid swallowed and then seemed to regain speech.

"Uh… I don't… Sant… they… they're in", the kid finally managed to say when Burt narrowed his eyes for a quality glare. "Mom, dad! Mom, dad, it… it's for you!"

The kid quickly disappeared from the door, but the doorway was only empty for a second before two other people entered it instead.

A tall, slim and a little bony woman next to a shorter, bigger and rounder man with a – Burt could not help himself from thinking this – funny mustache.

_Here they are_, Burt thought. _This is it. Now be fucking sensible, Burt. Don't lose it._

His hands were twitching and he had to take another deep breath before his palms agreed to relax a little and stop curling his hands into fists.

"Who are you?" the man in front of Burt asked.

"I'm the man who took your daughter in yesterday."

The couple in front of Burt quickly tensed up. Santana's mother shifted her weight uncomfortably and the father huffed a little, but none of them said anything and Burt was not the kind of man to let a silence just hang there.

"I just came by to tell you that I don't think people like you should be allowed to be parents."

_Well maybe that wasn't my best line ever but at least I haven't punched anyone yet._

The other man's face went a little redder, the fury and, hell, maybe even _shame_ became visible before he tried to shut the door.

He tried to shut the door.

Burt had his foot blocking the doorway before his brain had even fully registered what was happening, and something about that movement seemed to stop the other man from trying to shut the door again.

Maybe it was out of shock, maybe it was not and Burt could not care less. He simply pushed the door fully open again and breathed heavily before he spoke again.

"My son came out to me two years ago. And you know what, I aint perfect and when I was young, yeah, sure, I was stupid and_ bigoted_ and thought all that bullshit about being gay that I know you're thinking right now, but you know what?"

It's not so much a pause for effect as it is a pause for Burt to breathe in.

"You get over shitty _trifles_ like that for your kid, okay? How could you look at your daughter and tell her that she's wrong for being able to _love_ someone? It just blows my mind that _anyone_ would actually do that to their own fucking kid. I might not be the smartest guy around, but I know this: a parent's job is to love their kid. It's that simple. You get over yourself and sort out your unimportant frickin' issues, and become a bigger and better person. You don't throw your kid out. You just don't."

_That's a little more speech-looking_.

The color had drained from their faces and even though Burt was not the kind to over-analyze their expressions, he knew they meant one thing only: shock and guilt.

They made no attempt to say anything, and the silence that ensued was surprisingly awkward. Burt had imagined it would be some kind of tense silence, something that Kurt would have referred to as a _pregnant silence_, but in the end it was just awkward.

It was also the moment Burt's brain picked to start functioning normally again, because suddenly he was reminded by a voice in his head (which sounded a lot like Kurt's) about what else he was really there for.

_Santana's things._

So instead of muttering something final and scathing that would make Kurt proud and then turning around to never look back again, Burt stayed right where he was.

His eyes stayed just the same; just as narrowed, upset, dejected and firmly fixed on Santana's parents, and his posture remained the same; proud but kind of threatening.

He grunted before he opened his mouth to announce his next errand.

"I'm here to get some stuff", he said in a way and tone he had only used a few times in all of his life; the most recent being when he spoke to Kurt right after telling Finn he could not stay with them. _The place looks great_, he had said, voice thick, grunting and so full of anger and emotion that it was obvious to anyone around that he could explode again any second.

Kurt was probably the only one who realized it also meant he was close to crying.

"Get some stuff?" the woman in front of him repeated in a shrill and harsh voice that made it perfectly clear that Burt fetching some things from Santana's room was not what she had in mind.

"Yeah", Burt hurried to reply dryly. "Get some stuff."

He hoped that maybe the way he said it would do it. He hoped that his tone had implied that this was the least they owed their daughter, that this was non-negotiable, that they should be deprived of their human status if they tried to stop him.

He hoped that the way he said it made it obvious to them, that it made them at least partly realize that they were doing the biggest mistake of their lives and that if they claimed a single one of that poor girl's possessions Burt would go mental on them.

He did still own that flame-thrower.

And somehow, miraculously, it sort of worked. Maybe there were no epiphanies or regret, but they did both step aside after a quick glance at each other.

They stepped aside, Burt stepped inside and let Santana's mother quietly lead him to the room that until yesterday had been Santana's. She turned around, averted her eyes and marched away the second they reached the indicated door.

"You can find your own way out", the slender woman said bitterly before she was out of Burt's sight.

Burt looked around the room and had to bite his tongue in order not to freak out, because it was somehow so obvious that this room was the room that Santana was used to belonging in.

Maybe it was the pictures of the Cheerio's on the walls. Maybe it was the fact that clothes were casually thrown all over the floor. Maybe it was the slick lines with which the room was decorated, maybe it was the black satin cover on her bed. The combination of them all made Burt shiver, because this was so clearly still Santana's room.

He picked the note up - the tiny note on the piece of newspaper and started searching for the things on the list.

It hurt to realize that it felt a lot like grocery shopping – the neat handwriting on a random piece of paper. Usually Burt was searching the shelves for all the odd, healthy things Kurt would insist on putting on that list and now he was searching a young girl's room for the most everyday things she had written up on a list.

It just was not fair.

He stuffed some clothes into the trunk he still had in his hand, a little embarrassed when he shoved a bra in there, because it was impossible to ignore how intimate that was and how desperate that girl actually was at the moment, if she had to get her friend's dad to fetch her underwear.

It was just wrong. So fucking wrong.

When Burt got to the point that said • _My diary (black, on the shelf above the bed)_, he felt his eyes water.

_You don't just throw kids out_.

For some reason, it made him think about the fact that not too long ago, he himself had thrown a kid out. Finn.

He made himself stop that thought before it went too far, because honestly, there was a difference. It was not so much the fact that Finn was not _his_ kid but more the fact that he had another home, somewhere to go where he still belonged, and the fact that there was just no way he would let his own kid stay with someone who thought being gay was an issue of some sort.

He had not _kicked Finn out_. Not like this. This was not the same thing. He had told Finn he could not move in with them, that there was no way he would be allowed in Kurt's private, sacred place.

Not until they worked things out.

Burt sighed and took the black, plain diary down from the shelf and put it into the bag, shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts. It was too much to handle at one time.

Even though he had packed all of the things on the list, he looked around the room again. He took a deep breath and then took a couple of steps to one of the walls and took the framed photos off the wall and put them into the bag.

_If I'm gonna do this I'm gonna do this properly._

In the end he packed all of the photos, three pair of shoes he found in the bottom of the closet and all the clothes he could fit into the bag. He left the house without even looking for the people still living there, walking in one direction only.

He held his breath until he was sitting in the car again with the trunk slung in the backseat.

Burt started the car but only drove for forty seconds before he pulled over to the side just to breathe. He finally gave in to the shaking anger he had been trying so hard to ignore since he started the car at home.

He sat there, shaking, for ten minutes straight before he started the car up again and was almost proud he only had to pull over one more time on the way back home.


	12. Couch

**A/N: Happy New Years! Here I present to you some Brittana to end 2011 nicely for all of you. Let me know what you think! Also, is there anyone that feels keen on becoming my beta? Because right now I'm correcting and editing as I go along, after I've already posted the chapters, and that's not the best way to do it. So if anyone's interested, please let me know! I could use someone to not only correct me but to discuss plot and all with. Enjoy!**

Somehow, Santana and Brittany had soon ended up alone on the couch. Brittany was snuggled up in Santana's lap and Santana was slowly twirling Brittany's hair with both hands.

None of them really remembered exactly how they had ended up like that, how they had managed to move while continuing the tight embrace they had started in the hallway and not fall down the two small steps that led to the living room section of the house.

Because one thing they knew for sure; they had not stopped the embrace for even a second. They had been pressed tightly together, Santana's breathing still unsteady and her chest heaving unevenly. They had somehow managed to move it from the hallway to the living room, but otherwise it had stayed exactly the same.

When Santana thought about it later, she realized it must have been Kurt (and maybe, she had to admit, Finn) who made that happen, because it sure as hell was not Santana that had closed the front door or, Santana suddenly noticed as she looked up from Brittany's blonde locks – made two cups of hot chocolate and put them on the living room table.

She smiled a little at that but felt her focus slide right back to Brittany's soft hair and the warmth of her back against Santana's stomach.

They had not really said anything to each other yet either, but they had not really needed to and it was not until now that Santana's breathing had gone back to normal and Brittany had stopped trying to calm her down with what she usually referred to as her "comfort hum".

It was not until now that they had even started thinking again.

None of them could tell how long it had been since Brittany entered the door – it could just as well have been ten minutes ago as twenty, but none of them really thought of that as something of importance.

"Santana", Brittany mumbled from Santana's lap as she gently stroke her fingers up and down Santana's knee, "are you feeling better?"

Santana leaned down and kissed the back of Brittany's head.

"Yeah", she said and breathed out an exhausted breath. "I am."

Brittany rolled over and looked Santana in the eyes, although from an odd angle. Before she said anything, she bit her lip and breathed in quickly.

"Do you think you maybe wanna talk about it?"

Maybe it was because Santana really did not know how to say no to Brittany, or maybe it was because she actually wanted to talk about it, but regardless of which one it really was, Santana found herself nodding.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you last night", was what stumbled out of her mouth. "It's just, I didn't know what to do and – I mean, I couldn't be sure about your parents and I was _panicking_, Britt, and I didn't know what to do and…"

The blonde girl quickly sat up – she supported her weight on her elbows and looked at Santana with an at the same time confused, troubled and doe-eyed look.

"Santana, I don't care about that", Brittany said slowly and with such honesty that Santana could swear she felt her eyes water again. "I don't care who you called or where you went, I just want you to be okay."

Santana pursed her lips together, quickly wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Thanks, B."

Britt slowly sunk back down into Santana's lap but with her gaze firmly focused on her girlfriend's face. She fiddled a little with her fingers before she spoke again

"Do you know where you're gonna live?" was what she asked with a sincere look.

"Mr. Hummel says I can stay here."

Brittany nodded and added with her head a little tilted to the left:

"Just so you know you could totally stay with me if you want to. I mean, maybe we have to move Rory into one of the kitchen cabinets but, you know, he's a leprechaun so it wouldn't be too hard to shrink him and… oh, he could probably sleep in my cereal bowl!"

And even though picturing that pathetic little Rory-kid trying to fall asleep in a porcelain bowl was admittedly amusing, Santana just blinked. Because… _Rory _– she had completely forgotten about him.

"Oh, Britt, no", Santana hurried to say, "Let Rory keep his room. I'm gonna be just fine right here."

Santana looked at Brittany smile a little and listened to her start humming quietly again. It was odd what a soothing effect that had always had on Santana.

_Is it just me or is it kind of odd that I'm actually kind of okay with staying here instead of scaring that lame, miniature farmer off and go live with my girlfriend?_

Odd or not; she did feel surprisingly okay about it. Surprisingly okay about thinking about Rory, surprisingly okay about suddenly moving into the house of some friends that she quite honestly had not been sure even _were_ friends.

Santana knew in what directions these kinds of thoughts were heading, but before her mind had even fully wrapped itself around the name of one particular inhabitant of the household, Brittany made Santana feel like she had just been reading her mind.

"What about Finn?"

_Yeah. What about Finn_.

They had not really talked yet, at all, and even though Santana knew that Kurt would persuade his brother _somehow_ but it was still really, really uncomfortable.

_He was the one who fucking made this happen in the first place._

"Yeah", Santana said, closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead a little. "That bit might be a little awkward."

Brittany hummed a little again and looked at Santana thoughtfully before she in a very earnest and as always slightly drawling voice said:

"Santana, you know that I love you, right?"

The first time Santana had uttered those words to Brittany, they had felt like a punch in the chest at the same time as it was the warmest and fussiest thing that had ever escaped her lips.

And even though this was not the first time Brittany told her that she loved her, it was the first time it felt so simple and uncomplicated and so unlike the punch in the chest those words had felt between them the first time they came around.

It was odd, too, because this time it should have been the most complicated of them all. It should have hurt because _this_ was what got her kicked out, _this_ was what jeopardized her entire life as she knew it and _this _was what she should be more afraid of than ever.

But she really, really was not. She could not bring herself to see anything complicated about those words. There was nothing scary about it. She had lost so much and still had so much left.

Brittany loved her. The simplest thing in the world.

_I knew she does. Hell, the only thing I consciously packed was the Lebanese t-shirt._

She had not really thought about that before. The t-shirt was the first thing she had grabbed in her wardrobe. It was wrinkled and carelessly stuffed into the bottom of the trunk, but it was there and it had been there first thing she had thought of bringing.

A tiny reminder that she was not completely alone.

"I do", Santana said with an uncontrollable, wide smile. "And I love you too."

Brittany smiled, sat up a little and gave Santana a quick, giggling kiss before she turned to the table and looked at the cups of chocolate on the table with a confused expression.

"How did they… who did… do you think my teleporting machine finally started work…"

"No, honey, it was probably Kurt. He makes the best hot chocolate."

"Oh."

Brittany reached for one of the cups and as she sipped it, Santana could not help but smile even a little wider. Because it was when Brittany did either things like this – drinking hot chocolate while halfway lying down without making it look difficult or the slightest tricky – or dancing, that Santana was reminded just how extraordinary that girl truly was.

For as long as Santana could remember, people had been calling Brittany stupid, and for as long she could remember Santana had been bitching back at whoever said it.

Because, yeah, Brittany was not what people would call smart, but sometimes Santana just wanted them all to carefully watch Britt dance or simply just _move_ and then_ dare_ call her stupid.

And while Santana was well aware that Brittany was quite often drifting really, really far away from where everyone else were mentally, Santana thought of it more like Brittany living in a beautiful, magic fairytale world than Brittany actually being stupid.

No one with that level of self-knowledge was stupid.

So Santana smiled and reached for the other cup to take a sip.

Before she had even finished her second gulp of truly delicious chocolate, she was interrupted by the nearby opening and slamming of the door as Burt Hummel came home again.

She had kind of forgot about that whole matter. The Burt-Hummel-is-going-to-my-parents-matter.

But before she could reflect upon the matter much further, Burt had stepped into the living room with a slight grunt and a sort of red face.

He caught sight of the two girls on the sofa quite quickly and Santana was really quite fascinated at how his face changed so quickly again. This time it was from that reddish, angry expression to a quite honest look of surprise.

"I…", he started, hesitating. "Are you… Santana, I… is this your girlfriend?"

It felt absurd. Sitting on Kurt's sofa, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate with Brittany still kind of sprawled across her lap, the two of them practically intertwined, and then Burt Hummel crashing in.

Because, Santana had never introduced Brittany as her girlfriend before. To anyone. And now, Burt had practically done it for her.

It was a little breathtaking.

"Yes", Santana answered quickly. "Yes, this is Brittany."

Brittany giggled and sat up a little and smiled over at Burt.

"He knows, Santana", Britt said, still tittering. "We've met before. I dated Kurt, remember?"

Suddenly Santana understood that confused and hesitant look on Burt's face a lot better.


	13. Closet

After the initial shock and a few awkward seconds where Burt seemed to be processing the situation, he smiled at Brittany and nodded slightly, and broke the odd beginning of a tension that had been only moments away.

Santana really wanted to quickly shake her head in order to make herself see this whole situation a little more clearly, but that would probably look a little odd so she settled for simply straightening her back a little and scrutinizing the room for a few seconds, just to regain some kind of general view of it all.

She forced her brain to summarize what was going on.

_Brittany is in my lap. Burt Hummel just got home from a visit to my parents. He was there to pick up some of my things. Kurt is probably in the kitchen. Finn… I don't even care. _

"Uh", Santana finally said, trying to come up with a way of phrasing her thoughts that would not make her seem like an idiot. "Kurt said that she could come over, I just needed… maybe I should've asked you, but I…"

Burt actually laughed a little as he took his jacket of and placed it on the hook on the wall.

"No, it's no problem", he assured her with a wry smile. It was odd, Santana thought, how tired the man looked. His face was both an angry red and strangely pale at the same time. His smile and laugh were genuine but exhausted.

"We might have to sit down sometime and talk through some guidelines about when she's here, you know, about not closing doors and, well, you get the picture", Burt continued and dumped a big trunk on the floor. "But right now I'm just happy to see you feeling better."

Santana did nothing but breathe. Not breathing in a state of panic as she had experienced far too much lately, but simply breathing calmly as she realized that Brittany was on her lap and they were not in trouble because of it, Burt had survived the trip to Lima Heights and there was a trunk on the floor with what she assumed were her stuff.

"So, you met my parents?" Santana asked with a light shrug and a wry, sarcastic smile. "Were they polite?"

"Not really", Burt huffed. "I got some of your stuff, though."

He kind of nudged the bag forward a little with his foot, and before Santana could react, Brittany had climbed up from her lap and rushed towards the bag, curious as ever. Santana smiled, put her cup of chocolate down on the table, shot Burt a grateful look and followed Brittany.

Brittany sat on the floor and had already opened the trunk and had started going through Santana's things. Santana felt it like she was watching Britt unwrap a Christmas present, because the look of happy surprise on her face whenever she found something in the bag that she recognized was kind of heartwarming.

It also made it all a little less painful. Santana could only guess, but she was pretty sure that if she had been left alone with that trunk to unpack it in Kurt's room, she would have had a meltdown.

"Hey, let's get that upstairs", Kurt said in a light voice from behind Santana. She turned around and gave him a faint smile before she reached her hand out for Brittany to grab.

"Come on, Britt. Upstairs."

Brittany smiled, jumped to her feet and let Kurt grab the trunk. When Santana placed her right foot on the first step of the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder, briefly shut her eyes and gave Burt another short nod before she continued up the stairs, hand in hand with Brittany and with Kurt not far behind them.

That was how the three of them ended up in Kurt's room trying both to make space for and find a place for Santana's belongings. Brittany engaged in the mission so enthusiastically that she was practically skipping around the room, climbing over Kurt's once neatly made bed and back again to pull out all the drawers in his desk to find suitable places.

Santana would have been worried about taking up too much of the room and intruding on Kurt's personal space, but she shoved those thoughts away when she glanced over at Kurt who was looking at Britt with folded arms and an affectionate smile.

Santana realized that it was okay and that Kurt did not mind very much at all - he even helped Brittany clear one of the drawers and a shelf in the bookshelf.

_When all of this is over I'm gonna owe that boy big time_.

Santana sat down on the screeching tent bed and peeked into the trunk on the floor. Brittany had decided to start with all the school items and the clothes, so even though the trunk was mostly emptied by now, Santana could still see a number of quite surprising things in that trunk.

Things she honestly never thought she would ever see again. She reached out and opened the bag a little wider so she could investigate it all a little closer, and her eyes widened when she realized that Burt Hummel had actually brought her _framed pictures._

At first glance she thought it was nothing but a couple of writing-pads, but it did not take her too long to recognize the Cheerio's group photo from Nationals last year.

She stopped breathing for a couple of seconds in order to let her mind focus on that one thing for a little while; the fact that Burt Hummel had seriously raided her room quite thoroughly. When she finally breathed out, she bent over and picked the picture up with a smile.

She heard Kurt laugh from beside her.

"Yeah, no need for finding a place for that one", he said with a wide smile that made Santana frown in confusion.

_Okay, so maybe framed school pictures are lame or tacky or whatever to place on your fucking designer wallpapers, but…_

And then, in the middle of sending Kurt a bitter look, she realized that Kurt was referring to something a little different. He threw his head back a little in a short nod towards one of the walls, and Santana quickly turned around to look at it.

And there it was. The very same cheerleaders in the very same photo, only in a very different room to the one she was used to.

"I don't know what it is, but I keep forgetting you were on that squad, Hummel."

"What, I didn't do a lasting impression with my Céline Dion medley? It was fourteen and a half minute long, Santana", Kurt exclaimed with an amused look on his face and faked hurt in his voice.

Santana just smiled and turned to look at Brittany again who was now sitting on the floor trying to put Santana's shoes into the bottom of Kurt's closet.

"You know, I hope you haven't got any secrets in there, because…"

Kurt interrupted Santana with a smirk.

"It was a long time ago since I had secrets in _my_ closet, Santana."

They looked at each other in uncertainty for a few seconds, both unsure what they were supposed to do. Unsure whether it was too soon to make jokes about coming out, unsure whether that hit close to home or if it perhaps did not cause any significant impact, unsure whether Santana would get offended and Kurt sorry or both of them just slightly amused; unsure whether it was a funny or an odd thing to say.

They looked at each other like that with raised eyebrows and hesitant looks for a couple of seconds, before they both burst out laughing simultaneously.

It was odd how easy this seemed, how easy the last hour or so had been, how it did not hurt at all to place scraps of her belongings into someone else's room, how she could actually laugh and not just explode from pain.

She wondered for how long that feeling would last. If it would disappear the moment Brittany went home for dinner or if it could linger a little bit longer, if maybe her dreams could be calm tonight, full of Brittany placing her shoes in a wardrobe instead of a mixture of Spanish and English and hurt.

Santana could not help but hope that maybe everything was going to be alright so soon that she would hardly notice that things had gone so horribly wrong in the first place.

Maybe she could float around in this feeling, this easy feeling of amusement and for once not so aching love for that blonde, fabulous girl sitting on the floor. Maybe it would stay like this forever.

Or maybe her nightmares would haunt her tonight as well. Maybe she would wake up sweaty and exhausted and far too early or far too late in the morning.

Maybe she would not be able to sleep at all.

The thought of it made Santana's laughter faint a little, but not completely. For now, she was laughing and for now, she was here, in this easy feeling that she had never cherished so highly ever before.


	14. Dishes

**A/N: Oh dear this has been a hectic week. Sorry for keeping you waiting. Also, it's funny how I tried to speed things up in this chapter and still ended up, well, not doing so. **

Santana was surprised to find the easy feeling still present after Brittany had kissed her goodbye, pulled her into a tight hug, said something about calling her later and then reluctantly disappeared out the door.

The feeling changed and stopped being so explicitly definite as it had been with Brittany around, but it did not completely fade away. Instead of vanishing along with Brittany, it lingered and made the air Santana had been gasping for earlier breathable and got the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach replaced with an easier, calm sensation.

The lingering, easy feeling got her through a dinner she knew should have been everything but easy and carefree.

The first dinner at the Hummel-Hudson household. Santana knew it should have been all kinds of uneasy. It should have been an awkward meal, a scary meal, a heartbreaking realization that this was it, this was her life now, this was where she would eat from now on with a family she barely knew, a gut-wrenching understanding of the fact that she would not get to come home to Lima Heights and help with the cooking even though she knew exactly what was going to be served at the Lopez dinner table tonight.

Thinking about the fact that only two days ago she had been grocery shopping for that exact dinner should have made Santana lose all interest in eating anything at all.

Looking around the dinner table only to see a family that she did not belong to should make her sink into her chair and push the food around unenthusiastically on her plate.

Having the first dinner with the family who took her in because her crazy, Catholic parents could not stand the sight of her anymore should make her twist in angst and make her want to just _hurl_ – but it did not.

Instead, dinner ended up being kind of nice.

She had helped set the table without feeling a sting when she could not quite find everything in the unfamiliar the kitchen cabinets.

The chicken was perfectly done, the rice was fluffy, the salad was delicious and Santana almost started laughing as she realized that she ate it all with a content smile instead of the anxious, upset expression she imagined that she was supposed to have.

Thirty seconds after Kurt had put the chicken into the oven and closed the oven door, Carole had come home and instead of feeling jealous at how synced this family was, Santana just smiled back at Carole who even called her "sweetie" without it messing with Santana's head.

Burt talked about the tire shop. Kurt talked about his plans with Blaine for next week. Carole talked about something amusing that had happened at work and Finn just ate and answered questions with a light grunt.

Santana did not say too much, did not actually _make_ conversation, but she laughed along and that was more than she had hoped for.

It all went surprisingly well and when Santana was not laughing or simply eating, she was staring at all members of the family with big eyes just trying to fathom that she was not breaking down. At least not right now. Not yet.

They all knew what to ask her and what not to ask her, they all knew when to smile at her and when to not look at her for too long and, on Finn's part, how to not look at her at all.

The easy feeling stayed even as Santana in an awkward attempt to act _polite_ - something kind of new in her world - offered to do the dishes and ended up side by side with Carole who gave Santana a minimum of work to.

Santana practically had to beg in order to at least help a little - in the end what she got was the ridiculously tiny task of cleaning two saucepans and putting them back into the cabinets.

She stayed in the kitchen for a while even after she finished, just stood there, swayed a little, tried to prolong the moment because if she just stayed, if she just did not do anything to spoil it, then maybe the easy feeling would not go away and maybe she could have just a few more minutes where she did not feel like the entire world had just fucking _ended_.

She glanced over at Carole who smiled back at her and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Are you feeling alright, dear?"

And Santana just stared at her, was almost _annoyed _because _seriously, how fucking perfect were these people?_

Santana knew how her ordinary self would settle this. She would say something ridiculous and far-fetched but really kind of smart and really insulting, but this was not her usual self, this was a fucked-up and broken version of herself that she had no idea how it really worked - and she just could not do it.

Just thinking about it, thinking about insulting Carole like that, made Santana a little sick. She could not even come up with something to say, because how would one insult someone that seemed so genuinely fucking sweet?

So instead of doing what normal Santana would have done, Santana blinked a little and then opened her mouth to say something that was so honest and rambling that it sounded alien to her.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. I have no idea why. I shouldn't be okay. I shouldn't be okay but I am and I don't even feel bad right now, I don't feel like I need to throw up or like nothing's ever gonna be fine again, I'm not even sad and I just know I should be and it probably means that like, any minute everything could just crash down on me and I'm just… I don't… I don't know what to… Am I… am I… am I doing this wrong? Shouldn't I be, like, crying?"

Santana had never ever talked like that before, never actually poured her heart out to a grown person like that before, never said exactly what she was thinking without guarding herself because she had nothing left to hide.

There was nothing left to hide.

She closed her eyes and was not ever surprised to find Carole's arms around her half a second later and above all, she had no idea why she was not weeping even after saying something like that. Why she did not even _feel_ like it.

"There's no rule book for his kind of thing, Santana", a soft voice said through the hug. "There's no manual for how to do this, and… you can't do this right or wrong. You just need to do it. You just need to get through it, okay?"

Santana could feel her head nod and her thoughts stop and all of her go numb, and the only thought that came crashing down in her head anyway was the thought that _oh this is probably when that easy feeling decides to take off._

Carole let go and as she watched Carole take a step backwards, Santana realized how weird it was that she had just been hugging a woman that she honestly did not know.

A woman she had met yesterday. A woman that was _Finn's_ mother.

Santana gave Carole a light smile and tried not to over think this, but she could not help but to at least consider it as she commanded her legs to _fucking do something_ and made her way out the kitchen.

Because, Carole was Finn's mother and Burt was Kurt's father and the four of them were a family together and somehow it blew Santana's mind how easy they made that seem.

How easy they made family seem.

Carole had hugged her. Actually _hugged_ her. When Kurt and Burt wanted to comfort her, they gave her space. Carole gave her a hug.

Santana was uncertain which method she liked the best. Uncertain if she liked any of them.

And for a brief second, she allowed herself to wonder if that meant that Finn was that kind of person to, the kind of person that stepped into personal space instead of out of it when things got complicated.

It made her wonder if that meant that the family was somewhat divided after all, if this logic applied to other matters as well. If Kurt and Burt were defensive and independent and if Finn and Carole were physical and depended more on other people.

If maybe Santana would learn to live with all of it, all the differences and odd family constellations and being an extra person in a home that was already glued together but still so shockingly complete.

It was a stupid thing to think about and she knew it, because somehow, it was almost like she could not even afford it. She could not afford to analyze others right now when her mind could not even get started on thinking about her own situation.

About how this whole thing was actually real. About how she was standing at the foot of the stairs unsure whether it was a good idea to go up. Maybe sleep. Maybe take a shower. Maybe think. Maybe do anything but actually think.

She went up the stairs quickly, almost ran and almost debated taking it two steps at a time, and pushed the door to Kurt's room open.

She wondered whether she would ever feel okay with calling it _her_ room, too


	15. Mirror

**A/N: Okay honestly, this chapter was the most fun one so far to write. I hope you enjoy it too. Also, still looking for a beta because, well, you know how English as a third language works. And also, feel like ranting? About this fic or about what and what not to be angry about in canon? Yes sir, my inbox is open.**

The night passed rather quickly, painlessly and without nightmares – or, judging by the worried look Kurt gave her in the morning, at least not any nightmares that she could remember.

Even though Santana had insisted that there was no reason for Kurt to hang up on Blaine, Kurt had rolled his eyes and kept doing some ridiculous skincare ritual that he kept referring to as his "moisturizing routine" while chatting to Santana instead of his boyfriend.

Watching Kurt sitting by his vanity had made Santana think about the fact that she had not even given make-up a thought today and felt mildly horrified at the thought.

_I probably look deranged._

She made a point out of avoiding the mirrors and fell asleep thinking that she should do something about it tomorrow, even though she knew that the only make-up there would be in her trunk was the few spare items of make-up that she kept in it at all times to not look like crap after Cheerios practice.

The last conscious thought that had passed through her head before she fell asleep to the sound of Kurt spraying something, was that _I think I haven't brushed my teeth in a while… Imma get a new toothbrush tomorrow._

When she woke up and realized that the whole night was nothing more than a big, black blank in her mind, she was pleased. She was not as pleased, however, to find that her body felt positively _jetlagged_.

_That's what you get for getting kicked out, sleeping from exhaustion for, what? Eleven hours? and not_ _looking in a mirror for over twenty-four hours, dear auntie Tana_, Santana thought as she examined her Sunday morning face carefully in the bathroom mirror.

She poked the skin under her eyes that was significantly darker than it was supposed to be, and sighed. At least it was not as bad as she had expected, and if she was lucky maybe she could convince Kurt to give her some lotion or something before her face decided to _crash_.

She showered with closed eyes and only opened them to carefully choose among Kurt's products, and when she had turned the tap off, and dried herself a little, she wrapped her hair in a to a towel turban, her body in a larger towel and enjoyed thinking about the fact that getting dressed today would at least not be as bad as getting dressed yesterday.

It turned out to be harder than she had expected even though it was an improvement from yesterday, but the hard part was mostly due to the fact that Brittany had not really placed her clothes on a separate shelf or something in Kurt's closet. Instead, she seemed to have put Santana's clothes on top of, under and in between Kurt's clothes, possibly sorted by pattern, and it took Santana a while to distinguish which ones belonged to her and which ones she should keep off if she still valued her life.

She somehow managed to get an outfit together, searched her trunk for some make-up and went into the bathroom again to get dressed.

The truth was that getting ready in the bathroom felt like that day's proof that nothing was anywhere close to okay.

It was not okay not getting to say a drowsy 'good morning' to her brother sitting by the TV in an attempt to wake up as soon as she pushed the door to her room open.

It was not okay not knowing whether she should say good morning to anyone before she got ready or whether she should just wait and hope that they had heard the shower running so they would not be surprised to find her downstairs.

It was not okay brushing her teeth with a brand new toothbrush that had still been in its plastic pack and that someone had placed by the sink for her, and it was not okay staring into the mirror as she brushed them, because it just made her _think_.

About health-insurance of all things.

Because looking at her teeth made her think about that time she and Britt had gone to that dentist and had that trippy but awesome anesthesia session. And thinking about that made her think about the reason for why she had gotten the anesthesia in the first place and _that_ was the health care plan she only had because of her father. Her father the doctor.

Staring into that mirror made her wonder what would happen if anything happened to her now. It was not like she _knew_ anything about insurance or health care, it was not like she had ever been expected to know or ever needed to know.

_Would they really be big enough dicks to take me off my health insurance?_

And even though a voice in the back of her head snorted that _for fucks sake, they were big enough dicks to kick you out_, Santana doubted that was would actually happen.

She doubted that they would dare make it so _official_, that they would remove her from the family _officially_ with documents and authorities or whatever it took.

At least she hoped so.

She looked away and spat into the sink.

Her make-up was way too basic to feel fine, but Santana did her best to make her look at least almost like she normally did.

She shrugged, looked up into the mirror again and tried not to start thinking more about what her parents disowning her really meant.

_Still hot_, she thought instead, tried to relax her tense shoulders and unlocked the bathroom door to go down the stairs and try to make this day at least _function_.

In the end, Sunday passed in somewhat of a haze. It was the kind of haze Santana recognized from unproductive days spent in front of her computer – an uneasy, thick haze that kept reminding her that she was not doing what she was supposed to be doing.

It was the kind of haze that would not let go even when Santana did her best to prove that she was not being unproductive, that she was not postponing things or wasting away her time on the Internet.

_I __**am**__ doing things, _she tried to remind herself, _I am. I've taken a shower, I've had breakfast, I've texted Britt, Carole gave me a thorough house tour, I'm avoiding Finn like a boss and I still feel like I'm replaying a crazy cat video for the tenth time._

Even when Santana got her laptop down from Kurt's room to the kitchen and finished an essay due tomorrow, the restless, hazy feeling would not leave her alone.

Just sitting on that kitchen chair made her feel like her head was about to explode and even something as simple as finishing that essay took her way too much time.

The reason she was in the kitchen at all was because she had figured that Kurt deserved to have his room to himself for a while, not only because she thought she heard him call Blaine but also because she knew that Kurt had practically already shown her what he needed from her, because he kept giving it to her: space.

Another reason she was in the kitchen was because she thought that maybe being in a more open space than Kurt's room that had gotten quite crammed with her tent bed and everything would make her feel less uneasy and restless.

It did not, and it was not until Santana had finished the essay and closed her laptop in frustration, that she realized why being productive did not help.

The restless haze was not from not doing anything. It was from not doing the _right_ things.

Santana grumbled, closed her eyes and tried to breathe deep breaths as she realized what things exactly it was that she was postponing.

_Talking to Finn and thinking about what the fuck I'm gonna do tomorrow._

To be honest Santana thought it odd – almost fascinating – that she had at all been able to write an essay for school without properly thinking about school.

About what she was supposed to do when she walked through those doors. About how on earth she was supposed to know how to deal with people actually _knowing_. If people even knew, if that commercial had even been aired yet or if the word had gotten out no matter what.

If she was supposed to suddenly be all out and proud and slash anyone that said anything to her face and make clear to everyone that talked about it behind her back, that she was the scariest thing they would ever set eyes upon.

If she was supposed to know how to even _do _that. If she was supposed to know how to walk proud with her head up high when people would glare at her through the corridors.

There was no way to know what school was going to look like tomorrow morning and Santana knew it.

She also knew that there was also no telling what _she_ would to the next morning – if she would get herself suspended for beating the first bigot that came along up with a stick she kept in her locker, or if no one really knew yet and she would get to _breathe_ for another few days.

And what if they knew that she had been kicked out, then what was she supposed to do? What if they knew that she was living with Kurt and fucking Finn?

What if they knew everything and Santana would be completely defenseless and forget how to be the _Queen Bitch _of that school?

And then there was Finn. Just thinking about him made Santana want to disappear, because she had seriously never been in this awkward a position and that was really saying something, because she had had sex with the moron in a sleazy motel last year and not even that had been as bad as _this_.

_He outed me, I slapped him, I ran home, I got kicked out and now I'm living at his house. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Santana crossed her arms at the table and let her head sink into them in a giant sigh.

"I'll never survive this shit", she mumbled into her arms. "This is such a fucking mess."


	16. Punch

**A/N: Okay, this chapter did not end up being about what I intended it to be about, But I'll tell you, I don't think I'm the one controlling this story – I swear the characters are. It's driving me crazy. Please appreciate the fact that I'm still unable to speed it up just yet. We'll get there. **

It was Burt who found her, something for which Santana was both grateful and a little disconcerted. Grateful that it was not Finn who stumbled into the kitchen and found her breathing into her arms practically on top of her laptop, and disconcerted because of the fact that anyone at all walked in on her like that.

The second she noticed the sound of his steps against the floorboards, she twitched and tried to sit up straight before he actually saw her, but as soon as she was sitting up, she knew that Burt had seen her quite clearly, so she slumped into the chair again.

For a brief moment she was unsure where to look, what to fix her eyes on, what to avoid looking at, before she remembered that it was Burt Hummel and not someone she needed to hide from.

But for once it was not even about hiding. It was about not knowing what to do, about having too many issues that desperately needed to be solved and about not wanting to run from them but not being able to stop.

Santana knew that Burt would make her talk about it, that he would ask about it, that he would try to make things easier for her because that was _who he was._ At least who he had come to be in her eyes.

And of course, she was right, but she had not expected him to phrase it the way he did.

"What are you thinking about?" Burt asked, and Santana snorted a little out of pure surprise at how open that question was and how nice it felt.

It was practically the same question as the "what's the problem?" or "anything wrong?" she had been expecting, but it just felt nice with a somewhat different entry point.

_What am I thinking about?_

Somehow that question made her just blurt everything out without much consideration regarding the phrasing or her choice of words – instead, she just _spoke_.

"About tomorrow and school and talking to Finn", she started and watched Burt gently pull out a chair beside her and sit down. "About that I need to talk to him but I just _can't, _at least not without feeling like punching him in the face – again – and..."

She paused to breathe and could not even bring herself to regret telling Finn's stepdad that she had urges to punch Finn when she saw him. She noticed Burt raise his eyebrow a little but she could not feel bad about telling him about it at all.

Maybe she should, she realized, because maybe Burt would be mad at her and change his mind and not want her around Finn and then she would be all alone again, but she could not even complete that thought without thinking that it sounded _fucking ridiculous_.

Burt wanted her to be honest, she could tell. He had not said anything out loud, but the entire household had struck her with an almost overwhelming honesty, so she could assume, and she could adapt.

She was telling Burt the truth. And if the truth was that she wanted to punch Finn in the face, then so be it.

But before she could continue, Burt interrupted her.

"When I was at your parents' house yesterday", he started in a low voice and locked eyes with Santana. "I swear I've not fought so hard trying not to punch someone in the face since I found out that Karofsky kid threatened to kill Kurt."

Santana felt her jaw drop – not enough to make her mouth open, but she could still feel it drop.

It was so much at once. The unexpected sympathy for one of her admittedly more unsympathetic traits, the fact that he could actually _relate_ in some weird way, the mention of _Dave_ – because seriously, she probably needed to talk to him too, and on top of all that there was the fact that he had just brought up her parents and her parents' house and she felt both nauseous and relieved at the same time.

The way she could not seem to be feeling just one thing at a time these days unless it was when she was crying scared her. The clashes of feelings, the never pure and always confused and ambiguous, it was all bound to end up in chaos.

And even though she knew all this, felt all this and wondered when she would explode, she was still sitting at the table, looking Burt in the eyes with a dropped jaw but still so very, very functioning.

She could not answer properly at first, she just let a quick and shaky breath escape her mouth before she blinked simply to get back to her senses.

_Also, did he just say "threatened to kill Kurt"? Because that means two more awkward conversations I need to have. _

"Yeah, they tend to have that effect on people."

Burt gave her a wry smile and a grunting nod, and kept looking her in the eyes. The more she looked at him, the more similar did he seem Kurt, just older and bigger and with less hair and more intensely green eyes.

Santana realized that the fact that he was still looking at her without actually saying something was his way of trying to get her to keep talking.

"I know I need to talk to him but I just don't have the energy to make him understand what he's done and why I'm pissed at him", she said before she could really think more about it, and it surprised her at how accurate that statement really was. "So for now I just… I just can't, you know?"

She watched him nod slowly.

"And then there's the fact that the whole concept of 'tomorrow' creeps me out."

And there it was again, that things he had caught herself doing multiple times by now in the Hummel-Hudson house – being so completely honest and spilling the beans to people she had never really spoken to before.

She could not bring herself to feel the same need of hiding things that she had felt her entire life, or at least not to the same extent at all. All she knew was that she was tired and that there was probably no point in hiding anything right now.

Maybe it was just her lack of energy.

"Like, what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to tell them the truth now? I mean, even my friends… just… how do I casually slip in to a conversation that I got kicked out and moved in with Kurt Hummel and - guess what – Finn Hudson?"

"Look, Santana, listen. No matter what we do here, coming back to school aint gonna be easy. But if you wanna wait a day or two, I'll call that Ms. Pillsbury and make her sign any kind of paper – I've threatened with a flame-thrower before, you know."

Santana shook her head and pursed her lips.

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel, but I really can't see the point."

"It's Burt."

Santana smiled, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stood up, grabbed the laptop and nodded towards Burt.

"Yeah, I know. I'm gonna go upstairs. I'm... I need to call…"

And she did not say _Dave_ or _Karofsky_ because she knew that there was too much of a mess behind that to even begin to explain, so instead she said:

"… someone. Thanks, Burt. For… all of it, I mean."

She knew that the "someone" drowned in the "thank you", and even though she knew that there was no point in hiding things, she let it be because she needed to, for Dave and for Kurt and, maybe, for Burt himself. She needed to know what was missing in that story and who knew what before she said any more in the matter, or something was bound to go wrong.

_Because if both Kurt and Dave forgot to mention a death threat, then I bet my left boob that Burt doesn't know the whole story either._

She headed up the stairs with the laptop under her right arm and pushed the door open to Kurt's room without knocking. It turned out he was no longer on the phone but instead sprawled on his bed with his French books.

He looked up when she entered and smiled, but Santana held up a hand to stop him from saying anything and closed the door behind her before she spoke.

Even before she opened her mouth she knew that she was going to enjoy saying it, because her hand was in the air and she was only half a second away from having a sassy finger waving its way through the conversation and that never failed to make her simply feel _good_.

"Hummel, this is me quoting _another _Hummel: 'I've not fought so hard trying not to punch someone since I found out that Karofsky threatened to kill Kurt'. Or something like that, I can't guarantee the word order. And – no, don't, _I'm_ talking here – I can't help but think that you've kind of got some explaining to do."

Kurt gaped at her and Santana crossed her arms and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Honestly I'm just telling you this so you won't freak when I get Dave Karofsky on the phone in, say thirty seconds, to make him meet me up after school tomorrow and give me the whole fucking story, okay?"

She watched Kurt drop his pen and roll over.

"Fuck", he said. Santana smiled.

"Yeah, that's the spirit."

"Just… don't tell my dad about the… he doesn't know about…"

"Which was exactly my point. Jeez, you're slow today."

"It's Sunday", Kurt muttered and glared at her as if it was some kind of excuse, and Santana grinned because she knew, that in a way, it really was – the Sunday haze.

She sat down on the bed, got her phone up, got Dave's number up and pressed call.


	17. Beep

**A/N: So. That thing about me speeding up? Yeah, haven't done it yet. Do let me know what you think, because I'd appreciate some input and thoughts on parts you all would like to keep from post-Mash Off-canon in this fic. Because, well, I'm throwing out most of it.**

Santana watched Kurt while she listened to the slow, exact beeps that she knew would always last a little while when waiting for Dave Karofsky to pick up the phone.

She could not say that she knew exactly why, but Karofsky had never been one to answer his phone quickly. He always seemed to hesitate a little before he answered a call and always looked carefully at the name on the display before he pressed the button.

Maybe it was because he needed to put his guards up before he started talking to just anyone, making sure that he was not giving any secrets away by answering in the wrong tone or any other stupid _shit _that Santana knew Karofsky always worried about.

She could not blame him. She had always been worried, too.

But Santana watched Kurt during the beeps. He was sitting a little uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, nudging his feet awkwardly against each other and running his fingers through his hair.

Santana could tell that he wanted to tell her something and that he probably would as soon as Santana had hung up on Dave, and she could not say that she was surprised that Kurt seemed to have something to say in the matter.

The two of them did have quite a history, and even though Santana was pretty sure that with the possible exception of Blaine, she was the only person to know anything beyond the official version of that story, she knew that there was probably a lot she did not know about.

"Santana?"

Dave's voice was confused and, Santana realized, filled with a certain amount of disbelief. It was not completely unjustified, she supposed, since they had not really spoken since summer.

During their last conversation, Dave had been nervous about his transfer and becoming the new kid, and Santana had smirked and teased him about the power of karma probably waiting for him at his new school, making him pay for all the times he had been the one to do the life of a new kid miserable.

It was the most supportive she could manage to be, and Dave seemed to understand that and from what Santana gathered he might even have appreciated the gesture.

"The one and only", Santana answered. "Listen, Dave, we need to…"

"Did something happen?" he cut her off.

Sometimes, Santana was surprised at how perceptive he could be, because it really was a contrast to the not very smooth jock he always was otherwise.

The way he always took up so much space, roughed people up, never was at the right level with his aggressions (even though Santana knew that she _had_ managed to improve that matter quite a lot last year), were all things that seemed to be put on hold when he figured something like this out.

"I guess that's one way to put it, yeah", she said slowly and glanced at Kurt. He was looking at her with wide eyes and Santana knew exactly what Kurt was thinking.

_He's wondering whether I'm really gonna tell Dave what's happened on the phone._

She knew that Kurt was right, that the telephone probably was not the best medium to use when one had to tell an ex-beard that _yeah,_ _I had to tell my parents so they kicked me out and now I'm living with the kid you used to torment and I don't think I know the whole story about what went down with you two and I know for a fact that the kid's family doesn't and it's a little fucking awkward so maybe you could tell me what I'm missing and really I just thought that you should know that I've just been freaking disowned and I don't mean to scare you and tell you that coming out can go so very, very wrong, but it kind of can._

So she did not tell him over the phone, but instead said:

"We need to talk. Like, I need to tell you some things and we need to meet up tomorrow after school and go somewhere really fucking deserted and talk, okay?"

"Okay."

Santana could swear she heard fear in that tone.

"Four o'clock by the old football field. You know the one with the ridiculously broken fence that even kids don't bother hanging out at."

"Okay, sure, I…"

She heard him fall silent.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."

"Just… are you, like… safe, or whatever?"

Santana looked over at Kurt again, who was still sitting just as awkwardly on his bed, not taking his concerned eyes off of her.

"Yeah", Santana answered and took a deep breath. "I'm safe."

"Good. I mean, just… good."

"See you."

"Yeah. Bye."

She hung up and turned to Kurt again, who shifted a little uncomfortably On the bed, mouth already open to say whatever it was he had wanted to tell her ever since she brought Dave up in the first place.

Santana was not sure exactly what she was expecting Kurt to say, but it was not really close to what Kurt really said.

"I met him last week", he blurted.

Santana blinked.

"At Scandals", Kurt nervously hurried to continue and Santana blinked again before she burst out laughing.

It was not the uncontrolled giggling she had reserved for Britt and Britt only, nor the loud and complete roar of laughter that her brother had made her proven capable of, but it was still one of her favorite kinds of laughter.

It was not a loud laughter, it was more of the kind of laughter that was set more in the stomach than in the mouth.

It was the kind that Santana knew would make her stomach hurt if she kept at it for too long, and she generally did.

She was gasping for more air and could feel her abdomen start clenching a little before she had even managed to _look_ at Kurt again.

"Oh my God, tell me you're not fucking _serious_, Hummel", she said in between breaths and looked over at Kurt who looked like he was somewhere in the crossroad between slight amusement and the feeling of not to know what to do with himself.

"That bar", Santana said while trying to calm her breath down, "is the _lamest_ fucking bar in all of Ohio – or, you know, scratch that, it's the lamest fucking bar in all of Eastern America and that's _counting _that sad bar for seniors and elderly people on West North Street here in Lima, okay?"

Kurt smiled at that and Santana took the opportunity to sit down next to him on the bed.

"I know", Kurt said and nodded a little, before he scowled a little. "Wait, how would _you_ know?"

_Like I would have to have actually been there to know that it's the lamest place on Earth?_

"What, like I wouldn't have been to every bar in Allen County? Who do you think I am? Please. And don't go all sidetracking, Kurt! You're actually trying to say that you were out clubbing with _Dave Karofsky_?"

Kurt's head turned so quickly to Santana that she was almost surprised at how fast he could move.

"No", he snapped. " I _ran into him_ when I was at the bar with Blaine and… Sebastian."

"Sebastian?"

"He's just a… never mind. I just… Dave was sitting at the bar and started talking to me and…"

Kurt was talking quickly, almost rambling, and Santana interrupted him before he could continue.

"Wait, did he give you any trouble? 'Cause I…"

"No, no, that was the thing", Kurt quickly answered. "He was actually really nice, and he seemed… you know how _miserable_ he looked last year? Now, he was all… I think he was kind of close to being _happy_."

Santana swallowed hard, because she knew that she was the one to have broken whatever peace Dave had found, only moments ago with that phone call.

"Or, I mean, maybe not happy. But very much not miserable", Kurt continued. "We talked about baby steps."

Santana reached up to tug at her pony tail a little, before she realized that she was not even wearing her hair in a pony tail today.

If David Karofsky had come as far as talking about baby steps with Kurt Hummel, then it was a truly shitty thing that she had to go re-implant pure fear into that boy's brain tomorrow.

She needed to tell him the truth, not only for her own sake but for both of them. Dave was the first person she had ever really talked to about being a closeted, angry lesbian, and she was the first person Dave had ever even remotely opened up to about his sexuality.

Maybe except for Kurt, Santana realized as she reminded herself that she really did not know the entire story, even though she doubted that specifically was completely true.

She needed to tell Dave because somehow, they had been kind of honest with each other about this giant _thing_ that filled up so much scary space in their lives.

She had to tell him because somehow, their situations had been so alike even though they were different on so many accounts, and because _somehow_, they had ended up being these odd parts of the other one's life.

She needed to tell him not because she wanted to scare him any more than he was already scared, but because she knew that he would want her to just _tell him_ how much more fucked up that giant thing in her life had just become.


	18. Parking lot  Kurt

**POSSIBLE SPOLIERS SEASON 3 EPISODE 7**

**A/N: Okay so, this was an interesting writing session. This is a Kurt POV chapter, and it won't be the last one of that kind, if that's alright with you. For some reason, this was really intense to write, so I'm eager to know what you think. Do tell. **

The car ride to school was quiet, which was odd because the morning had been so very loud. Kurt had fussed over his outfit in a way that even he himself realized was a bit extreme, Finn had burned his toast which Kurt then had to fix for him (something he did reluctantly while muttering profanities at Finn the entire time), and Santana had proved to be something so far from a morning person that Kurt regretted setting an alarm off at all.

Kurt supposed that the reason Santana had not been acting like this the past two mornings, was that she had woken up by herself after having slept _long enough_, because the second the alarm on Kurt's phone had started beeping, Santana had gone into a bitch mode that was quite something, even for her.

She had been sulking at the kitchen table, stared at her breakfast and had managed to successfully avoid any eye contact. She had looked furious and no one in the house had dared trying to say anything to her.

When Kurt had been over by the toaster trying to save Finn's breakfast without ruining the toaster itself, the two brothers had exchanged meaning looks – Kurt's had been stern and determined, Finn's had been tired and resigned. They both knew what the other one meant and what they were not saying out loud with Santana in the room.

They had referred to the conversation they had had last night outside the laundry room when Kurt had caught Finn on his way to bed.

_In an odd and, admittedly, uncharacteristic rush of something Kurt himself would like to call "controlled fury", Kurt had almost pinned Finn to the wall with angry eyes and so much force that he knew that even Finn would realize that this was something extra and something he needed to listen very carefully to._

"_Dude, Kurt, what're you…"_

"_Tomorrow", Kurt had started and immediately backed off again to get some distance between them, already regretting his decision to physically pin his brother to the wall instead of just making Finn immobile by using words he knew his brother would not understand._

"_Look", Kurt had started over. "Santana is going to have a shit time for a while now and…"_

"_I know!" Finn had exclaimed, hands flinging up in the air to emphasize it. "I do, I really do, but I can't talk to her if she doesn't want to and…"_

_Kurt interrupted him with a raised hand of his own._

"_Just – if any of the teachers want to talk to you about the auditorium slap, then just… tell them that the two of you already talked about it, figured it out and that you don't want to hear about it ever again."_

"_But if Mr. Schue –"_

"_Just promise me, Finn. I know you're mad at her but just… The last thing that girl needs right now is to get suspended, okay?"_

_Finn had nodded and Kurt had stalked off to bed with heavy steps._

The quiet car ride really was a contrast to the noisy morning with Finn's stumbling steps, Burt's accidental slamming of the doors and Santana's groaning over her morning cup of coffee.

All three of them were in Kurt's car, and by some kind of silent agreement Finn had slid into the backseat instead of his usual place in the passenger seat in the front of the car, for which Kurt was grateful.

None of them really spoke, but Finn was the quietest one of them all and refrained to simply staring out the window in an obvious attempt not to be in the other two's way.

When Kurt glanced over at Santana when they stopped at a traffic light, he realized that she did not try to pretend that she was not bothered by Finn's presence, but that she did do her very best to ignore him.

Kurt was driving with tense shoulders and whitening knuckles around the wheel, and even though he could see Santana noticing it, she did not comment upon it, and Kurt hoped her morning mood had at least gone from full on bitch mode to regular Santana level, but he was not so sure quite yet.

As soon as they pulled into the McKinley parking lot and Kurt killed the engine, Finn fled the car without a word and the clicking noise of his seatbelt unfastening as the last trail of him before he shut the door.

Kurt knew that the fact that Santana kept looking straight forward really was just Santana not bothering to look after Finn as he jogged towards the school's main entrance.

And by some kind of other secret arrangement, Kurt and Santana did nothing to indicate that they should be going out of the car just yet. They still had twenty minutes before class, too, because Kurt had always been a time pessimist and hated being late.

The two of them were quiet for a while, absorbing the mood, the situation the day that somehow managed to feel so heavy on Kurt's shoulders without it really having gotten started yet.

Kurt turned over to look at Santana.

She was shaking. Kurt could swear that she was literally shaking.

Kurt tried to listen to the sound of her breathing, but he could not quite make the sound out and it took him half a second that there were no other sounds around for her breathing to drown in, and that Santana was not really breathing at all.

She was holding her breath and staring out through the window.

"Santana", Kurt said without really knowing what he was going to say or if he even had anything to say to begin with. He just wanted to break the spell that Santana seemed to have cast over herself, and make her breathe again.

Oddly enough, saying her name actually worked. Santana let out the air she had been keeping in with a shaky breath before she quickly gasped for more, fresh air.

Two breaths later she turned to look back at Kurt, and Kurt had no idea what to make of the look that Santana was giving him. He had never seen Santana like this, a Santana with pursed lips and trouble breathing.

It made Kurt feel a little sick, watching the girl that only days ago would have walked into the school with Brittany by her pinkie and the rest of the school silently looking up to her, adoring her, being absolutely terrified of her.

Santana used to remind Kurt of some kind of Roman dictator or Emperor, with the McKinley students slightly resembling the subdued people he imagined. The mixed adoration and fear that seemed to radiate from them whenever Santana walked down a corridor with her Cheerio's skirt dancing around her legs.

Once, earlier this year with Santana so clearly being the – using the words Kurt knew that Santana would have used – _top bitch_ at McKinley with her (admittedly shared) position as head Cheerio, he had been watching Santana enter the school and thought to himself that Santana coming to school was kind of like the Roman dictator or Emperor coming to a Gladiator arena.

Minus the fact that she was not there to watch someone get killed. And minus the fact that Santana had not the actual official power at the school. Actually, Kurt realized, the only likeness that he really intended to get across, was the fact that Santana could make a McKinley crowd go silent just by snapping her fingers at them, because they all knew that she could beat the crap out of them in so many ways without even trying very hard.

And now, the girl Kurt had always found scary, sometimes cruel but _always_ in control, had a trembling lower lip and a way of looking at Kurt as if she was looking for some kind of answer.

He had no idea what answer he could give her, because he had no idea what the question was. He was not completely sure that Santana knew, either.

"How do you do it?" was what Santana asked in the end.

Kurt frowned lightly when he answered her, not sure at all what she wanted him to answer, or what is was she was asking.

"How do I do what?"

She looked like she was considering the question again and like she was re-phrasing it, finding another way to put it, but Kurt could tell that it was hard for her. That she was too nervous to do it properly.

"How do you… how do you manage to walk around in that school without having a nervous breakdown when you know that they all hate you?"

Kurt knew that Santana did not mean it the way it came out, that she did not mean to say that everybody hated him, and he also knew that Santana knew that her question came out a little wrong.

"I didn't mean that, I don't… it's not that they..."

Kurt almost smiled at Santana's attempt at an excuse before she collected herself with a deep breath and suddenly looked more like her old self than she had in two days.

"You know what I mean", she finished and Kurt could tell that the little twitch her arms made was really Santana defying her impulse to cross her arms aggressively.

Kurt nodded, because he did know exactly what she meant. What she was asking was how he managed to walk around in that school without feeling like throwing up every time someone gave him a look of disdain, avoided looking at him at all or leaned into their group of friends to say something that was so obviously about him – how he managed to not just give up when he knew that so many of them actually did hate him. When he knew that he had an extended tiara collection to prove it.

"I manage because I keep my head held so high that no one can fucking _touch _me", Kurt heard himself say as he looked Santana in the eyes. "And you are going to do the very same thing, okay?"

Kurt was proud that all she did was give him a quick but firm nod before she unfastened her seatbelt and climbed out the car.

Kurt did the same thing, put his feet down on the asphalt, closed the door behind him and looked at the school building, then back to Santana on the other side of the car, and then back to the school again.

He knew that it was not going to be the same thing for her as it had been for him. He knew that he had never been popular, always too odd and theatrical, and that Santana had so much she was afraid of losing.

So much she had already lost that Kurt still managed to have left.

Kurt knew that he had never had much of a closet to begin with, or that it at least was so see-through and utterly transparent that there was not a single person that had been fooled by it even when he tried to hide in the very back of it.

Kurt also knew that Santana's closet had been the very opposite of his. That it had thick brick walls and enough space for two people.

Kurt knew that it was going to be so vastly different for her, that she would feel naked, exposed and vulnerable in ways that he only did during those terrible weeks before his transfer last year.

He knew that it was going to be different for her, but also that it would be practically the same, and that the shock of it would have been enough to crack almost anyone.

"They might not know yet", Kurt said quietly to Santana as they started walking.

"I know", she said. "But some of them do, and that's… let's just say it's enough to freak me out."

"You'll make it. I promise."

Kurt took one look at her resolute expression and realized that he had to loosen her up a little before she walked through those doors.

He smiled a little wryly as he leaned towards her and repeated her own words from last year in a low voice in something he himself would keep referring to as an _immaculate impersonation _of Santana.

"Teen gay", he almost whispered and saw Santana's face crack up in a small smile. "_You may now_ proceed to the next checkpoint without fear of violence."

Santana hit Kurt lightly on the shoulder before they stepped into the entrance hall of William McKinley High School together, as if it was the first time they ever did.


	19. Looks

**A/N: Wow, okay, that was way too long between updates. Sorry. But I was sick and had a lot at work, so I'm not blaming myself. Also, it took some time making a timeline and going through canon in order to make this AU work – not that any of that will be visible in this chapter, since it still is an incredibly slow fic. Sorry. Also, welcome to all the new readers who I keep getting alerts from! Please let me know what you think. Rants are welcome at all times.**

At first Santana could not tell whether the looks she got when she tried her best to follow Kurt's advice to walk with her head held high through the McKinley corridors, were looks that meant that they all knew, or if they were the same kind of looks she had gotten every day of high school.

She found it weird, that she could not without severe hesitation tell the difference between a look of hatred and a look of awe mixed with jealousy.

But it was hard, trying to figure out if the hatred in their eyes were the kind of hatred she had taught them – the kind that Sue Sylvester had taught her when she started the Cheerios, the kind that was an unhealthy but effective mixture of plain fear and respect – or if this was a new kind of hatred, a kind filled with disdain and disgust.

For the first couple of seconds when Santana marched side by side with Kurt down the hallway, her inability to read the at least not yet overwhelming student crowd almost freaked Santana out completely.

The only thing she managed to think about was exactly that; was there something more than fear and respect in those looks? Did they know yet? Was it disgust and hatred? Or worse – pity?

_That's a question that loosely translates into "do they know that I'm a dyke, or even worse, do they know that I'm a homeless dyke?"_, Santana thought to herself before she made herself stop that thought.

_I'm not homeless_, she reminded herself firmly, because even she knew that it would not be fair to say that. It would not be fair to Kurt, who let Santana sleep in a screeching but comfy tent bed by his feet, who let her occupy his room and made her hot chocolate. It would not be fair to Carole, who had actually hugged her. And it would not be fair to Burt, who had not hesitated half a second to take her in, or yell at her parents, and fetch her things and even her _pictures_.

It was not fair to say that she had not been offered a new home, because she had. She knew she had. But that thing in her head that had always meant _home_ to her, was ripped away and everything was just _so new_ and she was not sure how it was all supposed to fit into her life.

Santana's thoughts returned to the reality of the crowded hallway, and she realized that they did not know yet, because this was the old kind of stare. The kind that was not about knowing any secrets but about what it had always been about – hating her versus loving her – and Santana was relieved.

_Sort of._

What she felt at least _resembled_ relief, but it was not too convincing. The entire concept of the worst Monday morning of her entire life was still towering over her and Santana had to literally shake her head to snap out of that thought before her entire posture would be lost.

She glanced over at Kurt, and if she had not known him for so long, she would have thought that the superior look he was going for with a ridiculously straightened back and slightly tilted chin was his attempt at showing her what he meant by holding her head up high – his demonstration on how to pull it off.

But she _had_ known Kurt for a long time, and she knew that he had been walking down the hallways exactly like that for as long as she or anyone else at the school could remember.

Santana was not sure if it was that he was showing her how to defend herself, or if she saw Kurt's defenses clearly for the first time. But what really hit her, was how odd it felt to have him walk so very clearly by her side. Defenses up, yes, but by Santana's side.

The thought of it alone made her tilt her chin, too.

The two of them parted with a quick smile when Santana reached her locker and Brittany. Kurt marched on to stop a bit further down the other side of the corridor by his locker where Santana knew that Blaine would show up in a couple of minutes.

She would watch them absentmindedly in the mornings, sometimes, when she and Brittany would start to wonder off towards first period together. She would not think much about them before, but would merely register that they looked really happy together.

That Kurt had stopped looking so miserable.

Then she would walk on, her pinkie linked with Brittany's.

"Hey", Brittany said with a smile and made Santana return to the present day. Britt was leaning up against her locker, still looking a little sleepy, and Santana could not help but feel her heart pound a little harder at that, just as a reminder of how much she loved that girl leaning up against her locker with a drowsy expression.

"Hey", Santana answered and pulled Brittany into a tight hug. And then, with Brittany so close and so warm against her, Santana lowered her voice and whispered to her girlfriend. "I don't think they know yet."

"Who?" Brittany whispered back, confused.

"The school. I don't think they know about me. Or about what happened. Not yet."

Brittany nodded and softly pulled away so she could look at Santana.

"That's because you haven't been on TV yet", Brittany stated lightly and linked her pinkie with Santana's before Santana had even opened her locker.

It made Santana smile, and wide, this time. She refused to let go even as she opened the locker and got her books out. She kept their pinkies linked even though it was quite awkward to get everything out of the locker with just one hand.

But the feeling of safety that that pinkie provided was worth it. The promise that nothing bad was going to happen to her while she held on to that, was worth it. So Santana made sure to get everything out and stuffed into her bag with one hand, because today she really needed that reassurance.

The two of them walked to first period together, both in their cheerleading uniforms and with people constantly eyeing them – still decidedly jealous and not yet disgusted, not yet pitying, not yet hateful. So far, nothing gave away the fact that things had changed and than nothing would ever be quite the same ever again.

Everything was surprisingly normal until lunch when Santana was reminded just how much had changed since she set foot in school last time, before the weekend.

The one reminding her of that was Kurt, who met her outside her classroom, grabbed her arm and dragged her away through the corridor, in the exact opposite direction of the one Santana had intended to take.

"Kurt! Kurt, what're you… what is wrong with you? Kurt, what are you doing?" she exclaimed startled, but Kurt did not say a word and did not let go of her arm until they had turned the next corner and were alone.

"I'm taking you to Ms. Pillsbury's office to…"

Santana froze.

"Fuck no, Hummel. What makes you think I'm up for some kind of therapy with Ms. Pillsbury? I'm not gonna sit in that office with those glass walls and pour my heart out about how shitty my life has become if that's what you thi-"

Kurt interrupted her quickly with a raised hand and a calm tone.

"No, Santana, that's not what I was suggesting. At all. I'm taking you to Ms. Pillsbury to make her change the address and ICE numbers in your file and school documents."

"Oh."

"Listen, I have no idea how this kind of thing works. But I do know that we can't have them sending documents and information to your… to… to Lima Heights. And if something happens the school needs numbers to the people that are supposed to help you and be there for you, and… and that's us now. So we are going to get Ms. Pillsbury to fix that, okay?"

Santana was too stunned to really answer that, so instead she just nodded and demanded her legs to follow Kurt towards the office.

Santana had never been known to let others, so to speak, "do the talking", but the second they entered the office and Santana met Ms. Pillsbury's eyes on the other side of the desk, Santana decided that it was a golden opportunity to just shut the hell up and let Kurt do the talking.

She probably could not have said anything even if she tried. What was she supposed to say, anyway?

_Yeah, so, I came out to my parents so they kicked me out and now I'm living with Kurt here, and, uh, please don't call Social Services or something and please don't make me talk to anyone, just change my address. Or whatever._

Santana left it to Kurt instead.

Ms. Pillsbury looked so scared behind that desk. When Kurt had lightly knocked on the door they had seen her almost jump out of her seat where she seemed to be rearranging something neatly, before she had waved them in with something that Santana was unsure was best described as enthusiasm or panic.

"Ms. Pillsbury", Kurt said as soon as he had closed the door behind them and looked at Santana.

She supposed that her clenched jaw and uncertain flickering gaze did the trick and made Kurt realize that she was not going to be the one leading the conversation.

"We have come to inform you that there has been an altering in the living arrangements for Santana here."

Santana could swear that Ms. Pillsbury had never had wider eyes.

"Um… what do you… what do you mean?" she asked and her red locks danced a little around her neck.

"Santana is living at my house", Kurt hurried to say. "And we came to give you what I assume is required information – the new address, who to contact in case of emergency and so on."

Santana had to admit that she was impressed with Kurt, and that she had been multiple times just during the past three days. If it would have been up to Santana, she would have never even thought about informing the school.

And even if she would have, it would have been up to Santana it would probably have ended with an insulted Ms. Pillsbury, an angry Santana and an incoherent statement about not living in Lima Heights Adjacent anymore.

Kurt did it gracefully and with big words that seemed to enchant even Ms. Pillsbury, and he avoided actually telling her what exactly had happened so effectively that Santana had to admit that she could never have done it as good, and she had spent her entire high school career deflecting everything regarding her sexuality.

Kurt opened his messenger bag, took a paper out and placed it carefully on the desk in front of him.

"This should be all the necessary information. Well, thank you for your time. We have to get to lunch", he concluded and had almost turned around when Ms Pillsbury interrupted him.

"Is there… anything I should know about? What happened? Why are you living at Kurt's house, Santana?"

"Uhm… family issues, Ms. Pillsbury, but there is no need to be alarmed. The situation is very much under control", Kurt answered hastily and glanced over at Santana, who clenched her jaw even tighter.

"Listen, kids, if there is something that…"

"We appreciate your concern but with all the respect, Ms. Pillsbury, it's really not much you could do", Kurt continued and ignored the conflicted look Santana shot him.

_Why the fuck is he getting so defensive? It's just Ms. P._

"Well, if you're perfectly sure, then… but I have to say that you can talk to me at anytime, about… anything."

It was when she said "anything" and made a waving motion towards her shelf of pamphlets that Santana actually turned around to open the door behind them, because she felt a sudden wave of weariness flush over her.

"Absolutely, Ms. Pillsbury", Kurt said behind Santana and followed her out. "Have a good day."

Santana let Kurt close the door and took a few firm steps away from the office before she glanced over her shoulder to see if Kurt was with her.

"What was that?" Santana asked in a low voice, although not exactly whispering. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but that was… you didn't tell her anything about what happened…"

"I'm not going to out you to anyone, Santana", Kurt said sincerely and looked her in the eyes. "Not even someone as harmless as Ms. Pillsbury. And…"

He hesitated, which made Santana feel nervous.

"What?" she demanded.

"I'm also pretty sure that kicking a minor out is illegal, and even though it's all up to you, I think it would be… let's say, beneficial, if we kept Social Services out of it. I'm not saying that you can't if you want to, Santana, that's your call, I just… I just thought it might be better if… I didn't mean to make a decision for you or…"

"Kurt, stop it", Santana said, almost breathless realizing just how much Kurt had thought about that Santana had not even considered for a second. "I don't… I don't want Social Services messing up this any further… I mean, I… I'm good where I am, I…"

She fell quiet, sighed and closed her eyes.

"I don't… just, thank you, Kurt."


	20. Pang

**A/N: No more canon spoilers than the last chapter. Still going slow here. I know you love me. Or, I mean, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think.**

Perhaps things could have gone back to being almost normal and developed into an almost normal day if they had not run into Quinn Fabray about ten seconds after they left Ms. Pillsbury's office.

When Quinn spotted the odd pair that was Kurt and Santana it did not take Quinn half a second to react and run towards Santana with her books clutched to her chest, and, Santana mentally added, freakishly wholesome/possibly Amish skirt fluttering behind her.

Santana felt a pang of something in her chest as she noticed the upset and obvious worry in Quinn's eyes. A pang of something that she could vaguely diagnose as some kind of really weird mix of longing, shame and maybe even nostalgia.

_Fuck, I miss them_.

As much as she did not want to admit it, she missed them. She missed the extra family that New Directions had been for her for so long, even though it had been dysfunctional to the bone and a constant source of irritation and madness.

It was ironic, really. On so many levels, she realized, as the moment when Mr. Schuester had actually kicked her out of that family replayed quickly in Santana's mind.

It was ironic how she had been kicked out of that family once, too, even though she could not really bring herself to hold too much of a grudge against them for that.

It was ironic how she had come back to that family, then left it voluntarily and then gotten herself kicked out of the _other_ family – the one she had always thought would stand by her, being all loud and screaming in Spanish and laughing with affectionate, hoarse laughter in the background of her life.

Because family was family and family was not supposed to leave.

It was ironic how she had at first refused to acknowledge the fact that the New Directions were a family after Nationals last year, when Brittany had talked about it when they were at the lockers.

It was ironic how she had never really felt the New Directions being a proper family as strongly as now when she had lost both them and the one she had always considered the real, _actual _family.

Santana almost felt sick.

"Santana", Quinn breathed and Santana could swear it looked like the unbreakable _Quinn Fabray_ was tearing up.

Santana could count the times she had seen Quinn cry on the fingers on one of her hands, and they had known each other since middle school.

"Santana, are you… are you okay? I don't know what to say", Quinn continued and shifted her weight slightly, put her books under her right arm and reached out with her left to touch Santana.

Almost as if to check that she was actually there and actually okay.

But before her fingertips reached Santana's upper arm, Santana tilted her head in shock and looked at Quinn with wide, startled eyes, and Quinn just kind of froze.

"Wait, you _know_? Oh my God", Santana said in one breath and turned to look at Kurt in panic. "Holy fucking _shit_, they know, the school knows, Kurt, _everyone knows_, what do I…"

"Santana", Quinn quickly tried to interject, "No, Santana, listen, they don't… I don't think the school knows, everyone doesn't know, I just…"

It was odd how Santana could stop hyperventilating before she really had begun, but she could still feel the panic stop quickly with a somewhat violent jerk in her chest.

"They don't?"

"No, it's just me, and I didn't tell anyone, I swear, I just… I just needed to know that you were okay, I would have called you yesterday but my phone was, it was, God, I just…"

"Quinn, how do you know? Who told you?" Kurt cut in and Santana quickly turned to look at him. He had no idea what was going on either, that much was for sure.

"My mom", Quinn almost reeled and let her eyes dart between Kurt and Santana as if she was not sure who she was supposed to look at, "I, she…"

Quinn shook her head a little and settled on looking straight at Santana before she continued.

"Apparently she, um, apparently your mom called her yesterday and told her and…"

"Oh fuck", Santana said and tried to keep from exploding by letting out a frustrated groan. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

She was in school. Next to the guidance counselor's office. She was not supposed to swear, but she could not really help herself at the moments.

"_Fuck_", she said once more as if to just get it out of her system and raised her hands to press a little at her temples. It was her version of pulling her hair. "What did she say?"

"I think my mom might have given me a… I don't know, abbreviated version?" Quinn said hesitantly. "She told me late last night, and it was kind of… I was freaking out. But I think I got the picture… Santana, where are you staying?"

It was surreal. Santana knew that Quinn's parents and her own had talked quite a lot before, but it had always been an odd relationship.

Quinn's father, she remembered, had seemed to be kind of uncomfortable with all of them, and Santana had always supposed that it was the entire loudmouth-Latino-madness that was what he was internally opposed.

He had, however, seemed to ease up a little when her father had told Russel Fabray that he was a doctor. Quinn's mother, though, had not been as uncomfortable with Santana's mother as her husband had been at first.

Santana always thought that it was the extreme Christian vibe that brought them together. In spite of their quite big differences, they still had a lot in common. The silver crosses in their necklaces, for one.

The thought of her mother calling up Judy Fabray to tell her how they had decided to disown Santana was not alien at all.

They even had _that_ in common. They did throw Quinn out, too. Maybe it had been some kind of weird, extremist Christian bonding moment. Santana was not sure if she should feel even more sick at that or if she had already reached a point where that would be redundant.

Quinn's mother had taken Quinn back, though.

Santana knew that something like that was never going to occur in Lima Heights. She was out, and she was out for good.

Being herself was not some kind of mistake she could correct.

Santana swallowed hard before she blinked and answered Quinn.

"I'm staying at Kurt's."

Quinn's eyes flickered over to Kurt for a second in surprise before they wondered back to Santana.

"Oh", Quinn breathed, and Santana knew that Quinn was well aware of what a lame response an _oh_ was.

Santana wanted to feel the urge to comment upon it, to fold her arms, tilt her head, narrow her eyes and dryly state something about how incredibly fucking lame that _oh_ was, but she did really not feel that urge.

She was too tired, her heart was too clenched up about it all, she was too tense to crack any type of joke and it was all too real.

And besides, Quinn really did seem sincere. Santana was not about to yell at her, and looked into her eyes instead, and knew that what Quinn saw when she looked back at her was a genuinely sad and exhausted Santana, which was not something she had ever seen before.

Quinn breathed and took half a step forward, and Santana almost forgot if they were supposed to be friends or enemies at the moment, because their friendship had really been somewhat of a bumpy ride and had tossed and turned more than any of them would have preferred.

Instead of thinking about their rocky history, Santana just thought about the two of them, right then and there, and the fact that Quinn actually seemed to really, really care.

"Listen", Quinn started. "I don't know if you want to talk about it, but if you do, I'm here. I'm not saying that I'm the best or most stable rock around here, but we've known each other for a long time. I've known Brittany for a long time, too, and I… I've seen how you two work, you know? And I don't know exactly what happened at your house with your parents, or why it happened _now_, but if you need to talk or something, I'm here, okay?"

And Santana nodded before she opened her mouth and blurted out the most disconnected statement she had even thought today.

"There's this commercial", was what she said, much to both Quinn's and Kurt's surprise, "that's gonna out me."

And instead of frowning and looking at Santana like she just said something that did not really make sense to the uninitiated, Quinn just nodded and looked thoughtful.

The three of them were quiet for a while, until Kurt tugged at Santana's hand and smiled with something Santana had a hard time deciphering but that almost resembled _caution_.

"We've missed half of our lunch break", he said, which made Santana frown. She had not even thought about it all happening during lunch, and that was saying something because officially being on the Cheerio's absurd diet or not, Santana could always eat more.

It was odd how high metabolism she seemed to have, really.

"We should get going if we don't want to faint during next period", Kurt continued, and even though Santana nodded towards him and started walking towards the dining hall with him and Quinn, Santana had an odd feeling in her stomach.

_I'm not hungry_, she thought to herself and blinked slowly and realized how rare that thought was for her.

"I texted Blaine", Kurt suddenly turned around and told Santana. "I got him to catch Brittany and save us a seat by their table."

Santana looked at him with wide eyes, because _that doesn't even make sense. Are Blaine and Britt even friends?_

Kurt must have noticed her puzzled expression on her face, because he instantly blinked a little, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and then finally said in a low voice:

"I… I hope it's okay, but I filled him in on everything yesterday. I know I should have asked, but I… please don't be mad, I just needed to let him know why I was…"

"No, no", Santana interrupted him, "it's not that, that's fine, Kurt."

Kurt let out a breath and nodded at her again.

"Come on", he said. "I somehow imagine Blaine starting to get kind of lost by now, I think he might need us to some to the rescue. I don't know why, but Brittany insists on bringing up _dolphins_ whenever she talks to us. it's driving him crazy!"


	21. Lunch

**A/N: That took me way too long. But I come bearing good news! I finally got myself a beta. So even though this chapter is more some kind of… filling, at least you can enjoy the fact that you don't have to endure my awkward sentences and general mistakes. We all owe xxxraquelita for that one.**

Sharing a lunch table with Brittany, Quinn, Kurt and Blaine was weird. Usually, at least since they joined the Troubletones, Santana and Brittany would take a seat by some of the other Cheerios, or sometimes next to Mercedes, or sometimes by themselves – which would have looked kind of uncool if they had not been the two most popular girls in school.

But this; sitting next to Brittany and opposite Kurt and Blaine and with Quinn on the short side, was something that felt way too natural to not be odd, and Santana reckoned there was a multitude of reasons for that.

First of all, there was the Glee club thing. It felt a lot like being back with New Directions, back in the midst of that somehow beautiful chaos, and it made Santana's heart tug uncomfortably. It was not so much that she could say that she wanted back in, but more that she could say she did miss them.

Second of all there was a distinct feeling of a double date going on – or at least there was when Santana glanced over at Brittany, and Quinn disappeared out of her visual field.

What she then saw was a giggling Brittany talking enthusiastically with the two smiling boys in front of them, and when she felt Brittany fumble for Santana's hand under the table before she got a hold of it and squeezed, it kind of hit her. This looked a whole lot like those ridiculous double dates you would see in movies.

Santana was not sure what she felt about that, more than a slight stroke of amusement.

Thirdly, there was Quinn. Sitting at the short end of the table with a crammed-in extra chair, dressed in those clothes that Santana still would find herself wishing could be changed back into a cheerleading uniform, because it would be kind of nice to have Quinn back on the squad with them.

For old times' sake, at least. For the sake of _habit_. For the sake of the three of them being kind of a team, even when they had hated each other.

Fourthly, there was the election, to which Santana had not given a single thought until she saw Blaine look through his bag quickly and a few pink flyers with Kurt's name and picture on them almost fell out of it.

Santana suddenly realized that she had not remembered to wear the pin she always wore in order to make it more than ridiculously obvious which candidate she was supporting.

It kind of made her feel like a bad girlfriend for a few seconds before she reminded herself that after everything she had been through the last few days, a little pin was not the end of the world or of anything.

And, fifthly, there was the fact that for the first time in her life, Santana was sitting at a table of friends where all of them actually _knew_ about her. Where all of them actually _knew_ that secret she had been hiding for as long as she could remember. That secret that she had been hiding away so _hard_ that sometimes it felt like the hiding was a permanent part of her personality.

It was not only that, either. Not only did they know her secret, but they all actually knew what had happened because of it, too, and it struck Santana that apart from Finn, these were the only people in school that actually did.

_Yet_, she mentally added and tensed a little at the reminder.

So, lunch was not awkward, but it was weird. It was weird and odd and new and kind of old and normal and just like it used to be, all at the same time – a mixture of emotions that would have made Santana confused a couple of days ago but that did not even make her blink at the moment.

For the most part, Santana was just happy that she was actually sitting at a table filled with people that did not try to make her talk that much, that did not expect her to behave as she normally did.

She knew that if she had chosen to sit at a table full of Cheerios, it would have been a different story. They would have pried sarcastic banter out of her just by looking at her.

Sometimes Santana would entertain the thought that the girls in those uniforms, the girls that did not always seem to understand much of the world, had all been secretly trained (probably by Sue Sylvester herself) to _smell_ when something was a little off in the social dynamic and hierarchy of McKinley.

She almost shuddered at the thought of having to pretend that she was okay with all of them, because she was not sure that she could.

She knew that she would have too, since they had Cheerios' practice after school, but she preferred not to think about it.

So instead, Santana ate her lunch quickly with the others, squeezing Brittany's hand once in a while and trying not to get overwhelmed by the fact that she was in fucking _school_, and that everyone would find out about her, about _them_, soon.

Even though they ate as fast as they could, they still had to rush to class in order not to be late. Santana was happy that she had history with Kurt, because she had not really been paying attention and it was not until they were halfway through the corridor that she realized she had no idea where she was going.

Kurt had noticed her suddenly slow steps, instead of her normal rushed semi-jog, and turned around to smile at her. He told her, before she even had the chance to explain what the issue was, that she had history with him and that they had to hurry.

Santana was not really used to just following people like that. She was not used to not being in command. She shook her head.

_Get a grip, Santana. It's just getting to a history lesson, not taking orders._

And even though history was about as boring as it got, it really was not all that bad. Santana enjoyed feeling invisible for a while as she sat in the back of the classroom and pretended to listen to the teacher.

All in all, her classes were not too bad that afternoon, but when the clock struck three Santana felt her stomach twist a little. She sighed and got up from her seat and headed for practice.

Practice ended up being odd, too. Physically, it was no different or worse than any other practice ever held by one Sue Sylvester, but everything still felt turned upside down and inside out and just plain weird.

Considering the fact that the only things that had actually changed since last practice were the ones that only Santana, Brittany and Coach Sylvester knew about, Santana supposed that the change she could feel was one she created herself.

Or, sort of created herself.

She supposed the change was in Coach Sylvester's eyes when she looked at Santana – not giving anything away, of course, and not really pitying, either, but still decisively different none the same.

Santana supposed that the change might be in her own eyes, too. In her own mind. Because when she glanced at the other girls on the squad that day, what she saw was not immaculate ponytails, polyester and working muscles that she had seen every other time she had been at practice during her high school life.

Instead she saw the way she knew those girls would look at her in just a few days, or how much time it might be that she had left until everybody knew.

She saw the frowns and the averted gazes and the whispers behind her back that she knew would be there, perhaps just in time for their next practice.

Santana briefly wondered what exactly those conversations and confrontations would look like. What they would feel like.

She briefly wondered how she would react.

If there was any way she could do it gracefully.

If she would still have the presence of mind to say anything at all.

She wondered if there was any way she could win this.

The irony was, Santana realized as she pulled her clothes on in the locker room after practice, standing next to Brittany, that this thing and alternative, _coming out_, which was supposed to be the answer when she was tired of fighting with herself and the world, had turned into something that felt an awful lot like declaring a war with the entire world anyway.

She let Brittany drive her home – a word that Santana tried really hard not to find awkward or inappropriate for the place they were heading – and tried to not sound too strained when she reminded Brittany to take a right and not drive all the way to Lima Heights.

Brittany had looked over at her sincerely and nodded before she had quietly added that she it was not like she had forgotten everything that had happened.

Santana felt bad, because making Brittany feel like Santana thought that she was even just a little stupid was not what she had meant at all.

"I'm sorry", Santana hurried to say as they pulled up in the driveway, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean you had forgotten or that you… I just… I hardly have everything figured out myself, you know?"

But Brittany just reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"Yeah", Brittany said. "I know."

They sat there quietly for a while, just breathing, before Santana opened her mouth to talk again.

"You know, the election's tomorrow", she said.

Brittany nodded with a smile before it faded quickly and she turned to Santana.

"You're voting for me, right? I mean, even though you live with Kurt now? It's okay if you don't want to but…"

Santana hushed her with a giggle.

"Of course I'm voting for you, Britt, don't be silly. You're my girlfriend. Besides, it might come in quite handy to have you control the masses this year."


	22. Field

**A/N: Back to closer updates. My beta xxxraquelita is making me a very, very happy fanfic write right now. We all owe her big time by now. I do hope you enjoy this chapter – I've been longing for writing it and finally got to do it. Let me know what you think.**

Santana had not gotten further than simply reaching for the car door when it hit her.

"Crap," she groaned and rubbed her eyes instinctively. "Just, crap."

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked with a frown, but Santana had her phone up by her ear before she could really answer her girlfriend.

With the phone pressed up against her ear, she let out another groan and tried to sum it all up in order to quickly explain to Brittany before the beeping would stop and there would be a voice at the other end of the line instead.

"I was supposed to meet someone," Santana started and glanced at the digital clock on the instrument panel of the car. It said 16:31, and Santana let out yet another groan. "I was supposed to meet someone half an hour ago by the old –"

That was as far as she got before the beeping was abruptly interrupted and a familiar voice was there instead.

"What the fuck, Lopez? Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to meet me here half an hour ago, Santana!"

Santana breathed in deeply and shut her eyes.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," she said without opening her eyes, "I had practice, and I… just believe me when I say that I'm a little off my game, Dave, and I lost track of everything and, just…"

Santana could hear David Karofsky huff in frustration.

"What's going on, Santana? Could you please just tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"I will," Santana cut him off. "I will tell you, that's why we need to talk anyway. Just… give me five minutes?"

"This is so messed up," Dave muttered in a low voice. Santana sighed again and opened her eyes.

"No shit, genius," she snapped back before she could stop herself.

There would have been more where that came from if Brittany had not given her a stern look and whispered a firm "be nice, Santana" before Santana opened her mouth again.

"Just, five minutes," she repeated before Dave could really object to Santana starting to get a little rude.

He did not say anything for a long second.

"Whatever," he finally stated and hung up quickly. Santana knew what he meant by that, though. She could hear he was more worried than he was pissed about her being late.

She had heard him sighing more in frustration because she had not yet explained what was going on, rather than sighing in frustration because she had left him alone for half an hour on a crappy football field waiting for her in November.

So instead of getting annoyed at Dave for behaving like a jerk, Santana turned to Brittany, who was looking at her with slight confusion.

"I'm gonna tell Karofsky what happened," Santana said and bit her lip, because she knew how Brittany had felt about Santana dating him last year.

Brittany could not really stand him, and it was not that Santana could not understand why, because she did.

Karofsky had pushed the practically unbreakable, untouchable and proud Kurt Hummel so far that he actually almost broke.

Karofsky had been an ass to all of them. Even Santana had gotten slushied by him, and that was kind of saying something.

Karofsky had been a repellent, violent nemesis to the entire glee club, and Santana knew that for Brittany, that was what she still saw.

It was not that Santana had forgiven him, either, nor forgotten any of it. But she understood him, on some level. She understood the anger and the fury and the absolute rage that he must have felt, and she knew that he did not really want to be that anymore.

"Oh," was what Brittany answered. "Why?"

"Because he's my ex-beard and if this isn't the kind of things ex-beards are supposed to tell each other, I don't know what is," Santana answered without blinking.

She was almost surprised to hear herself say it, because it seemed to be the longest and most coherent sentence she had managed to compose so far that day.

Brittany nodded and gave Santana a tiny smile before she absentmindedly reached over and brushed her fingertips against the back of Santana's hand.

"So where is it I'm supposed to drive you?" Brittany asked.

"The old football field," Santana breathed. "You know, the one by…"

"Yeah, I know," Brittany stated happily and turned the key to start the ignition.

Santana had always considered the old football field by the equally old and abandoned playground seriously underrated. To her it was incomprehensible why all the cool kids and the burnouts did not use it as their primary hang-out, because it sure beat those disgusting bleachers by the school.

But then again, Santana got her standards from Lima Heights when it came to badass things. She could not really expect the offspring of the frustratingly lame Lima middle class to understand the dynamics of cool places to be in the same way she did.

However, it still surprised her that it was so deserted every time she got there. This time was not an exception, even though one burly figure was leaning up against an old, rusty metal pipe that was, supposedly, once part of some kind of a fence.

Santana had kissed Brittany goodbye in the car and even managed to whisper something about how grateful she was that Brittany had somehow made sure that day at school had not been a complete train wreck like Santana had imagined it would be.

Brittany had kissed her back softly, and even after the kiss had ended they stayed like that for a couple of seconds. Their eyes still closed and their faces still so close to each other, their breaths oddly synced.

Santana had told Brittany that she did not need a ride back, because it really was not that far. It was a five minute drive and a fifteen minute walk. She would manage. She had promised to call Brittany later, and Brittany had nodded and let Santana step out of the car and waved goodbye through the windows.

It really was not that hard to spot Dave in a deserted football field, so Santana started walking toward him, and tried to do it calmly and casually and not as shaky and nervously as she knew it could easily look like.

She quickly texted Kurt as she tried to steady her steps, because she did realize that she had just pulled up in his driveway to immediately drive away again without explanation.

Lost track of time. Went to talk to Dave. I'll get back later.

By the time she hit send she really was not far from Dave, and by the time she had tucked her phone into her pocket and started scratching her right eyebrow a little, she was right there.

She put her hands in her pockets.

"So, what's a misplaced ogre like you doing so far from home?"

Santana wanted to slap herself for that being the best she could do at that moment.

"Cut the crap," Dave shot back and met Santana's gaze. "What happened?"

And it was so blunt and desperate and honest that Santana's shoulders immediately slumped back and her face fell a little.

"My parents kicked me out."

Her voice was quivering but did not break, and Santana realized that it matched the expression in Dave's eyes perfectly. They flickered with something dark at the news, but he still held her gaze steadily.

She could hear him breathing. It was shaky, too.

"I knew it," he mumbled when Santana finally decided to turn away slightly, to break their eye contact. Any more of it and she would start sobbing, and she did not really feel like it. "I fucking knew it when you called, I knew it. Fucking hell, this is so messed up, I don't even…"

And then, softly and out of the blue:

"I'm really sorry that happened, Santana."

Santana was not sure if she was supposed to take her hands out of her pockets. She was not fooling anyone. There was no way to feel like she did and look casual at the same time.

There was no point in pretending anymore.

"Yeah," was the most elaborate answer she could come up with.

"How did they find out?" he asked quietly.

"I told them," Santana answered and heard her voice quiver again.

Dave's face twisted a little, and Santana knew that it did not make any sense to him, because they had talked about this. They had talked about this before, about why exactly it was that they could not exactly come out at home.

Dave knew about the tacky statues of the Virgin Mary that Santana's mother kept all around the house. They used to make Santana feel sick because they were this constant reminder of the fact that her parents were never going to accept her.

"You… you told them?"

"I had to. Otherwise they would have found out on television in a couple of days, anyway."

His face twisted again.

"What're you talking about?"

"Finn kind of outed me in the hallway," she said and was surprised at how quiet it came out and how simple her mind was making it for the moment, "and since my life seems to have become some kind of really screwed up soap opera, the next thing I knew some dickhead that's running for Congress made this campaign video that'll out me to the entire state. I guess he was trying to prove that Sue Sylvester wasn't all family values, or something."

Dave stared at her, and Santana could swear that he stopped breathing, because she had been listening to the slightly hissing, shaky breaths he had been taking just before.

She understood his shock. She really did.

She seized the opportunity and took her hands out of her pockets, no longer pretending to look like she was relaxed. She was about as tense as she could be.

Dave did not say anything for a good while. He did, however, make small, gasping sounds. Santana had no idea what to make of those.

She wanted to just break down and cry again like she had done when Brittany came over that weekend. She wanted to sob herself absolutely senseless, but there was nothing there for her to latch onto, so she did her best to restrain from giving into that urge.

When Dave had regained some of his breath, the first thing he did was throw a question at Santana that was so rushed and so unprepared that she almost had trouble hearing what he was asking, because the intonation was all messed up.

He still sounded like he was almost choking.

"Where're you staying?"

Santana wanted to smirk. She desperately wanted to smirk, but her mouth would not bend in the slightest, until she just gave in and answered him instead.

"Yeah, here's the kicker. I'm living at Kurt Hummel's house. Which, incidentally, is Finn Hudson's house, too."

Watching Dave react to that statement was a lot like watching an already feeble balloon lose the last bit of air and completely deflate.

The two of them ended up sitting on the old, screeching swing set next to the football field.

Dave hardly fit into his swing, but being seated a little uncomfortably with those chains pressing against his sides seemed to be the problem that worried him the least right then.

They had been both talking and not talking for a while. Periods of rapid explanation were quickly followed by periods of intense silence. Everything was accompanied by the squeaking sounds from the swings that reminded Santana way too much about the sound that came from her tent bed in Kurt's room.

"So, they just kicked you out? Just like that?" Dave asked, maybe just to make sure that he had not gotten it all wrong the first time she told him.

"Yeah."

"And now you're living at Kurt's and Finn's?"

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a while, until Santana decided that it was time to lead the conversation on to the other subject she wanted to talk to him about.

"Kurt's good at keeping secrets, too, you know," she said, not completely sure that was a wise way of putting it.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that he hasn't told anyone about you, Dave," Santana sighed. "Not even his own family, you know."

Dave did not really answer but huffed slightly.

"I was talking to Mr. Hummel yesterday," Santana continued, "and all he seemed to know about was some death threat."

She glanced over at Dave who had suddenly stopped swinging and was looking in another direction demonstratively.

"You never told me about a death threat," she said, and let the venom she felt pulsating through her at that thought slip through and mark those last words.

"And Lord knows I'm not trying to pry or anything," she continued sardonically, "but I feel like I fucking deserve to have someone tell me the damn truth about what the fuck went down last year, because I'm getting way too involved anyway."

Dave sighed and kept quiet for a few seconds before he turned to Santana, took a deep breath, and started to tell her the entire story.


	23. Swing

**A/N: xxxraquelita saved the day as my beta, as always. This chapter is short, but enjoy it nevertheless! Let me know what you think and then let's try and get through this hiatus together, shall we?**

Santana had always figured that Kurt Hummel had a lot of secrets. Somehow, it showed. Not that he would ever spill them, or try to let on that he had them at all, but Santana had always known that he had them.

Maybe it was the fact that she herself had spent her entire life keeping a secret that was destined to blow up in her face, or maybe she really was just an attentive person that noticed things like that.

She saw it in the way he walked and in the way he would tense up a little more every day, how he would cling to the strap of his bag when he walked down the corridors, and how he would clench his jaw and spit out that _he was fine_ whenever it was obvious that he was not.

He was not even a good liar, because Santana had seen him try and it had not been pretty. Kurt's face would twist a little whenever he was forced to properly lie and sometimes he even had a nervous laughter that almost had Santana face palming.

But that was just the thing, she realized.

_He's shit at lying so he just shuts up about the truth instead._

So, she had always figured that Kurt had a lot of secrets, but she was not even halfway through listening to David Karofsky give her the a little less censored version of what went down last year, when her head started spinning.

Because somewhere between wanting to push Dave off the swing to make him tell her that what he was saying was _not fucking true,_ and wanting to slap herself for not seeing it all happen back then, all Santana could think about was the fact that the size of Kurt Hummel's secrets was a bit overwhelming to think about.

Santana was staring into the air and thinking while listening to Dave tell her about how Kurt had confronted him in the locker room. How even Dave had been so certain that he was going to freak out and punch Kurt _so bad_ but instead of feeling the impact of his knuckles against Kurt's jaw, something in him had just snapped and suddenly he was kissing him instead.

Dave told her how mad he had been, how he had never felt anger pulsate through his veins like they did that time in the locker room. How Kurt had been pressing so many of his buttons without even realizing it.

Santana wondered what the fuck she had been thinking when she thought she knew what had happened between Kurt and Karofsky. She wondered what exactly it had been she imagined had happened, because now that she _knew_, now that Dave was telling her about everything from the locker slams to the incredibly creepy incident with the stolen cake topper, it seemed like she had not known _a thing_ to begin with.

Of course she _knew_ what she had been thinking, she just had a hard time grasping how far away from and still so close to the truth she had actually been.

All she had done was fill in the blanks. Now, she felt a little sick when she thought about how she said "Besides, I know about you and Kurt" when she asked Dave to meet her up that first time.

She had known that_ something_ had happened between them because that much was obvious. However, she had thought that it was something more along the lines of Kurt knowing about Dave's sexuality, and a frustrated, confused and really pissed Dave pushing Kurt around because of it.

"I'm not even sure why I kissed him," Dave rambled with desperate eyes that Santana could not make herself meet. "I'm not sure if I just wanted him – _anyone_ – to just see behind that _fucking_ façade, or if I blanked out and just went for it because he was so _close_, or if I… I really, really, liked him, you know."

The fact that Dave hesitated over using the past tense made Santana's body jerk up a little, and she turned to look at him even though she did not really want to.

"They say sexual violence is a crime of power, not a crime of passion, dickhead." Whatever part of her brain was still functioning managed to spit that out.

Dave just looked confused and Santana curled her hands into fists – not because she was going to use them, but because she kind of wanted to.

"I can't believe you did that to him," she continued and could hear her words go heavy with fatigue instead of edge. Everything was getting way too much. "You torment a kid for years and just to top it off you go and sexually harass him."

"I didn't mean to kiss him!" Dave blurted out, and Santana could tell that he was getting angry instead of just defeated like he had been just before. "It just _happened!_ I panicked, I just… I've told him I'm sorry."

"Even if I exclude the kiss, you just told me that you used to stare at him during lunch and that you once snuck up on him and made him give you the cake topper he was using for his dad's wedding by, what, creeping in his personal space?"

Dave had not really been that specific, and a lot more cryptic, but even though Santana had recently been proven to have a bad track record with filling in the blanks when it came to David Karofsky, she had done her best.

She knew it was closer to the truth this time.

"I told him I was sorry," Dave repeated quietly with enough defeat back in his voice that Santana knew that at least, she had gotten her point across.

They sat quiet for a while, tried not to look at each other and breathed heavily.

"He's better than both of us, you know," Santana finally said and looked up at Dave again.

Because even though Santana knew that Kurt would never let her get away with saying that he was better than them, it was true at least to her. Kurt did what she and most other people were too cowardly to do. Kurt was proud and strong and everything both Santana and Dave had always wanted to be.

She knew that Kurt would have protested and given a long speech about how coming out when you yourself were ready for it was not cowardly, but actually advisable.

She could picture his wide eyes as he preached about it, and she also knew that even though both she and Dave could see that Kurt might be right objectively speaking, they were never going to fully believe it.

Dave looked back at her, and even though he was not straight up smiling, it was close.

"Yeah," he said and closed his eyes in a long blink. "Yeah, he is."

Instead of sitting quiet again, Santana suddenly leaned backwards on her swing and stared into the sky for half a second before she pushed forward and started swinging.

When she was a kid she had always made the other kids at the playground jealous because she could swing much higher than them. She still had it in her.

From the corner of her eye she could see Dave staring at her. It was not that he was jealous of her skills on the swing, but he looked at least amused.

"Santana, what're you…"

"The world sucks," she shouted at him when she was as high up in the air as she could be, lunging forward as much as she could.

"Yeah, well, tell me about it," she heard him mutter under the whooshing noises of the wind in her ears.

"You're not," she started and pushed forward again, stretched her legs and moved her centre of gravity even further backwards and let the swing fall backwards again before she continued, "a bad person, you know. Not really."

Santana could hear Dave huff a little from his spot at the ground.

"Please," she said dryly before she turned sincere again, "I know you've changed a lot."

"You're the one that started it, you know," he said, and the suddenly heartfelt tone made Santana slow the swing down a bit to turn to look at Dave.

"What?" she inquired.

"You started it. I mean, about… about me changing? You're the one that started it. When you made me watch those 'It gets better' videos and…"

Santana burst out laughing.

"I always thought threatening to out you and make you watch 'It gets better' clips until you _broke_ was one of my better ideas," she said with a weak smile and slowed the swing down even more.

Dave hummed a little and they looked at each other quietly for a couple of seconds before Santana broke the silence again.

"But if I ever hear from Kurt again that you were at the lamest gay bar of, quite possibly, the entire planet, I will redo the entire set-up but with 'Single Ladies' instead. You're the ex-beard of Santana Lopez, for crying out loud."


	24. People

Santana made Dave drive her home. She made a point to use that word, _home_, both in her own head and when talking to Dave, even though it felt like it would never really fit.

He did not really object to driving her, but it did not pass her by that he became fidgety and uneasy as they got closer to the Hummel-Hudson household.

_I suppose he has his reasons_, she thought, _because if Mr. Hummel sees him there's no telling whether he'll go all Lima Heights on him._

She bit her cheek a little in order not to feel too much at the sudden appearance of Lima Heights in her mind, and did her best to not let her thoughts trail off into anything else than a couple of odd flashing images of her childhood there.

She thanked Dave quickly when he pulled up in the driveway. She hurried out of the car only to look back and add an apologetic "we'll keep in touch, Dave".

Dave nodded and looked like he wanted to say that he was sorry again, but Santana shut the door before he could say anything.

She was sick of people feeling sorry. There were not even that many people that had told her that they were, yet, and she still had a hard time dealing with it.

People were not supposed to feel sorry for her. She was not used to the feeling and all it felt like was slightly uncomfortable and kind of wrong. She had never really had people feeling sorry for her before.

So even though Santana knew that she was being immature, she stalked off towards the front door of the house with her back toward Dave, not even glancing over her shoulder.

When she stepped inside the house, the first thing that Santana noticed was that even for Kurt's house, there were a lot of coats in the hallway.

There were other people there, she realized as she pricked up her ears and noticed that there were quite a few other voices than usual around. She quickly slid her jacket off, took a few soft steps and peeked into the kitchen.

There were a lot more people than Santana had expected, and she was rather surprised that so many people did not, per definition, generate more sound.

There were eight people in the room. Burt was sitting by the end of the kitchen table with an alarming pile of paper in front of him, and Carole was standing behind him, reading over his left shoulder.

Finn was, amusingly enough, looking into the open refrigerator with a quizzical expression, and at Finn's right were Kurt and Blaine. Kurt was half sitting on the sink unit, with Blaine right next to him, leaning into Kurt's side with a tired expression.

_If he gets any closer we might have to rip him off like an unpleasantly big band-aid_, Santana noted dryly to herself. _Even though they are disgustingly cute._

Kurt looked worn-out and tired, and Blaine looked like he would prefer to let his head tilt just a tiny bit further to the right and rest on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt toyed absentmindedly with Blaine's hair, and Blaine was almost mirroring his boyfriend as he, just as absentmindedly, fiddled with the fabric of Kurt's pants only slightly above the knee.

They seemed to be listening in on the conversation at the table even though they looked way too tired to make any kind of contribution.

By the table were also three more people that Santana had not really expected. Two of them she had never seen before – a man in a striped, proper shirt that looked like it had been ironed only five minutes before, and a woman in a white blouse and big, dazzling ear rings.

The third one, however, was the one that made Santana's eyes grow wide. It was Mr. Schuester, who was sitting next to Burt and seemed to be reading some papers of his own.

At first Santana had no idea what to make of the scene, because it all just seemed kind of random. She could not really come up with a reason why they were all there at the same time, or what brought them together.

For a brief second Santana felt a chill go down her spine, because a sudden thought of _Social Services_ popped into her mind and everything Kurt said after they went to Ms. Pillsbury's office came back to her.

The man in the striped shirt and the woman in the blouse suddenly looked alarmingly like those social workers from the movies, and Santana's heart started racing.

Something was not quite right about that explanation, though. Because even though the conversation at the table did not seem outright _chipper_ or anything, it really lacked the intensity two social workers would no doubt bring into the household.

Also, Mr. Schuester had not really been covered in that theory, although he did have a history of trying desperately hard to "be there" for his students. Except he stayed painfully oblivious to most everything those students actually went through.

_I'm not even in his damned Glee club anymore._

So, Santana commanded her heart to slow down a little and stepped into the kitchen.

It was Finn who noticed her first, of course, and Santana would have been content to see him jerk away in fright if she had not been so confused at the moment.

Blaine and Kurt were next, and then Santana saw Burt's head lift a bit and suddenly Santana felt like she was back at school with everyone looking at her.

"Santana." Kurt smiled at her and tried to stifle a yawn. "If you're wondering why our kitchen at the moment looks a lot like a spontaneous meet-up spot for, I don't know, people that love paperwork? What are they usually called?"

"Accountants," Blaine filled in with a grin.

"Right. If you're wondering why our kitchen looks a lot like a spontaneous meet-up spot for accountants, then I'll just inform you that it's merely an illusion. This, my friend, is apparently what it looks like in the land of politics the days before an election. Honestly, I had imagined it would be a bit more impressive."

It was a lot to take in at once, and not only because the information was encrypted in the usual Kurt-manner. It was also because so many things seemed to fall into place at the same time as a lot of new questions arose.

Because – the election. It was an entirely new level of ironic that Santana basically forgot about the election, considering the fact that the election was very, very close to the root of all evil in her life at the moment.

Not that she was blaming the election, per se. If anyone had made her account on whom and what she was actually blaming, she would have answered that she was blaming Finn, her parents, and that snotty little bitch that passed the conversation on to her douche bag uncle.

But Santana did kind of have other things on her mind than who to blame for exactly what, because things really had spiraled way out of control lately.

Still, though. The irony.

She really had no idea how she had forgotten about the election. She had not forgotten that there _was_ an election coming up, but just about the fact that it was coming up _now_ and that practically everyone she knew were mixed up in it.

And then there was the fact that the school election was an almost perfect miniature of the Congressional election, complete with bullshit, backstabbing and general bitching.

And the fact that the school election was essentially Brittany versus Kurt now that Rachel had jumped the ship, made Santana want to groan a little, sit down and let her shoulders slump.

She would vote for Brittany, obviously, and stand by her side and hand out pins and try to charm as many people as possible into voting for her, and threaten the rest into doing the same with her best scathing looks.

She had no doubts about that being the way it would play out, but she did have doubts about managing to muster up the energy for it.

And then there was Kurt. Because even though Santana would not have cared the slightest just a couple of days prior, it was hard to ignore how seriously Kurt seemed to take this election after all he had done for her the past few days.

Brittany would always come first, of course, but Santana knew that she would be dealing with some serious aftermath of the election at that house, no matter what.

The elections. Plural.

So after staring at Kurt for a few perplexed seconds, Santana opened her mouth, blinked slowly and then breathed out.

"Right. The elections."

Kurt and Blaine smiled at her, and Finn finally seemed to regain control over his limbs and muttered something inaudible before he shut the door to the fridge and stumbled out of the kitchen.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said, and placed the paper he was holding back onto the table. Santana almost raised an eyebrow at that, because that rather bald man at the end of a still-not-entirely-familiar kitchen table, called her "kiddo" even though they had not even properly met until a few days prior.

"Santana!" Mr. Schuester called out, and pushed his chair back to get up. He did not get as far as to stand up before Santana responded.

"Mr. Schuester." Santana answered without even bothering to try and smile, and bit her lip. "I, um… why are you here?"

"I'm his campaign manager." Mr. Schuester answered like he had no idea how that piece of information could have passed Santana by.

"All under my supervision, of course," Kurt added with a smirk.

"Oh." Santana frowned and let her eyes wonder to the other side of the table where the two strangers sat. "And who are you?"

"I'm Gloria, and this is Stan," the woman in the blouse said with a tired smile. "We're helping out with the campaign."

Santana nodded and instinctively rubbed her eyes. She felt absolutely drained after that day. It had been the longest Monday of her entire life, and she had not even had dinner yet.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" Carole asked, and Santana quickly opened her eyes, remembering that she was still standing in front of eight people that were staring at her.

"Just tired," she hurried to answer and glanced over at Kurt, hoping that he could somehow read her mind and give her an excuse to leave the room.

"Santana, I'm thinking we go upstairs and leave these busy and very, very serious adults to themselves to ponder at those numbers and rules," Kurt said, and Santana felt eternally grateful.

"We'll make some toast and bring it up for dinner, if you want to," Blaine added, and Santana would have laughed at the way Blaine seemed to be a perfectly fitted part of the family had she not been so tired.

She did wonder how he made it seem so natural, though, and if she would ever fit in half as well.

Santana did not really answer, but instead settled on simply nodding and starting to walk out of the kitchen, up the stairs, not caring that by just walking out she most likely appeared to be a rude bitch to everyone downstairs.

_Well, I've spent a large part of my life actually being a rude bitch._

But for once, she did not really mean it. She did not _mean_ to be a rude bitch to Burt, or Carole, or even Mr. Schuester, and for once she worried what they would think about her.

She was too tired to be polite, because being polite was not her strong suit and that Monday had consumed way too much of her energy anyway.


	25. Election

**A/N: You should have seen me writing this chapter. I must have looked mad, tapping away at my iPod on the bus. No matter what it was great fun to write and I hope it will be enjoyable to read, too. If it is, we owe a lot to xxxraquelita, who's making my writing bearable.**

**And to everyone that reviewed the last few chapters but didn't get a response from me – I'm sorry, but my internet wouldn't really let me. I value all the feedback endlessly, though.**

**Also, to all the new readers getting through this slow semi-monster fic, make sure to add it to your Story Alert and not just your Favorite-list if you want the updates. **

**Let me know what you think!**

The three of them – Santana, Kurt and Blaine – all squeezed into Kurt's bed with Kurt's laptop, watching the third Harry Potter movie. It was the closest thing to normal Santana had experienced in the past few days.

Being with Brittany had felt the best, of course, but it had still been so full of raw emotion, sorrow and panic, that it could hardly count for normal. However, sitting on one side of Kurt with his boyfriend on the other, watching a dorky movie without actually feeling like the third wheel, _did_ feel normal, strangely enough.

That was probably saying something considering the fact that they had never done anything like that together ever before. But even so, it managed to sooth Santana enough to relax for the first time since that awful emergency meeting when they showed her the commercial.

When she glanced over at Kurt and Blaine during the movie, she could not help but automatically recall the last time the three of them were like this – all lined up together. Maybe it was not entirely appropriate, but she could not help smiling as she remembered threatening Dave with hidden razor blades, and making a mental note about what the _fuck _Kurt was referring to when he talked about the "truth."

Since then not much, and at the same time _everything,_ had changed. Now it was the truth about _her_ that was out there. Now it was – as much as she hated to admit it – Kurt, and by extension even Blaine, that was protecting her instead of the other way around.

At nine o'clock, Blaine reluctantly left the house in order to get home before curfew. After saying goodbye to him, Santana and Kurt lingered a little in the doorway to the kitchen.

From the looks of it, Finn had left the kitchen in favor of his room, and Santana was thankful that she did not have to focus on avoiding eye contact at the moment. Two days ago, Santana had not thought it entirely possible, but time had proven that things could get even more awkward between them. For the sake of general self preservation, Santana was happy that she did not have to face that level of uncomfortable at that time of the day.

Everyone else was still in the kitchen, still staring into papers and mumbling to one another with raspy, tired voices. Santana was not completely certain why she and Kurt decided to stand there for a while and simply watch the others, but she could not really see any reason to object, either.

It felt odd not talking to Mr. Schue when he was right there, because even though Santana was not in New Directions anymore, it was still like the entire concept of Mr. Schuester belonged to her and Kurt and not to Burt, Carole and some mad election.

Not that Santana knew what she could possibly say to him in a situation like this, anyway. Everything was way too complicated and too tangled up in each other, and Santana's head was already pounding a little trying to figure out who knew exactly what at that point.

Instead, Santana and Kurt headed upstairs again – Kurt to crawl in under his cover with an issue of Vogue, and Santana to take a shower.

She felt like crying when she noticed a neat stack of things with a note on it in the bathroom window. The note was in Kurt's handwriting, and when Santana reached out and picked it up she discovered that the stack consisted of a couple of red towels and a small toilet bag.

She held her breath and read the note.

_Red is your color and you know it, Satan. And concerning the products in the bag; as much as I love to share, you and I seriously have very different complexion. I will not accept being involved in making your skin look any less than flawless. Use them wisely.  
>Kurt.<em>

She carefully wrapped herself in the biggest of the towels when she was done, and used the middle one for wrapping her hair. She could not help but grin a little at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She tip-toed across the hallway and into Kurt's room, pulled her (or, more correctly, Kurt's) pajamas out from under her pillow, and turned her head to Kurt just to make sure he caught a glimpse of her grin to assure him that she really was grateful.

He returned it sheepishly, and Santana sneaked back into the bathroom and pulled the silk pajamas on. Then she sat down on the toilet lid, rummaged through the clothes she had peeled off before, got her phone out and dialed Brittany.

They talked for a good fifteen minutes, and Santana let all the tension she had built up during the day melt away as Brittany went on about her evening and she even let Lord Tubbington purr into the receiver.

Santana could hear her voice echo slightly when she spoke, because of the bathroom tiles, but she figured it did not really matter, because all she really needed was a moment of privacy in a house full of people.

They hung up after both yawning simultaneously and bursting out in tired giggles, and Santana had not been so content in what seemed like ages.

Santana let the squeaking of her tent bed lull her to sleep and her dreams consisted of nothing but a thick, comfortable, cloudy fog.

* * *

><p>If Monday morning had been noisy and a bit chaotic, Tuesday morning proved to be full on mayhem.<p>

This time it could not be blamed on Santana's morning mood, but rather the election. Santana could swear that she, for a second, saw Kurt biting his nails – actually _biting_ his perfectly manicured nails.

It was even hard to grasp what Burt and Carole were doing. Because even though the actual election was not on until the next day, they were busy beyond compare.

They seemed to be going in and out of the door constantly, always on the phone and always with a binder or a set of posters under the arm. None of the teenagers bothered to ask what exactly they were doing, because as Kurt put it, it was way too early in the morning to bring up politics.

Finn looked confused. Confused and miserable, and Santana had to try really hard not to find some kind of pleasure in that.

In retrospect, none of them really understood how they got into the car and to school with the never-ending beeping, ringing, and running that was going on in their house.

They did get to school, however, and Finn awkwardly hurried out of the car just as he had done the day before.

"Do you think they know yet?" Santana asked Kurt the second Finn's car door slammed shut.

Kurt did not answer right away, and it made something inside of Santana want to scream.

"I don't know," he said in a low voice, and bit his lip. "But the election is tomorrow, and you know how they always play those commercials like crazy the days before the election and…"

"It's no doubt aired already," Santana deadpanned. "And if people at school haven't caught up today, they sure as hell will have tomorrow."

Kurt chewed on his lip but did not answer.

"I haven't even dared to check my Facebook since everything went down," she continued but got cut off by Kurt.

"Look, maybe they know," he said, suddenly fierce. "And maybe they don't. And even if some of them do, it doesn't mean that all of them do just yet. So you're gonna keep doing what you did yesterday. Walk with your head held high. And support your girlfriend in this nerve-racking election for senior class president, okay?"

It was Santana's turn to bite her lip.

"And if anyone gives you crap about anything, just… call me, or text me, and I'll make sure they regret it. Not that I don't think you can't take care of yourself, just…"

He started smiling, which made Santana frown.

"Just," he continued and let out a laugh, "do you remember what you told me and Blaine that time at the benefit when Karof… Dave was all…"

"It was more fun doing it together," Santana finished and started smiling, too.

* * *

><p>If Santana ignored the paradoxes and the irony of the fact that she was wholeheartedly participating in the mirror image of the election that had turned her life upside down, she was actually grateful that the election for senior class president practically swallowed her entire day.<p>

She was not sure what to make of the looks people were giving her, but she had decided to try and shut out any related thoughts for a while. She figured she might need it, and that it would no doubt become harder to do that the next day anyway.

Instead, she focused on the election and Brittany. Even in class, Santana spent a lot of time scribbling down new slogans for her. And in the classes they had together, Brittany added speech bubbles around the catchwords and linked them to small drawings of Lord Tubbington.

They were excused for a while, too, in order to help set everything up in the gym, and Santana was both relieved and grateful that she could let it all distract her almost completely from everything else that was going on.

It was hard to shake the feeling that some of the people that walked past her during the day just _knew. _Santana tried to make sure that there was as little time as possible left in her day left for thinking.

She actively filled her day with encouraging statements of "Vote for Brittany!" and occasionally low, scathing, direct threats to the people that did not look too convinced.

She glanced over at Kurt once, just to make sure that he was relatively okay. He looked almost feverish, and Santana's first instinct was to look away again but she got a grip and tried to think about it logically.

_He thinks his entire future is depending on this_, she realized and frowned. _Which is completely ridiculous. He's one of the only kids in here that honestly shouldn't worry about not getting out of here._

Kurt caught her glance and Santana sent him the widest smile she could produce, and even though the smile he came up with in returned was rather pathetic, it was still within the frameworks of what Santana considered progress.

She made a mental note about having to talk some sense into him sooner or later.

The Troubletones' practice was really the only thing, apart from the election, that Santana focused on all during the day. Singing was always a nice distraction, even though Ms. Corcoran kept sending Santana some meaningful looks that Santana did not even bother to try and understand.

It was not until Ms. Corcoran tried to pull her aside, when the practice ended, that it dawned on Santana that it was probably about that god forsaken slap in the auditorium. She dodged and dismissed Ms. Corcoran's hand on her shoulder by jerking away slightly and muttering something about being need in the gym.

_She can watch the frickin' ad herself any second now, and then maybe my reasons will become obvious to her._

And when they headed home, a miserable Kurt by the wheel, a rather tired Santana in the passenger seat, and a fidgety Finn in the back seat, it was practically like walking from one election into another one.

Because even though Burt and Carole were home fairly early after promoting and working constantly the entire day, they seemed to have an endless amount of work that had to, or at least _should,_ be done.

Kurt volunteered to cook, and Santana offered to help. Finn tried to offer his help, too, but all he got in return was a murderous look from Santana and a snort from Kurt.

"I'm not letting you near the stove on my watch, Finn. You know that – we've talked about this. It's not happening. Not since the popcorn incident."

"How was I supposed to know that you have to put a lid on it? You're being unfair," Finn muttered in response, but gave up.

Everyone looked completely worn out at dinner. When he sat down, Burt had declared that he was banning any kind of election related work for the rest of the evening, and Carole had agreed with a nod and a wry smile.

When Kurt passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Santana without really looking properly in her direction, as if it was something he did everyday and almost reflexively by that point, Santana took a deep breath and tried not to get overwhelmed. It was odd how normal it all felt; how she could have actually passed for an original member of the family had it not been for her Dominican heritage.

After dinner, they all collapsed in the living room. Burt shrunk into the arm chair and Carole did the same, but into a blue rocking chair that Santana had not noticed earlier.

Kurt sat down in the middle of the couch, serving as an effective wall between Santana and Finn, who was practically pressed up against the armrest at the other end of the sofa. It looked like he was mostly trying to be as far away from Santana as he could possibly be while they were sitting in the same piece of furniture.

Santana, on the other hand, actively ignored him, and tried to make a point out of taking up quite a lot of space by folding her legs up beneath her.

Later, Santana would not even remember what it was they had been watching, because it only took five minutes before hell broke loose.


	26. Ad

**A/N: Do appreciate the quick update! Many, many thanks to xxxraquelita, who saves the day every time. This chapter probably made me look even more like a mad woman, but I'd say it was worth it. Furious chapter is furious. Don't hesitate to ask things (but unless you send me a ****signed**** review I won't be able to answer). Let me know what you thought about the chapter, because I feel I might need it about this specific one. Now, darlings – enjoy!**

The campaign ad came on, of course. Santana really should have seen that one coming.

She had no idea who noticed it happening first, but no one in the room seemed to be able to react at all until a good few seconds into the commercial.

Finn reacted by simply gaping at the screen.

Carole gasped, and covered her mouth with her hands in a way that would normally have Santana snorting and making a comment about how no one appreciated overdramatic gestures. She did no such thing, because it was _Carole_ and the most fucked up situation Santana had ever seen.

Kurt had stopped breathing. Santana could tell by the way his body had tensed up and stilled next to her.

And Burt – Burt was the only one that seemed to have enough control over his body to actually do something consciously, and not just act on pure, lame instinct.

He reached for the remote control and had his thumb just above the power button. It would have been so easy for Santana to let him turn the damn thing off and try to not think about everything, just like she had been trying to do for the past couple of days, but something in her would not let that happen.

No one was more surprised than Santana herself when she cried out and stopped Burt from doing exactly that.

"Don't," she said firmly without taking her eyes off the screen. "I need to watch it."

It was not like she had not seen it before.

It was just that there was something so fundamentally different about watching it in Sue Sylvester's office, and watching it actually being broadcast – in an ordinary living room in an ordinary house, in what at least could have been an ordinary family.

"_If you're so into family values, why did you promote a lesbian student to be your head cheerleader?"_

Watching that picture of herself slide into view on the screen felt wrong. So unbelievably wrong. She looked so happy in that picture. She_ was_ kind of happy in that picture. She remembered smiling when she saw that Brittany had tagged her in that picture on Facebook the week after it was taken.

And now it was put in a context that was the exact opposite of that happy, carefree feeling that she had always associated with it before.

The red circle drawn around her, pointing her out so that no one could miss who they were talking about.

_The one in the big, red circle_, a voice somewhere inside Santana started_. That's the freak. That's the cheerleader that turned out to be a dyke. That's the one._

To say that watching the ad again was a surreal experience was nowhere near enough when Santana kept having flashbacks of her own front door being slammed in her face.

Santana did not even notice that she was crying until the ad abruptly ended with an awful catchphrase and Burt hit the mute button. And even though Santana was grateful that he pushed it and let the silence come back to the room, it somehow also functioned as a cue for her crying to escalate.

She let out a first, desperate sob and instinctively tugged at Kurt's sweater simply because she needed _something_ to hold onto and he was so close by.

"Santana," Kurt whispered and put his arm lamely around her – unsure whether she would appreciate the touch or shy away from it. She hardly reacted. All she did was let out another sob and collapse a little further into his side. "Santana, I'm so sorry."

And after a few seconds of silence and sniveling, someone else broke the silence, too.

"Look, Santana," said someone that most definitely was not Kurt. It took Santana a second to realize that it belonged to Finn, of all people. His words were practically falling out of his mouth, like he was just trying to get it over with and get it said, no matter what the consequences. "I know it sucks and everything, but… it's not like it's the end of the world. I mean, everyone in school already know about you and Brittany, and it's 2012 – it's not like people care and…"

The moments before Santana had slapped Finn last Friday, her entire body had been practically vibrating with the urge to bitchslap him so hard that he would forget to breathe.

Now, the feeling was pretty much the same, except she would much prefer to punch him repeatedly and proceed to strangle him instead of being satisfied with a simple slap.

But before Santana could throw herself across the couch and haul Finn up by his collar, Kurt did it for her.

Or, not the throwing-himself-across-the-couch-part, but he did jump to his feet and pulled Finn up by his sweater. And even though Santana was fairly sure that Kurt was not _that_ strong, it looked a lot like Finn flew up just by the pure shock of it. It still made Santana's eyes widen behind the tears.

_Kurt just pulled Finn up by his shirt_, Santana thought a bit dumbly to herself, as if to clarify what was happening.

Kurt did not really stop, either, and it was completely beyond Santana how he could possibly push Finn further up and into the middle of the room and how he could practically _shoo_ Finn against a wall without really touching him at all.

There was just something in Kurt's body language that made Finn back off on his own accord – something that was so straight forward compared to the usual Kurt, but still more resigned, too.

Maybe it was his stiff back that did it, or maybe it was the way he almost _pointed_ his head at Finn, or maybe it was the fact that Kurt looked more threatening right now than any big guy ever could manage to do with muscle power.

It was weird how Kurt could suddenly be such a physical threat without it really being about the physical at all, because he kept some distance between him and his step brother. It looked more like he was bracing and steeling himself for the confrontation, rather than towering up to look like a physical threat to Finn.

No matter what, Finn looked terrified and shrank back towards the wall.

_Did Kurt just corner his football player step brother that's double his size, just buy using body language?_

"Not the end of the world?" Kurt yelled in a high, yet rather coarse voice, and Santana could see the change of color in his complexion when the anger rose in him. "Did you seriously just say that to a girl that just lost her family and home? The extent of your idiocy never fails to impress, Finn!"

"Kurt," Burt and Carole said simultaneously, with their eyes locked on the boys in front of them. They were halfway up from their seats and Santana could see that Burt was almost already reaching for Kurt to make him back off, hold him back.

Kurt's head turned quickly towards them, and there was something in his glare that made both Burt and Carole sink back a little into their seats again. Something that told them that there would be no use in trying to make Kurt back off, not now. Something _raw_ and so passionate that they probably would not even be able to.

"No," Kurt shouted at them and Santana could see him curl his hands into fists that he would never even dream of using. "Let me finish here! Let me make sure that he understands what he's doing because I'm _not_ letting him get away with it!"

"I…"

"Oh shut up, Finn! You're such a privileged, stupid tool and you don't even realize it. Don't pretend for a second that you know what you're talking about. You have no idea what's going on. I don't even know what you're talking about! First of all, the whole school doesn't know about Santana and Brittany. In fact, the only reason _you _know is because you've seen them together in Glee, in a place where they've felt _safe_."

Santana _stared_. It was nothing she had ever imagined to witness; the stiff and steeled mode of defense that Kurt had put his body in before launching a furious attack. The way his veins were pulsating, and the sudden, striking resemblance to an angry Burt Hummel.

"And people _do_ care. Finn, her parents kicked her out," Kurt said in a low voice, his jaw clenched, and he motioned vaguely toward Santana. "And as for people in school, just… I used to be thrown into the dumpster every morning, that's how much they cared. I had to transfer, that's how much you get for 'it's 2012 – it's not like people care.' I'm not going to list all the crap I've had thrown at me because I'm gay, because _you know_, Finn."

Kurt was actually pointing a finger at Finn. "And I have no idea where you got the completely outrageously moronic notion that Santana isn't going to have to go through the exact same things!"

When Kurt paused to breathe in heavily, it was like the realization of what he was really doing dawned upon him and it shocked him. The realization that he had actually pressed Finn up against a wall and screamed at his face with their parents just behind them, that seemed to be enough to shock even Kurt.

He took half a step back, folded his arms as if to protect himself a little further and drew a couple of more breaths before he continued. He had stopped yelling, but there was nothing soothing about the low tone he used instead.

"Just know this, Finn. Things are going to be hard for her. Her family kicked her out. People are going to look at her like there's something wrong with her. People are going to question the validity of her entire identity because of this. People are going to say these horrible, horrible things to her. They'll talk behind her back. And I'm not asking you to understand exactly what she's going through, because you can't, but I'm asking you to at least acknowledge that it's fucking hard, Finn."

Santana had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life. Considering the last week, it was very possible that it was not really a logical sentiment, but still.

She felt exposed. She still had her legs folded up beneath her, but Kurt's sudden jump up from the sofa had left her hand clutching the air just above the sofa, instead of hanging onto his clothing.

Her tears would not stop, either. For as much as she had never been one for crying in public, in front of people, she could not get her tears to stop. The reality of the situation just got to her, and there she was, reaching a complete new level of crying in front of people she didn't want to see her cry.

And even though the only people that were watching her were Finn, who looked terrified, and Burt and Carole, who kept glancing over at her worriedly, Santana felt like the only thing there was between her and the world at that moment was Kurt Hummel. And he looked furious, to the point where she thought she could see his veins pulsating.

And then Finn started crying, too. Santana had never even imagined that Finn could look so small.

"I didn't… I didn't mean it like… I'm just… I'm really sorry."

It was weird, because through all the hate and frustration that blocked Santana's vision every time she would look at Finn, she could tell that he actually meant what he was saying. He really was sorry.

Santana had no idea what to do, because what _could_ she do in a situation like that? What could she possibly say to make things better?

So she went with a tactic she practically never used. She looked away.

"Sweetie," Carole said, and looked at her son with a pained smile. "I know you are. But…" She paused, and Finn looked like he just wanted to disappear. "… but Kurt's got a point," she finished carefully, and Santana almost flinched when Finn's body twitched a little as he let out a sob.

"Come on," Burt said suddenly, and got out of the chair, put a hand on Finn's shoulder and motioned him towards the kitchen. "Let's, uh, get some snacks or something."

And even though it sounded like a rather inappropriate thing of him to say, Santana was grateful because she knew what Burt really meant. He meant to give her some space and time alone, and Santana had never appreciated it more.


	27. Hands

**A/N: Here you go. Thanks to xxxraquelita for being a patient and thorough beta. And this is still not speeding up; the state of slow-fic has, 27 chapters in, proven to be rather incurable.**

After watching Burt and Finn disappear into the kitchen, Santana almost forgot that there were still other people in the room. In the seconds it took for her to remember that both Kurt and Carole were watching her, Santana tried to take a deep breath but ended up doing more of a sob.

Tears were still streaming down her face and falling in drops onto her clothes. She tried to steady her breath but it kept _hitching_ in mid-air, and by the time she became aware of Kurt and Carole again it felt like someone had kicked her in the chest or like she had gotten the wind knocked out of her.

She barely noticed that Carole got up from the chair, put a hesitant hand on her step-son's shoulder, and squeezed lightly before she, too, headed for the kitchen.

With one foot on the step up from the living room, Carole turned around and looked at the two teenagers, both of whom were shaking in a way that made the room seem unsteady.

"Look, I…"

Carole paused, and tried to look Santana in the eyes. Santana did her best to look back into Carole's, but the tears and the shaking and the hitching breath made it difficult.

"Santana," Carole started over, and Santana tried her best not to instinctively shut her eyes because of all the tears. "You have every right to be mad at Finn. And I know that he's hurt you."

Santana could swear that was _Carole's_ breath hitching a little, too. It was strangely comforting.

"And I'm not asking you to forgive him right away, sweetie. But I'm asking you to try when you can. Because I don't… I don't think he's a bad person."

The last part was not much more than a whisper, but Santana had no trouble catching it. The only thing she could think of to do in response was purse her lips and nod once quickly.

The nod was not necessarily a promise, but Carole could probably tell that Santana was not capable of promising anything at the moment, let alone something that big. So Carole turned around again and went slowly into the kitchen.

That left Kurt.

It occurred to Santana that maybe it was odd. Maybe it was odd that Finn, Burt, and Carole left her and Kurt alone after Kurt had just exploded worse than she had ever imagined that he could, and after Santana had absolutely broken down.

Maybe it was odd, but it did not really feel like it. Burt had only left to get Finn out of Santana's and Kurt's presence, and Carole had probably not thought that it would be a good idea to stay when she was, after all, Finn's mother.

To Santana, it just seemed like they knew that Kurt was the only one in the house who could even remotely understand and relate to her at the moment.

More than it felt odd, it made sense. Santana felt Kurt thud down beside her on the couch. He rubbed his forehead with his hand and looked like he wanted to run his fingers through his hair, but regretted it before the hand actually got there.

Santana's breath was growing steadier and the stream of tears lighter, smaller.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you grew up in Lima Heights," she heard herself say, between a muffled sob and a proper breath.

Kurt snorted and automatically reached out his left hand to clasp Santana's right one. The touch was surprising but welcome, and Santana felt her hand melt into Kurt's until they were simply holding hands instead of just sitting there with one hand on top of the other's.

"Yeah, well, I learned from the best," he said with a faint smile, and Santana could tell that he was just as surprised as she was that they were managing to joke about it without it hurting.

"I thought you hated my bitch mode," she said without her voice quivering too much. "You hate bullies."

"I hate bullying," Kurt confirmed, and shut his eyes. He looked exhausted. "But I dare say there's a difference between bullying people and standing up to them."

He turned his head to look straight at her instead of staring into the empty living room.

"Come on, Santana," he said with a tiny laugh. "By now you must be well aware that I'll bitch back at anyone who dares do anything to me. I used to tell the guys that threw me into the dumpster that one day, they'd clean my septic tank."

Santana let out a laugh and squeezed the hand of the boy at her side. Even though tears were still burning in her eyes, she could not help but grin wryly at Kurt.

"You seriously said that?" she asked, and wiped her wet eyes with her free hand. "I don't even know if that's brave or stupid, Kurt."

Kurt hummed in response, and somehow it was the cue for both of them to fall serious and earnest again.

"Tomorrow, everyone's gonna know," Santana bluntly stated after a moment of silence. "They're gonna stare at me in the hallways and…"

She trailed off but felt Kurt's grip on her hand tighten.

"You're not alone and I speak from experience when I say that you have one killer glare," he said calmly and quietly. Even though Santana knew that the last part of that sentence was phrased with a humorous edge, she could tell that her friend did not mean to joke about it.

_It's just the way he speaks_, that Brittany-like voice in her head told her. _It's his defense mechanism._

She could not help but wonder if the kind of behavior _she_ had always been using as her defense mechanism would be enough to protect her the next day.

Kurt did not let go of her hand when a watchful Burt and Carole re-entered the room with a plate of sliced apples, but without Finn.

"Apples," Burt grunted in Carole's direction as he sat down again and gave the plate a miserable look. "You let Finn lock himself up on his room with a bag of nachos, and I have to have _apples._"

"You had a heart attack," Kurt and Carole said simultaneously, without even looking at Burt.

It was moments like that that made Santana forget that the Hummel-Hudsons had not always been one family, but two broken ones that fit together so well. She could not help but wonder if it was because of her that Finn seemed to be having trouble fitting into his own family at the moment. Perhaps she should have felt guilty about that.

Instead of feeling guilty, she pressed Kurt's hand again and let the television fill her head with blinking colors and images as her tears dried. They were not interrupted by a certain gut-wrenching ad again, since Burt had taken it upon himself to change the channel as soon as the commercial breaks came on.

A while later, the light from the TV combined with the murmuring sounds of whatever show it was they were watching made Santana's eyes fall shut and her head moved to rest on Kurt's shoulder.

He gently woke her up and walked slowly up the stairs with her, still not letting go of her hand.

They both crashed down on Kurt's bed, hand-in-hand, without saying anything at all. Staring at the ceiling together kind of reminded Santana of the few times Brittany had made her lie down on the grass in the Pierce's backyard in the middle of the night to look at the stars.

Britt had a tendency of coming up with her own constellations without realizing it. Santana's favorite was the "three headed unicorn" Brittany had pointed out to her once.

There were no stars on Kurt's ceiling, and for a second Santana thought about the fluorescent plastic stars her brother had stuck in _his_ ceiling when they were kids.

Kurt would probably never have been caught dead decorating his room with something like that, even when he had been a kid.

"I don't know what to do about Finn," Santana said suddenly, her voice strained. She sighed deeply, not taking her eyes off the ceiling even as she could feel Kurt's head turn to watch her.

"He just never _thinks_," Kurt replied. "He's just… ignorant."

"I can't believe you used to have a crush on him," Santana stated in a dry tone, with both her eyebrows raised.

She was not quite sure where the joke came from, but it did not feel harmful and obnoxious like she had expected it to be. She wondered if it was normal, cracking jokes about the things in life that were your biggest issues.

"Yeah, well, _I_ can't believe you had _sex_ with him," Kurt shot back and Santana let out a laughter that made her entire back arch a little off the mattress.

"I should have seen that one coming, shouldn't I?" she smiled.

"Most definitely."

"You're such a bitch, Hummel," she said without masking the still present laughter in her voice.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

It was odd how easy it was, talking to Kurt. It was as if they had been friends for years – which was, of course, partly true but still not completely accurate. Both of them had spent a lot of time pretending like they were not part of the same family, and now that they really, really _were_, it was like they could just ignore those bits in between where they had scowled and sneered at each other.

Because there they were, holding hands on Kurt's bed and talking. Santana could hardly remember the last time she really, really _talked_ with someone that was not Brittany. Someone that was her friend and not just someone she had blackmailed into knowing her, like she had done with Dave.

Perhaps it was with Quinn, some time before everything went down with her. Or maybe it was with Puck a while back, but Santana was not sure those talks could properly count considering how much effort it took to decipher the real emotions behind whatever Puck was trying to communicate.

She surrendered to the easiness of talking with Kurt, and let him blabber about insignificant stuff and deeper things in turn while he held her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She let herself answer, too, and let herself answer truthfully, sometimes with laughter and sometimes with gravity.

It caught her a little off-guard when Kurt, suddenly sincere, asked her if she missed them.

For a second, Santana thought he meant the New Directions, and she had almost answered him with a forceful _yes_ when she realized that he was talking about her family.

_The family that left me_, she thought. _Not the family I left._

The thought hurt, but Santana could not make any more of it than that.

"I'm not sure," she answered instead, and bit her lip. "I'm not sure how to miss people that don't want me."


	28. School

**A/N: A big load of gratitude to xxraquelita, who saves my tenses and teaches me everything I know about these American systems I can't work out but need for this fic. Elections. Education. **

**And, to the rest of you: SPOILERS FOR S03E07, although I've already warned for that one once, I think. Anyhow; enjoy and let me know what you think.**

At breakfast the next morning, the tension was very close to unbearable. Kurt looked more like he was assaulting his grapefruit than actually eating it. Finn looked like he, for once, had no appetite, and simply poked around in his cereal with his spoon. Santana took tiny, slow spoons of _her_ cereal and tried to ignore both the tension and all thoughts of what was bound to happen in school.

It proved to be a difficult task and, in an attempt not to implode at the scene, she tried to occupy her brain with other things, but even coming up with simple diversions was proving hard for her. Her thoughts wandered back to the gloomy look on Finn's face in no time, to the disgusted grimaces she was convinced she would get from girls she used to call her friends and to the way people used to sneer at Kurt sometimes in the hallways.

In a desperate try to get away from those thoughts, Santana sighed and looked around to get some inspiration or at least _something _to think about. Burt strode into the room with a stack of papers in his hands and a slight smile on his face, so far unaware of the tension in the room.

The sudden contrast of moods – the way Burt walked into the most uncomfortable scene Santana had ever seen with a smile on his face – reminded Santana of the night before. Burt had knocked on the door before she and Kurt went to bed, and when he peered into the room he had been an abrupt contrast, too, even though Santana was not completely sure how that was.

She and Kurt had been quite solemn at that moment, with their hands clasped together even though their palms were slightly sweaty. The words _act of solidarity_ had flashed through Santana's mind only seconds before Burt entered.

It was not that Burt had interrupted their conversation or anything, because they had been quiet at that moment. But when Burt had opened his mouth without a second of hesitation and asked if he could come in, it was like he was the exact opposite of what had filled the room just before.

The room had been isolated and their thoughts abstract, and Burt had been direct and so very concrete.

Both Kurt and Santana had sat up immediately when they heard the knock.

"Kurt," Burt had said with an unreadable look. "Listen, kid. I'm not saying you were wrong earlier, because you weren't. Just… Finn… I think you need to talk to him. Calmly, I mean. Not, not right now. But, you know. Soon. We're, um, all living together, you know."

Kurt had nodded with a strained look on his face, and Burt had turned for the door again.

"I'm proud of you," he had paused to say. "Both of you."

Santana's heart had skipped a beat.

"You… You're strong," he had continued, and Santana could swear that his voice thickened. "But, uh, Kurt, next time? Just, language."

When Santana's thoughts returned to her breakfast and the present-day-Burt instead, she gave up a deep sigh and took another spoon of cereal before dropping the spoon in her bowl.

There was no way she could finish breakfast today. Absolutely no way.

* * *

><p>The change in the school was obvious from the second Santana entered through the doors with Kurt, who was slightly behind her on her left side.<p>

The eyes following her through the corridor were not the same as they had been before. These were meaner. Some of them were almost squinting as if they were trying to figure something out, and Santana felt her heart tug a little as she realized that the people looking at her were debating whether the rumors were true or not. They looked amused, too.

Santana wanted to vomit. It took her every last ounce of self-discipline to not just turn around and run away. It was Kurt that really made her stay in spite of the scrutinizing eyes that were lined up down the corridor like lampposts down a dark street. When Santana threw a flickering, tense glance at him for moral support, all he did was give her a weak smile and nod straight forward, in the direction of her locker.

Britt.

It was the perfect reminder that getting through the day would be worth it, and the way Santana's mind zoomed in on the slightly smiling figure that was reaching for a book in the open locker made the walk there so much easier.

Santana could still hear them whisper and feel them stare. She still noticed how the whispers became more and more intense the closer she got to Brittany, and she could have sworn she heard a couple of people taking a simultaneous breath when she reached her.

She was torn between feeling like an exotic animal in the zoo being watched by spectators that tried to act like they were not really looking, and trying to remember what it was Kurt used to say about keeping her head up high and not letting them get to her. But most of all, she focused on Brittany's blonde locks that dangled in the mandatory Cheerios pony tail.

When Brittany turned around and noticed her girlfriend, her face cracked up in a big smile and suddenly Santana found herself in a tight, tight hug. She had her chin on Brittany's left shoulder, and instead of greeting Brittany with the "I love you" her heart wanted to belt out or the "good morning" that belonged to their usual morning routine, Santana whispered a feeble "they know."

"Yeah," Brittany answered softly over her shoulder, "I know. Are you okay?"

"I guess," Santana replied and pulled out of the hug to look into the blue eyes in front of her. "I mean, I've barely been here two minutes. But yeah, I'm okay."

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry was waiting for her outside the Chemistry classroom, Santana's first classroom of the day. She had her hands on her hips, a determined look on her face, and a dress that was at least better than the animal sweaters she frequently wore. It occurred to Santana that she had not actually seen one of those for a while, and she almost smiled when it hit her that it was probably Kurt's work. She made a mental note to thank him later.<p>

Rachel took a deep breath, caught Santana by the arm and took a few steps to the side. Santana's face twisted in confusion as she followed, but she jerked her arm back.

"Rachel, what do you think you're doing?"

Rachel did not answer and Santana tilted her head a little in disbelief, but Rachel kept her eyes on the door as the rest of the class sauntered into the room. When most of them were inside, Rachel's eyes darted back to Santana. She had her hands on her hips again and she drew another deep breath, then started talking in a serious tone of voice.

"While I'm aware that you and I don't exactly have a history of very solid friendship, I want you to know that I'm completely supportive of you and want to be your friend in this hard time. I have two gay dads, you know."

Rachel's breath ran out and Santana's eyes narrowed, then Rachel drew another breath and continued.

"I'm sorry that you didn't get to come out on your own when you felt that it was time," she said, and looked honestly distressed. She paused a little and bit her lip before she continued in a more serious voice. "And… I'm dealing with Finn. Believe me."

Santana _stared_.

"And now, if I may be excused, I have to run to my English class."

With that, Rachel turned around on the spot and left Santana gaping after her. She reluctantly followed her classmates into the room. Instead of actually paying attention in class, Santana left her mind contemplating something she had never before imagined she would voluntarily think about; Rachel Berry, and what she could possibly be doing "dealing with Finn."

* * *

><p>Nothing bad really happened until after second period, and Santana felt stupid for not completely expecting it. Somehow she had relaxed just a tiny bit throughout Chemistry, probably owing to the fact that she was not concentrating on neither the actual lecture nor her classmates. However, when class was dismissed and Santana stepped into the corridor and headed towards her locker, reality came whooshing back to her. For a few moments in Chemistry, she had forgotten exactly what was going on around her and what exactly it was she had feared so much the past couple of days, or – more accurately – her entire life.<p>

She had her books clutched to her chest as she walked down the hallway and she tried her best not to look like she was gripping them just to have something to hold onto, even if that was exactly what she was doing. She tried to remember Kurt's advice on acting superior but all her brain would give her at that moment was a piercing image of Kurt clutching the strap of his messenger bag a bit too tightly as he walked up to his locker. It all made sense.

When they'd gotten to school that morning, people had been looking. They had known. The looks they gave her as she tried not to hurry down the corridor after class, though, were different. They were equally as prying and knowing as earlier, but they were not debating the veracity of the rumors anymore. That time, the looks were accompanied by sneers.

A disgusted look from a girl Santana vaguely remembered from Calculus. A giggle directed at Santana from behind her back that she demanded her body _not_ to respond to in any way.

And then there were the guys. The jocks. The football players, the cavemen on the hockey team, the bulky wrestlers. Even some lame-looking average math loser. The looks they were shooting her almost burned. It was different. Instead of turning away from her, instead of laughing at her behind her back like the rest of the crowded hallway seemed to do, they smirked. Wry smiles that Santana wanted to beat right off their creepy faces.

She got all the way to fiddling with her locker combination before shit really hit the fan.

"Saw the commercial. Smoking."

Santana closed her eyes for a second as she turned around to meet whoever the dickhead was, just to collect her thoughts. She felt stupid again, because she should have known something like that was coming. She felt so, so stupid, because she _had_ known that was going to happen. Kurt's clear voice from the night before – lying on their backs with their hands clasped, staring into a ceiling that was not at all a starry sky – flashed through her mind.

"_It's not going to be the same for you as it's been for me_," he had said. "_The jocks aren't going to throw you in dumpsters. They're going to… I don't know… It's going to be different. And you know how girls fight. It's sneaky, psychological warfare – not pee balloons."_

The night before, Santana had fought off the impulse to quote Mean Girls to Kurt and just whisper "in girl world, all the fighting had to be sneaky." Now, she had to fight off the impulse to turn around and run away for the second time that day.

She should have been expecting the douche bag in front of her to say exactly that, because she had known it was bound to happen. She and Kurt had talked about it vaguely the night before, but Santana had known ever since she and Brittany started making out in front of guys just to get free food or drinks.

"Who the hell are you?" was all she could come up with in response.

"Josh Coleman. Sophomore rugby captain."

Santana regretted even asking.

"Girls like you are a challenge, you just need the right guy to straighten you out and I'm just the man to do it."

Instinctively, her jaw dropped and she turned away her gaze to stop looking at him, and tried to look at something else, _anything_ else, than fucking _Josh Coleman_.

What worried her most was that she could seriously not come up with anything in response. Her sarcasm, her insults, even her _attitude_ were failing her.

"Move your busted, creeper ass."

Even before Santana's eyes had darted back from the lockers it was obvious that Mercedes Jones had slid into the picture, but it was not until Santana glanced backwards over her shoulder that she saw that the other girl brought company.

The sight of Brittany made Santana warm up a little. Seeing Quinn made an old, familiar kind of feeling. Rachel being there felt oddly logical after her morning-monologue, and even though both Tina's and Sugar's presence made Santana slightly confused it still made the image rather complete. The Glee girls. Family.

Somewhere, it stung, too.

"Now."

"Easy, girls. I'm just trying to make her normal."

Santana's heart skipped a beat. She had no idea how some people could get used to this.

"She is normal," Brittany insisted, and Santana just wanted to turn around, burst into tears, and kiss her.

"It's not a choice, you idiot, but even if it were you'd be our last choice," Quinn said and something in Santana, under the thick layers of bubbling emotions, wanted to snort, because _seriously Quinn, you might have some bitch potential but that's a fucking fifth-grader comeback._

"Oh, I get it, you're all a bunch of lesbos," the douche retorted and Santana wanted desperately to close her eyes, rub them and make everything, every single thing in this reality right in front of her, to just disappear.

"Ugh, so what if we are? You don't stand a chance either way," and even though that, too, was a really lame retort, Santana let Rachel grab her arm and spin around with her.

Ten steps down the other end of the corridor, still with her Chemistry books clutched to her chest instead of in her locker where they were supposed to be, Santana's tongue untied.

"What just happened? Why… why are you all here?"

Brittany's arm slid into hers and quickly replaced Rachel.

"We're family," Brittany said simply, and squeezed her arm. "Family looks out for each other."

And even though Santana half wanted to shout something about not needing to be rescued bysome gang with Rachel in the lead, it was hard to do that when Brittany let their hooked arms softly slide into a pinkie-hold instead.


	29. Talk: Rachel Interlude

**A/N: PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU GET STARTED ON THIS CHAPTER, OR YOU'LL GET REALLY CONFUSED. So, here's the thing; this chapter is not in the normal timeline for this fic. This is sort of an interlude, and does not continue where the previous chapter ended. This is Monday, not Wednesday. Just go with it. The purpose of this entire thing? 1. To get me out of the little fit of writer's block I've been having, 2. To explain why I'm altering certain canon events, and 3. Because this is Rachel Berry at her worst and finest at the same time. Just bear with me, and I'll get back to Santana POV in the next chapter.**

**I'm sorry for the long wait, but really, I had to stop and think. I hope you enjoy this, though! It was great fun to write. Let me know!**

_Rachel Berry spent her Monday afternoon lying on her bed going through the big, decorated binder that contained everything related to her New York-future. Everything was not exactly going according to plan. Kurt. In order for New York to be perfect, she needed Kurt. And Kurt was currently kind of getting crushed by Brittany in that stupid election. For nothing more than a second, Rachel entertained the thought that maybe she could stuff the ballot boxes or something. Maybe Kurt would not even have to find out, if she played her cards correctly. The thing about being Rachel Berry, though, was that she seemed to be bad at doing just that – playing her cards right. Executing her elaborate plans. It had really never been her strong suit. Another thing about being Rachel Berry was that it was practically impossible to focus on the plans for too long, because honestly? They were too many to keep track of, anyway._

_That particular plan was shoved aside and dismissed when her line of thoughts were interrupted by a phone call from her boyfriend. Finn managed to complicate everything with only a few, rather short sentences._

_He opened the conversation with a rushed "I need to talk to you" that made Rachel sit up straight in her bed with wide eyes and a suddenly clearly beating heart._

"_You've been acting really strange the last few days," she said in a low voice, more to herself than to Finn on the phone. She felt a chill go down her spine and the panic start rising in her stomach. Rachel was well aware that breakups started exactly like that – a "we need to talk" and a realization that everything was not exactly the way it usually was._

_What if that was it? The epic, legendary love saga that Rachel had planned out for them, ended like that? With a lame phone call and clichés?_

_It was either that or she was being a drama queen again. Rachel knew that. She knew that she was jumping to conclusions, that it was what she always did, and…_

"_I can't do this over the phone," Finn said, and Rachel's chest tightened, "Can I come over?"_

_She barely managed to press enough air up from her lungs to say okay. She paced the room, from the moment she pressed the end-button until she heard the doorbell ring, and she tried desperately not to convince herself that her life was coming apart and that the end was near. Convince herself that it was just Finn and his non-existent way with words and her constant need for drama that made her so worried._

_And then Finn came and, when Rachel had seated him on the chair by her desk and braced herself for whatever it was that was going to come, he opened his mouth only to say something that was so far from anything she had expected._

"_Santana's living at my house," he said. Rachel could have sworn she was about to faint, because that was it. Santana. Santana freaking Lopez. Finn chose Santana over her, in the end. That was how it all ended. She should have known it was more than just some failed one-time-thing they had in some skanky motel room._

_Her eyes started burning slightly, indicating the inevitable tears._

"_Why?" she cried and tried to suppress her tears._

"_You're not going to like it," Finn continued, and fiddled with his hands. Rachel could not take it anymore._

"_Just say it," she said as neutrally as she could, but barely managing to avoid her voice cracking._

"_Her parents kicked her out," he said, and Rachel felt the crushed heart she had been expecting transform into something that was much more confused than actually broken._

"_What? Why would they…"_

"_Because she told them about, uh, you know, that… that she's gay."_

_Then it hit Rachel. All of it. It made her feel so utterly, utterly stupid. Worried and upset, too, but mostly just really, really stupid. Rachel hated herself at moments like that. When it became incredibly clear to anyone involved that she was so completely lost in delusions sometimes, and when it was painfully obvious that Rachel Berry's world was centered around no one else but Rachel Berry. Only moments before, she had seriously believed that Santana Lopez had stolen her boyfriend when Rachel could very well see for herself that Santana loved Brittany and no one else. Only moments earlier, Rachel had skipped through the obvious lack of logic in the theory that Finn would somehow, in the period of a couple of days, have gotten together with Santana and gotten to a state in their relationship where they would move in together. _

_Last time Rachel had seen them together, Santana had slapped Finn in the face. Yet Rachel would _still_ jump to conclusions like that. Rachel blushed and tried to shove all those thoughts aside and focus on the important parts of what Finn had told her._

_Santana had been kicked out._

"_Her parents kicked her out?" Rachel finally said, with tears brimming in her eyes for entirely new reasons. "That's so cruel. I… It… I can't even believe she actually came out – she always seemed so scared to admit it and…"_

_Finn was looking at her so uncomfortably that Rachel stopped mid-sentence._

"_Well, I… Uh, this was kind of what I wanted to… she… it might have all been my fault."_

_Rachel stared at Finn in disbelief, because why would Finn blame himself for something like that? It could not possibly be Finn's fault that Santana had been kicked out, and… It dawned upon Rachel that it might not be so impossible after all. Finn did do some pretty thoughtless stuff from time to time. Just…_

"_What exactly are you referring to?" she asked slowly, but with a much steadier and even stern tone of voice than before. _

"_I was kind of… Last week, she was picking on me like crazy, and then I yelled at her in the corridor, and…"_

"_You outed her," Rachel whispered and looked away from Finn, "that's why she slapped you."_

_Finn nodded unhappily and hurried to continue, obviously knowing that it was better to get it all said before the hurricane that Rachel could be was thrashing the place._

"_And, uh, someone overheard me," he faltered, "and now there's… I mean, I didn't know, Burt showed it to me after Santana moved in, and, it… some guy made this campaign video for the election, and they talk about Santana and stuff in it. And show pictures of her, and, like, rainbow flags and…"_

_Rachel closed her eyes and curled her fingers slowly into fists, trying to keep her breath calm and not lose it completely. Her head was already spinning because of all the countless questions that danced around in her head. Nothing made sense. She shook her head slightly and tried to sort her thoughts out, question by question._

_Why was Santana living at Finn's house and not, well, maybe Brittany's?  
>Oh, well, Rachel realized. The Hummel's, of course. That even made some kind of sense.<em>

_But why had not Kurt told her about it all? He had not said a word about it all day, and… Did he even know about Finn's part in all of this?  
>Probably, she figured. Most definitely. Kurt was probably too mad to even speak to Finn at that moment, let alone let Rachel in on any of it.<em>

_And what in the world had Finn been thinking?_

"_She hates me," Finn groaned from the chair and disrupted Rachel's line of thoughts. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to live with her – we can't stand each other…"_

_Rachel felt a wave of annoyance rush over her, but Finn noticed it happening too, and fell quiet immediately._

"_Finn," Rachel started, the fury in her voice not very well concealed. "You have a gay brother. I'm your girlfriend, and I have two gay dads. So how can it even possibly have gone completely past you that you just _don't _out people?"_

_Finn opened his mouth to say something, but she sent him a fierce glance that made him shut it again quickly. She closed her eyes again for a second, sat back down on her bed, and bit her lip before she dug out her phone from her pocket and reached for her laptop._

"_What're you…"_

"_Just go, Finn," Rachel said tiredly, opening her computer._

"_What?"_

"_Go. I don't have time for you right now. I need to fix some of this mess you've made."_

"_But…"_

"_Finn!" Rachel yelled, and looked up at him with piercing eyes. "You've messed up a girl's entire life. Now we have to make it better. I need to make _you_ better. That requires a plan, and right now I'm having a really hard time concentrating with you in the same room, so just go somewhere. We have bigger issues to fix than how you're going to survive an awkward meal or whatever it is you're worrying about."_

_She did not even look after Finn as he disappeared out of her room and down the stairs. Instead, she typed the password to her computer with her right hand while at the same time as she dialed Kurt's number with her left hand._

"_Rachel?" Kurt answered, puzzled, after a few tones._

"_We need a plan," she started._


	30. Locker room

**A/N: Thanks again and again, xxRaquelita for being my one and only beta.**

**The delay of this chapter was beyond my control, but I'm sorry about the long wait. The good news is that my writer's block is gone and my brain all spinning with things I want to do for this fic. It will continue for a long, long while, I've figured. Oh well, as long as I've got you. I think you'll enjoy this chapter – there are loads of issues starting to come up now, and I would love some input in all its forms. Let me know what you think!**

The McKinley High Cheerleading squad made a point out of constantly dressing in their cheerleading uniforms. In general, people thought it was because the girls on the team were obnoxious and popularity craving, but in reality it was mostly the work of Sue Sylvester. It was Sue's way of rubbing the social status of her Cheerios in everyone else's faces.

Santana also had the sneaking suspicion that it might have something to do with the fact that the squad could be on the field or in the gym in full uniform five minutes after school ended if they did not waste time getting changed. Once, Brittany had asked Coach Sylvester if they could attend practice in their gym clothes instead. That had ended up with Sue's veins pulsating on her forehead and a mad lecture about the importance of symmetry and conformity _every _time she drilled her performers and not just at competitions, so no one had ever dared bring it up again.

In the end, it also meant that the Cheerios only had some very brief business in the locker room before practice. All they did was toss their bags into the lockers, fill their water bottles up and get out of there.

Santana really tried to do it as casually as ever. Quick and painless. She tried to move the way she normally moved, with hips slightly swaying and determined steps. One foot in front of the other. Air in and out, in and out.

She tried to focus completely on the locker she was heading for instead of glancing too much at the other girls. She only did it because if she could, she would rather postpone knowing exactly what they thought about her for a while – at least until after practice.

But at the same time, it triggered something in her – the effort she made not to look at the other girls in the changing room. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Was she going to shy away in the locker room, afraid that people would take offense and accuse her of looking at them the wrong way?

And the silence. The silence was killing her.

Everyone seemed to have kind of frozen when Santana walked into the room. Brittany was right behind her, but Santana could tell that it was her the girls in the room were looking at. Staring at.

It was weird, Santana noted on her way over to the locker, because she could hardly remember there being so many Cheerios in there at once before practice ever before. Normally people would drop out of there as soon as they were finished, not stay behind and…

_Oh, _she realized, _they were waiting for me to come. This can't end well._

She had barely opened her locker before someone finally broke the silence.

"Is it true?" Sarah Petersen asked bluntly, and Santana reluctantly made herself turn around and face her.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" Santana snapped and tried desperately to bob her head a little to the side just like her normal self would have done, but she was not sure she was fooling anyone.

She tried to keep her posture, at least, but she could not help glancing backwards to make sure the possibility to turn around and run away was still there.

"Cut the crap, Lopez. We've all seen the ad, and you've got some explaining to do. _Is it true_?"

_I don't have to explain anything to you_, Santana wanted to shout. Instead she faltered slightly.

"She doesn't have to explain anything to you," Brittany interjected with a surprising fierceness in her voice. Santana wanted to turn around and kiss her for knowing exactly what she'd really wanted to say.

None of the girls seemed to listen to Britt at all, though, and even though Santana desperately wanted to squeeze her hand, she found herself quite unable to move at all.

She did not take her eyes off Sarah Petersen, still had her fixed with a cold, sharp gaze. For a brief second Santana wondered if maybe she could deny it after all. Tell them that no, of course it was not true, that it was nothing but a really fucked-up rumor and that they should all really know better.

And then she remembered that there was no way in hell she could lie her way out of it. At that point, there was no way she could muster up enough energy to keep up with a lie of that magnitude. Not when she had lost everything. Not when she was adjusting to a new home, scraping up the pieces of her life.

Not when all she really wanted was to stop the hopeless fighting she had been doing all her life; fighting just to not show the world who she was. Fighting to hide. A week earlier she would have never just _given up_ on maintaining the lie that was her life, but there did not seem to be any meaning in continuing that struggle anymore.

She could not do it. She could not pretend for even a second longer. She just could not find the energy to even properly consider it.

"It's a simple question," another girl – Ellen Clover – deadpanned. "Are you a dyke or not?"

Santana could not help but gape.

"I heard you got kicked out, and that you're living at that weird gay kid's house," Sarah Petersen stated dryly, and Santana felt herself lose it.

"Yeah?" Santana started and suddenly her arms were crossed and the attitude back in her posture without her even realizing what caused it. "Well _I _heard that Coach Sylvester wouldn't mind kicking anyone who's got a problem with me off the team, so watch it."

She paused slightly to catch her breath and then opened her mouth and spat one, final thing:

"And don't you fucking dare talk about Kurt like that."

It was Petersen's turn to gape, and Santana seized the moment to throw her bag into the locker with a loud thump and storm into the gym without bothering to fill up her water bottle.

Rachel Berry would have been proud.

What just had happened did not quite hit Santana until she had already marched a good ten yards across the gym floor with her eyes set on Coach Sylvester and Becky in the other end of the room. It was when Brittany's hand suddenly grasped hers from behind, and Santana slowed down to let Brittany come up beside her, that she realized what she had just done.

She had not denied it. They had flat out asked her, and she had not denied it. She was not even sure whether to feel proud of herself or simply a little sick, but the mix of the two emotions made her slightly nauseous.

"You're awesome," Brittany whispered to her with a smile that looked a lot like an impossible combination of happy and worried.

Santana could not think of anything to do other than to squeeze Brittany's hand and keep walking. She did not feel too much like standing still and losing their lead on the other girls. Santana could tell they were coming up not too far behind them by the muffled chattering that came with them.

When Santana and Brittany reached Coach Sylvester and Becky, Coach Sylvester looked first at Santana with an unreadable look, and then up at the group of girls that were filing out of the locker room quite a bit behind them.

"Look who finally decided to turn up," Coach Sylvester started and Santana automatically braced herself. "I was half convinced I had gone psychotic and made this whole team and my entire collection of trophies up in my head."

And then, in a much lower, serious voice clearly not intended for the other Cheerios that were still somewhat out of earshot: "Did something happen in there I need to know about?"

Santana sighed and hesitated slightly before she answered.

"No. Or, well, I may or may not have told them that you would kick them off the squad if they have… a problem with…"

She glanced down at hers and Brittany's clasped hands and then quickly up at Coach Sylvester again.

"With this."

Santana was not a hundred percent sure what it was she was telling her coach. She was not sure whether it was something of a threat, or maybe condition or at least a statement of _you owe me at least this_. And she was not quite sure why Coach Sylvester simply nodded thoughtfully in response instead of lashing out like she tended to do otherwise, and even added a solemn "I couldn't agree more."

All Santana knew was that a jolt of gratitude spread throughout her body before she and Brittany let go of each other's hands and turned around to get the actual practice started.

During practice, Santana tried to convert the anger and resentment she felt towards the other girls into energy and perfected and precise motions. Even though the tactic worked surprisingly well, the anger came right back to her when Coach Sylvester blew the whistle and declared practice finished.

Everyone headed for the locker room, but Santana was reluctant to back in there. Not that there were that many valid options, considering the fact that she was craving a shower, and had her bag in the locker.

She and Brittany were not the last ones to come in, but almost. And even though the others were not looking at her quite as obviously as they had before practice, the room was still dead quiet and Santana instantly felt sick.

She briefly considered just grabbing her bag and getting the hell out of there, but she decided against it when she met Sarah Petersen's defiant and vaguely disgusted eyes. Santana felt almost challenged. Like they were daring her to do it, daring her to change in there with them, daring her only because they were convinced that she would never go through with it.

As if something about Santana had actually drastically changed over the last couple of days, as if she had not been like this earlier on.

Kurt's voice echoed in the back of Santana's head as she bit her cheek hard and pulled off her clothes.

_I manage because I keep my head held so high that no one can fucking touch me_, he said.

_Damn straight_, Santana tried to convince herself. She threw a glance back at Sarah Petersen, if only to see the look on her face when she realized that Santana had not broken quite yet. Instead of meeting the cold grey of those eyes, though, Santana found nothing to meet, because the bitch had turned away her gaze in disgust.

Santana was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She decided to simply wrap the towel around herself instead, and get into the showers.

It was awkward. It was super, super awkward and Santana really wanted it to be over as soon as possible without looking too much like she wanted to run away even though that was exactly what she wanted.

She managed, though. She managed to shower. Managed to get dry. Managed to get dressed again. Managed to redo her hair. Managed to pack her belongings, and managed to walk out of there with her head held so high that Kurt would have baked her a freaking _cake_ had he seen it.

As soon as she got into Brittany's car, though, her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes. She had managed, but not without effort. With so much effort, in fact, that most of her just felt numb.

"Do you wanna come over for dinner tomorrow?" Brittany asked absentmindedly as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Santana smiled as she answered, because _yes_, that would be nice. It would be nice to get away for a while. To go somewhere familiar. To hang out in Brittany's room for a while. To just forget about the outer world for a change.

"Yes," Santana murmured with her eyes still closed shut. "That would be perfect."


	31. Dinner

**A/N: This is in no way abandoned. It's simply late. I've been incredibly busy and working on later parts of the fic, so don't fret. I'm terribly sorry about the delay; but as a consolation prize, I'm giving you two chapters at once here. Enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

Fifteen minutes into dinner, Santana realized that she really had to hand it to Blaine; the kid had manners and a killer commitment to trying to get rid of bad and awkward moods. Maybe it was his preppy boy upbringing speaking or perhaps some kind of deeply set need in him to please everyone, but Santana did not really care. She was, however, immensely grateful for what he was doing right then and there in the Hummel-Hudson kitchen.

Santana was not sure what to make of the situation at all, because it all felt too absurd to make proper sense of anyway. She was pretty sure it would not have been even nearly as awkward if Burt and Carole would have properly sat down and joined them for dinner. Instead, they were whooshing about in the kitchen with phone calls, papers, and frustratingly slow parent-style typing on Burt's crappy laptop that was stationed at the worktop next to the refrigerator for the night.

In fact, it probably would not have been as awkward if Burt and Carole would have just given up and gone out of the room completely, because at least then the teenagers at the table would not have had to pretend that the tension and friction between them were not positively overwhelming.

The presence of Burt and Carole, though, made them all painfully aware that neither ignoring Finn and leaving him out of the conversation nor letting him grab a plate and dash to his room were viable options, despite the fact that Santana had conducted those two strategies to be the least energy-consuming.

The thing was that even though Santana, Kurt and Finn were very much aware of that being the situation, they could never have pulled it off in reality. Not without Blaine. Kurt and Finn would perhaps have been able to fool their parents for a while since they were, after all, sort of brothers. Santana could easily tell that even though Kurt was angry with Finn, they were still very much an intact family. But even if Kurt and Finn would have been able to pull it off without Blaine, they would never have managed to get Santana to play the part convincingly.

Admittedly, both Burt and Carole knew about her and Finn not getting along. But Santana still thought that it would be nice to keep the true extent of the friction at least partly hidden until she knew how to deal with it.

So Blaine really was what kept dinner afloat at all. He gracefully managed to chat to Kurt about his day, turn that into polite questions for Santana about this or that subject or teacher and then quite successfully turn her uninspired answers into some comment Finn could easily respond to, actually making it look like it was Finn and Santana talking, not Blaine and a pair of _walls_.

When Blaine turned around in his chair with a beaming smile and assured both Burt and Carole – who were looking worriedly at the laptop screen – that he was convinced the election went fine, Santana could not help but gape a little. It was the cherry on top and Santana had no idea how Blaine pulled all that off. She was just immensely happy that he did.

She was perfectly content with Blaine handling all the conversation. When they finally excused themselves from the table she put her plate in the dishwasher so quickly that, for a brief second, she was certain that it was going to break. But as soon as it was clear that the plate had not shattered, Santana practically zoomed after Kurt and Blaine who were already halfway up the stairs.

The focus of the entire house had been rather off ever since Santana blew a kiss to Brittany and stepped through the front door after practice. Everyone in the household, including Santana herself, had been torn between focusing on how the school day had gone for her, or focusing on the fact that it was the actual day of the election, and all that came with that.

Santana was touched, really, that Carole and Burt – in spite of being busier than ever before – genuinely tried to ignore the election and focus entirely on her instead, although incoming phone calls and messages kept disrupting their attempts.

Carole's breath had even hitched when she asked if Santana was okay right after she had come home and set her Cheerio's bag on the floor, and Burt had gotten a worried and clearly disbelieving look on his face when she told them that she was.

Burt's frown of concern and the somehow brutal honest hitch in Carole's voice had made Santana at least answer truthfully when Burt grunted a question about if anyone had given her any crap. Their eyes had darkened at her tired "yeah," but they did not try to pry and Santana knew to be grateful.

And at the same time as everyone – even Finn, judging by his distraught expression – had been terribly aware that it had been a sort of doomsday for Santana, the election did pull its fair share of focus. Hence, Santana was not sure what exactly she or anyone else in the house was feeling when she crashed into the room after the two boys.

As soon as she closed the door behind them, she turned to Blaine to thank him for his achievements at dinner but got cut off by Kurt before she had even opened her mouth.

"What happened?"

Santana stared at the pair of them. For some reason, the way they were standing made her feel weirdly wary. Maybe it was the way the contrast in height between them was suddenly much more obvious than it usually was, or maybe it was the fact that they both had the exact same way of pushing their shoulders slightly forwards when they were looking at her like that. But, there was something about the way they were standing that made Santana bite her cheek instead of answering Kurt. Something in the way they were looking at her, expecting her to answer them directly with no objections.

She hated it when she could feel her face fall slightly, but she did.

"Excuse me?" she snapped instead of answering.

Blaine recoiled immediately; the pushed-forward shoulders shrank back and his face softened dramatically.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk," he said softly, and Santana had to bite her lip and avert her gaze in order not to snap completely right then and there.

"Actually, I think you should talk," Kurt interrupted without softening up at all like his boyfriend. "Even though you might not want to talk, there's no point in keeping secrets about th-"

"You're one to talk!" Santana folded her arms across her chest without even thinking about it, assuming the aggressive defensive position she always did when it got to things like these. "Mr. 'I-never-told-my-dad-Karofsky-sexually-harassed-me-or-my-friends-that-I-was-bullied-so-bad-my-life-got-threatened'!"

At least the message seemed to get through, but the way Kurt flinched a tiny bit and the way he clearly closed off a little, got Santana to realize what was really going on. What she was really doing.

_I'm not pissed at Kurt and Blaine for caring. I'm just so tired I could die after that episode in the locker room and pissed off beyond comparison with those fuckers on the squad._

It was the voice that resembled Brittany in the back of her head again. The voice that kept some minimal part of her rational even in situations so pressed she thought she was going to suffocate. But before Santana could collect herself and her thoughts and apologize, Kurt stiffly spoke up:

"I'm just saying that we want to know what's happening so we can help."

The fact that Kurt had not snapped back at her the way any normal person would have done made Santana almost, just almost tear up.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just… I just had a really rough day."

"What happened?" Blaine asked and Santana could feel a tear well up anyway. She looked down at her feet.

"Nothing too bad."

She was quiet for a second and then looked back up at them. It felt like her vocal cords had not yet quite accepted the order from the rational parts of her brain about telling them what had happened.

"Just, there was… I… some random jock offered to set me straight and normal, and then the Cheerios all waited for me in the locker rooms to ask me if I'm a dyke."

Santana was not sure what exactly she was supposed to be reading in the expressions on their faces, but the one thing she _was_ getting was that they were not surprised. They looked sorry, but not surprised. It was a weirdly comforting look.

"What did you say?" Kurt asked in a low voice, and Santana snorted lightly.

"That they should probably shut up if they wanted to stay on the squad."

She had barely finished the sentence when a loud, short knock was heard at the door and Burt pushed it open.

"Sorry for busting in on you," he said and scratched his head. "But I needed your help for a while, Kurt, if you don't mind. I need you to look over this draft, you know you beat both me and Carole and that computer at spelling and composing and I need it to…"

"Yeah, I'm coming," Kurt quickly said with a nod and a smile at his father, who mumbled thanks and backed out of the room again. Kurt immediately turned to Santana again when Burt was out the door and spoke in a much more solemn tone. "I mean, if it's okay with you. I could stay, it could probably wait and…"

"Yeah, because without you in the room I would probably turn into a mental break-down. Believe it or not, Hummel, but I'll do just fine with you downstairs."

She had not meant it to sound so very blunt and mean, and the voice in her head berated her instantly because she _did_ appreciate Kurt and literally had no idea what she would have done without him and his comfort over the past week and why did she always have to lash out like that?

"I'm sorry," she started but saw Kurt crack up at the exact same time.

"It's good to have you back, Satan," he said and disappeared out the door, leaving Santana and Blaine looking slightly agape after him.


	32. Story: Blaine

Blaine sat down on Kurt's bed and sighed deeply right after Kurt exited the room. The tent bed by the foot end looked positively alien and made Blaine's stomach twist with sympathy for Santana, who looked so worn out was standing in front of him.

For a brief second, he tried to imagine what he would have done if it had happened to him; if he was the one sleeping in a misplaced-looking camp bed at a friend's house, in an otherwise flawlessly decorated room, because his parents had kicked him out. The way his stomach turned again made him stop trying to imagine the scenario, and instead he looked up at Santana.

"Before you and Kurt started questioning me, I was going to thank you for what you did at dinner," she said and sat down on her screechy bed crosswise, leaning up against the wall and stretching her legs so that her toes were touching the end of Kurt's bed.

Santana's statement seemed incredibly out of the blue to Blaine, and for a long moment he just stared at her open-mouthed and confused before he understood what she was talking about, and hurried to reply.

"I used to think my dad would kick me out if I came out," he said gravely, and twitched at his own words immediately. That was not at all what he had meant to say.

He had meant to say something along the lines of _don't worry about it, it was no problem at all_ or, really, anything that was at all actually related to what Santana was talking about. She was talking about dinner, about the way he had been pushing the conversation around like a madman, about the tension at the table, and he replied with what, exactly?

She was talking about dinner, not asking him about his relationship with his father, and Blaine knew that very well. He literally had no idea why he would just go ahead and blurt something like that out, and he could feel the blood rush to his face and make him flush.

Sometimes he felt like no matter how hard he tried, he would never get past the fact that he needed to learn how to stop and think before he did something or said something. Impulse control.

But instead of frowning and looking at him as if he had just said something completely unrelated and random, Santana tilted her head slightly and looked at him as if she was waiting for him to continue.

"Why?" she asked, and reached up to let her hair out of the pony tail.

The thing was that it was not even a story Blaine really wanted to share – he had not brought it up because he needed to unload it on Santana, and god knew Santana did not need anything more to worry about at the time. In fact, he had not brought it up for any specific reason at all, and that was the whole problem.

And at the same time as Blaine's urge to tell Santana all about it was very close to non-existent, the sight of her on that pathetic bed made him cave under completely. Not telling her did not seem fair to him. What right did he have to pretend like him "not feeling like" telling the story was any bigger than her need of sympathy in the situation?

"I don't know. He was always kind of distant, I guess. We're not really close, and… and I thought that if I told him I was gay, that weird tip-toeing dance we had been doing around each other all my life, would finally just, you know. Tip over."

Blaine swallowed hard and looked over at Santana. She was still fiddling with her hair, but had a thoughtful expression on her face that made Blaine bite his lip.

"But it didn't," she said, and had Blaine not gotten to know Santana better during the last few months, he would have thought that she said it bitterly.

"Not really, no. He didn't really say anything when I told them."

He paused slightly, not sure whether he should continue the story, not sure whether it would benefit Santana even the slightest to know what had happened, or if it would have the reversed effect.

He decided to go for it, even though at least half of his mind was urging him not to.

"He didn't really say anything until a week later, when I woke up in a hospital bed with my parents and my brother beside me."

Her frown did not surprise Blaine in the slightest.

"Why were you…" she started, but Blaine cut her off.

"I went to this school dance, with a friend of mine – a boy, and… we… we got beat up, and I woke up at the hospital with my family there."

Blaine knew it was not completely ideal to simply fast-forward the hard parts of the story like that, but he could not help it. He tried to tell himself that those parts were not the point of the story, anyway, even though he was perfectly aware the story lacked point at all.

"And then, my father told me that he loved me and that he was just glad that I was safe."

Santana closed her eyes and leaned her head backwards against the wall.

"And what did you do when you got back to school?" she asked, and Blaine's heart ached at that. If nothing else, that question proved what Santana was worried about at that moment. She had already lost her family and her home, those were not the parts she wanted to hear about now, those were not the immediate problems for her. She was focusing on what she had left; what she had to face anyway.

"I tried going back," Blaine answered and could hear his voice falter a little, thickened with the memories. "I was back for a few weeks, but then I couldn't bare it any longer. I went to ask my father if I could transfer somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, and I guess I broke down a little. And then he sent me to Dalton."

Santana opened her eyes and looked at him quietly for a few seconds before she replied.

"And then this year you just decided that going right back into the not-so-very welcoming arms of public school was a good idea?"

It was weird, but the question made Blaine smile. Santana's way of talking resembled Kurt's in a lot of ways. Santana did not use Kurt's big words or his ridiculous circumlocutions, but she had the same kind of wit, the same kind of energy in her speech.

"I guess I did," he answered with a small smile and picked a little at the coverlet he was sitting on.

"Why?"

Blaine looked up at her again and looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, because Santana very well knew why.

"Kurt," he said simply, and watched a smile awaken on Santana's face. That smile, that small and tired and kind of wry smile, Blaine realized, was the point of that conversation, the point of that story.

The smile, the realization that it was all going to be okay as long as she had someone she loved and that loved her back, right there by her side – that was as good a point as any.


	33. Chocolate

**A/N: Still not abandoned, only late. I know this update rate is borderline criminal because it's so slow, but I can honestly say that I wrote this the first free couple of hours that I got this month. Things should calm down for me now, though, so I'm hoping to get back on track with updating. The story is mapped out, though, so no worries. And if anyone wants to rant about this or canon or what to keep in Karma and what not, do so.**

**And also a million thanks to xxraquelita, my patient beta who never fails to impress me.**

**Well, let me know what you think about this! Enjoy!**

Blaine went home about an hour and a half after Kurt came waltzing into the room with the Trivial Pursuit box from the bookshelf downstairs in his arms. And even though board games were unarguably lame and even though the boys turned out to be way too good at it to be considered socially acceptable, Santana had to admit that she enjoyed herself.

When Blaine disappeared down the stairs to get his coat and go, it hit Santana how it had only been two days ago that they watched the third Harry Potter movie in Kurt's bed, and how surreal the concept of time had become in the chaos that was her life.

She and Kurt went to bed not long after Blaine was gone. They crashed into their beds with sleepy eyes and shouted "goodnights" to Burt and Carole, and fell asleep without within minutes – minds buzzing with the ornate letters on the Trivial Pursuit box combined with the solemn mood the events of the day had brought on.

That night, the nightmares came back.

Twice that night, Santana woke up twisting and crying. Both times, she found a distraught and worried Kurt hovering over her, on the knees by the foot end of his bed. She did not remember exactly what the nightmares consisted of, but she remembered the crucifix above the bureau in Lima Heights, she remembered packing everything within reach, and she remembered the hollow echoes of voices being raised in a locker room.

The second time she woke up, Kurt shifted down to sit beside her until her sobs and breaths calmed down enough for her to concentrate on anything he said.

He told her to follow him and, even though her body – sweaty and aching after the rough sleep – wanted to object, Santana's tired mind commanded her body to follow without hesitation.

Santana felt a lot like crying again when Kurt sat her down at the kitchen table and walked over to the fridge, the cupboard, and then the stove and started making her hot chocolate.

Maybe it was supposed to be weird, to have a friend mother her like she was some kind of five year old with a nightmare, but all Santana could feel when she watched Kurt stir the chocolate was gratitude.

They did not say anything until Kurt gently put the cups down on the table, sat down, and pushed one of the cups towards Santana.

Kurt tugged at his pajama sleeves and looked at her with so much concern that the image of him being the one mothering her flipped over for a second. He could just as easily be the five year old, tugging his sleeves and biting his lip and being far too aware of how serious the situation was, worried about the adult world.

Then the image flipped back again, back to normal, back to the farthest from normal anything could be. Back to two teenagers in a kitchen with two cups of the childhood cure for everything.

Santana knew a cup of hot chocolate in the middle of the night would never make her world come back together, but she also knew that Kurt never meant for it to do so, either.

It was not meant to heal her, it was just something for her to hold on to – which was nice for a change, to be able to hold on to something. Something that would not shatter, disappear or change dramatically at her touch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kurt asked finally, and Santana's instinctive answer was no. But it was Kurt with a cup of hot chocolate in a friendly, night dark kitchen that was asking, and before she knew what she was doing, words were falling out of her mouth.

"I have seventeen cousins," she heard herself say, and for a second she had no idea what she was trying to say. "I have five aunts, three uncles and seventeen cousins, Kurt. None of them have bothered to check up on me. None of them have even texted me."

She could hear her own voice break at that.

"Not even my brother," she continued, words quivering. "And I knew that one was coming, I just… we never really said goodbye."

Kurt stayed silent, but met Santana's teary look steadily.

"And my abuela…"

She let out a sob at the word and her eyes instinctively clamped shut with tears burning behind her eyelids, desperate to get through, to get out, to stream down her face.

"We were really close," she said and continued to hold the tears back, just for one more second. "Most nights she'd call me and check up on me, and… No one's said a word."

Her voice thickened, her throat kind of closed in on itself, and she was well aware that Kurt could probably only make out half of what she was saying.

"I don't know what I was expecting, but just… I don't even know where they think I'm staying. I don't even know if they care."

There were tearless sobs between the words, inhales that made weird pauses, intonations that ended up wrong, but she kept on sputtering out the words as if it was the last thing in the world she could do.

"I have a huge family, Kurt, and not one of them has called me or texted me or, I don't know, offered me _anything_."

The tears burst through, and Santana just knew that if she had anything else to say, it was lost in the waves by then.

"I used to think about what would happen if my dad kicked me out when he found out about me," Kurt suddenly replied, and the lack of logic in the statement made Santana's stormy mind freeze while trying to make some sense out of it.

"What?" she asked, more confused than ever, squinting at Kurt through wet, sticky eyelashes.

"I did," Kurt said and bit his lip slightly. Santana could not, for a second, grasp why he did not just continue right away; if he thought that was a complete story on it's own or if he was waiting for some sort of reaction.

"But Burt would never kick you out," she said disbelievingly.

"No, I know," Kurt hurried to reply and fiddled with his cup. "But I used to think that maybe he would."

Santana stared at Kurt, unsure what to even think.

"For a long time, we weren't very close at all," Kurt continued and kept his eyes fixed on the cup. "I was this really flamboyant and kind of sassy kid, and he… I don't know, he had a hard time dealing with me."

_Burt Hummel had a hard time dealing with Kurt being Kurt?_

Santana could not bring herself to say anything at all. She could think of absolutely nothing to say, because it all seemed so ridiculously odd to her.

Kurt probably noticed her disbelief, because with a twitchy, wry smile he added:

"I'm serious. He once confiscated my car because he found my tiara collection."

That did not make Santana feel any less confused.

"The thing is, that I was like, fourteen, and my dad was this macho 'Deadliest Catch' mechanic type of guy, and even though I've always loved him, I was kind of terrified. Not of him, I mean, just… One second I'd be thinking that I could tell him anything because he's my dad and he loves me more than anything. And then the next, I'd be horrified because what are the odds that a macho mechanic would be okay with me?"

Kurt took a sip of his chocolate and frowned slightly before he continued.

"I know it's ridiculous, because I know my dad would do anything for me. And I feel awful for ever even thinking it. But I was fourteen, I barely had any friends and I was just scared. And the thing is that before Glee, I can honestly say that I wouldn't have had anywhere to go."

Santana shut her eyes again in an attempt to regain control of her own mind. The storm in her head had lulled, but nothing made much sense yet. With her eyes still closed, she tried to form a question, tried to lay everything down in front of her, but all she managed to produce was a low w-sound.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said suddenly and Santana opened her eyes to figure out what he was talking about. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have told you all that. I wasn't trying to say that I know exactly how you feel, because I really, really don't. I'm not even certain what message I wanted to convey with that, I just… it was just what I was thinking."

"No," Santana said, and looked sincerely in her friend's eyes. "Don't be sorry. It's nice. Talking, I mean."

Kurt let out a little laugh and smiled gently at her, but Santana's gaze dropped down to the cup instead.

"I can't believe how nice you're all being to me," she said in a low voice. "I don't get how you can be so nice."

Her voice was not much more than a whisper, but it was perfectly audible and clear in the quiet kitchen.

"You let me stay at your house. Kurt, you let me share your room. I'm a bitch and I'm a bully, and you let me stay."

Kurt's hand reached out for hers, and for a moment Santana could swear she was about to start crying again.

"For what it's worth, Santana," Kurt started and squeezed her hand. "We're family. And this is what family is supposed to do. And while I'm aware that I'm about as far from seventeen cool Hispanic cousins as it gets, I promise that I'm going to do my very best to be everything they wouldn't be for you. Okay?"

Santana had never squeezed a hand so hard as she did right then, her fingertips digging into Kurt's knuckles. Holding on.

"Okay."


	34. Surprise

**A/N: I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for the slow rate this is going at. Nonetheless, here's another chapter for you and your Brittana-needs, for once. Thank you all, and most of all to xxraquelita, who has the most patience in the world. Let me know what you think.**

By the time they climbed out of the car in the school's parking lot Thursday morning, Santana regretted getting up at all. The three and a half hours of sleep she'd managed to get in the end were not even near enough, and even though Kurt had tossed four different moisturizers at her when she stepped out of the shower that morning, she could tell her eyes were still puffy and tired.

She could not even remember how they got back to bed; she just knew that somehow they did, and somehow they managed to fall asleep again. And, more importantly, they somehow managed to get up when Kurt's alarm went off, which was completely beyond Santana's comprehension.

She had no full recollection of what had happened at breakfast – only a vague memory of a strong cup of coffee came to mind when she tried to will the memories to appear. She did not even remember being annoyed with Finn, neither at breakfast nor in the car, which was probably both a good and a bad sign. Because if Santana was not conscious enough to be bothered by Finn, she would probably be close to unconscious in class.

Santana could not decide whether the day was one of the slowest of her life, or if the thick haze that seemed to have settled in her mind actually made the day go faster. But when the last class was dismissed and Santana pushed her chair back, she realized that the most prominent thing about that day was her losing all kinds of concepts regarding time.

It was like nothing had come through to her that day. Not a thing any of the teachers had preached about had made it into her mind. Whenever people had tried talking to her, all she had been able to answer was at best a confused, automatic reply and at worst an empty stare.

Santana had never done well without sleep. She needed a lot of the basics to be able to function properly; without a ton of sleep and crazy amounts of food her mind and body simply refused to cooperate.

"It's kind of like being hung-over," she groaned to Brittany as she picked up her backpack and followed the stream of people out of the classroom. "Whenever I'm hungry, sleep deprived or hung-over, I turn into this creature that just… The HMS – Hung-over Monster Santana."

She knew before she even said it that the joke and comment was completely lost on Brittany. That did not bother Santana in the least and she knew that Brittany could not care less about not catching the references, either.

But the sudden realization that hit Santana as she walked through the classroom door and entered the hall, absolutely startled her.

_Kurt would love that joke._

She did her best not to stop walking completely as the thought hit her dazed mind – not just because of the simple thought that Kurt would appreciate one of her meaningless jokes, but because of what that implied.

They were sort of alike. She had never thought of it that way before. She had thought of them as friends in spite of differences so huge it was almost blinding. She had thought of them as something very close to opposites.

But this. They were _alike_. Santana Lopez – head Cheerio, head bitch in charge, sassy, raging, snappy Santana Lopez – was rather similar to Kurt Hummel. _Kurt Hummel_. Two or three years ago, Santana would have never even considered that possible.

Back then, to her Kurt was the pale gay kid that always covered himself up in ridiculous outfits, had a voice higher than any girl she knew and insisted on strutting around the school looking like he thought he was so much better than everyone else.

Now, not only did she actually know who Kurt was beneath all that, but she could also see their similarities. Kurt was just as sassy as she was sometimes. Kurt could be a bitch when he wanted to, too. His standard setting "air of superiority" was not that different from her standard setting "seriously raging Lima Heights bitch." But above all; their wit.

They were _alike._

She had barely even finished that line of thought when something vaguely solid, blue and incredibly cold collided with her face.

She barely even registered the guy that threw it at her, and she was not completely sure what it was he shouted after her after the impact, because all she could think about was how to open her eyes when her entire face was nothing but a sticky, blue slushy mess.

Santana swore the entire way to the girl's bathroom and did not stop even when they got there. She let Brittany rinse the worst of it off her face, but also let herself continue the swearing.

She was not sure if the words tumbling out made her feel any better, but she figured that at least it would not hurt.

She was not sure what was the worst part of it all was, either. If it was the dickhead that threw the slushy, if it was the fact that the crowd in the hallway had only reacted with indifference and a couple of sneers, or if it was the stinging and burning sensation in her eyes.

"Look, some of it splashed onto me," Brittany said and looked down at her own chest as Santana inspected the blue discoloration on her own clothing. "It kind of matches my eyes."

Santana let out a laugh and met Brittany's eyes in the mirror.

"True," she said, and reached up to redo her slightly wet and untidy pony tail. "Not that your eyes are all neon, but still."

Santana pulled her pony tail with a final tug and turned halfway around to look at Brittany directly instead, and flashed her a smile.

"It's too bad my eyes aren't as matching," she said and turned back to the mirror, well aware that only Brittany could make her come up with an honest smile while corn syrup was burning her eyes.

"It's okay," Brittany said and walked up right behind Santana, meeting her eyes in the reflection, resting her chin on Santana's right shoulder. "You can match mine."

The sweet magic and constant surprise of Brittany's mind would never stop baffling Santana, and the perfection of the two of them in the mirror made her blush and look down into the sink in front of them for a second.

She looked up again only a moment after, just to get a second look at the image in front of her.

Her and Britt. Blonde versus dark. Blue versus brown. Matching slushy stains.

It was weird how a low standard school bathroom and a mirror image full of blue slushy stains became the most romantic place Santana could imagine at the moment.

"I love you."

Dinner at the Pierce's had always been like taking a break from reality; but in the state of sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion Santana was in, it was an even more absurd experience than ever before.

She could clearly remember how Brittany had first introduced her parents to her when they first got to know each other in middle school. Brittany had invited Santana over after school, and not two minutes into the visit had Brittany proudly stuffed Lord Tubbington into Santana's lap.

"It's okay," Brittany had assured the somewhat skeptical Santana. "He doesn't have anything contagious, I promise. I've checked."

Santana had been fairly sure the fat cat in her lap only put up with her because of laziness and perhaps some amount of gratitude towards Brittany, but he stayed in her lap and blinked slowly at her.

"Uh… You know a lot about cats, then?" she had asked, and had immediately felt like a complete and utter idiot.

"I have to," Brittany had answered solemnly and crawled up further into her bed. "My parents are hippies that don't believe in vaccination."

What was years but felt like a lifetime later, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce prepared a chick pea curry with coconut milk and sweet pepper, and gave Santana the honor of lightening the candles on the kitchen table while Brittany set the table in all the wrong ways.

It made Santana feel both a warm kind of fuzz in the pit of her stomach, and a slightly uneasy, prickling sensation in her gut; her emotions colliding. There were the families she had left, and there were the ones she had lost. There were the things that had changed and there were the things that had stayed the same. It was the same kind of feeling that kept pumping through her veins every time she entered the Hummel-Hudson kitchen or opened the tap in the bathroom upstairs.

Safe but sore.

She smiled at Brittany throughout dinner, offered to do the dishes she knew they would never let her do and then disappeared upstairs with Brittany mumbling something about _sweet lady kisses_ in her ear.

Brittany; the constant surprise. It always seemed so much at random when Britt did or did not understand irony and sarcasm, that it always took Santana by surprise when she suddenly found herself wondering if that right there was Brittany using it herself.

_Sweet lady kisses_. They had not called them that since before Santana stopped denying what they meant. It felt like a childhood name of an adult concept – what it used to be called before they knew what it was.

It was not"sweet lady kisses" anymore. There were no illusions between them anymore, no more excuses. Not that year. It was only them, hip to hip, mouth to mouth, both girls well aware of what they were.

They were them, together. Nothing else.

In the end, all Santana had to do when Brittany whispered those words, the words they had not used since forever, was turn her head and look at her. The grin on her girlfriend's face told her everything she needed to know.

It was a joke alright, a joke only they could grasp the entirety of. Only the two of them on top of the covers of Brittany's bed knew what it meant, the ironic use of the words they once had to protect themselves, the words that used to have Santana's heart in a firm, solid grip.

Her heart was not chained up like that anymore. It belonged to herself, or at least to the two of them.

Loneliness was very far away.


	35. Results

**A/N: I'm genuinely sorry I've become such a slow updater, but it should get better once I get a normal schedule again. As an apology, I give you two chapters at once here. My dear, dear beta xxraquelita made that possible, putting up with my deadlines, answering all my confused questions about both canon and Ohio, and correcting all my errors. But dear, dear readers, thank you for all your support to keep this monster going, and enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think. **

Thursday night, Santana got back to the Hummel-Hudson house at half past ten, which she supposed was quite a bit later than any reasonable curfews for teenagers. However, she had not been able to bring herself to care more than sending off a short but carefully composed text message to Kurt: _I'm at Britt's. Will get home late and ignore any eventual curfews. Don't wait up. _Her thumb had hovered for a while over the send button, trying to rephrase it so she could cut the word "home" out, but gave up after a while and just sent it anyway. Kurt's reply had pinged in her inbox two minutes later. _Dad says it's fine. We'll probably still be up though. Busy night. _It was not until she rang the doorbell a couple of hours later, cursing herself for not thinking about the fact that she did not actually have a key to the house, that she paid any attention to what Kurt could have actually meant by that.

The front door was swung open by a Kurt that was bursting with excitement in a way Santana had only seen him do once before, when he announced that he was going to prom with Blaine.

"What's with the happy face?" she asked as she stepped into the hall and slid past him to dump her bag on the floor.

"It's not official just yet but all the votes are counted," Kurt said, almost breathless, and Santana froze for a second.

"And?" she asked, not sure what to believe.

"And it looks like I won," a grumpy voice said from the doorway to the kitchen, and Santana looked up to watch Burt step out into the hall. "Big time."

Santana let out her breath so slowly she briefly wondered if she was doing it correctly, and then suddenly her legs were moving and her arms were rising and before she knew at all what she was doing, she was wrapping her arms around a shocked soon-to-be Congressman.

* * *

><p>Friday was crap. There was no getting around it. There were looks, which Santana did her very best to ignore with a haughty expression and pursed lips. There was Calculus, which she was normally good at but for some reason it refused to be interesting that day. There was a pool of grape slushy on the floor outside of the cafeteria which she somehow stepped in and then was constantly reminded of as her shoes made a sticky noise with every step she took.<p>

And then there was that election for senior class president, which had almost vanished from Santana's mind, that popped right back up again as Figgins announced the results through the PA system right before lunch.

The rest of the day was a fuzzy blur of hugging Brittany, being happy for Brittany, glancing over at Kurt who was looking positively depressed, head pounding due to way too much to think about, and trying to focus in History class.

Once Santana had said goodbye to Brittany, who ran off to some kind of meeting about the presidency at Figgins' office, she fiddled open her locker and dug out her homework, closing it with a bang. She turned around to lean up against it instead and wait for Kurt. She had gotten a brief glimpse of him a couple of minutes earlier, hugging Blaine in front of his own open locker.

She sighed, inspected her fingernails, and could not help but think that she might collapse onto the floor unless she really made an effort. However, Kurt's arrival did the trick. It only took her a quick glance at him to start frowning, because there was something off. He was clutching the strap of his messenger bag too tightly again. His jaw line looked too tense and his chin was up too high. Santana knew that was what Kurt looked like when he tried to mask things, and she knew how miserable he had been looking all day, so she heaved herself up from her leaning position and folded her arms.

"Finn's at football practice, he said he had to stop by Rachel's house anyway, so he'll get a ride from someone on the team," Kurt said quickly, and Santana suspected he only said it to try and stop her from asking what was wrong.

"Don't give me that 'too proud and haughty to feel' look, Hummel. Spill."

She knew that it worked, because Kurt huffed and looked away. Santana could swear that she could see him tracing the inside of his right cheek with his tongue annoyingly.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said and started stalking towards the exit without looking her in the eyes again. "I'm fine."

It was Santana's turn to huff a little, and she stared after him for a second before she swung her backpack over her shoulder and started following him out. She kept quiet until they were outdoors in the chilly wind and she was alongside Kurt instead of right behind him.

"You really need to realize that I know you better than to think that you're 'fine' when you're clearly not," she said with a mix of snappiness and determination that she knew would catch Kurt's attention.

He actually stopped a little to look at her – not enough to completely interrupt his fast walk, but still very much noticeable – before he turned back to focus on his car at the opposite end of the parking lot.

"Okay," he said slowly without meeting her eyes, "Fine. Whatever. I'm upset."

"I'm guessing it has something to do with not winning Senior Class President?"

They reached the car and Santana could hear Kurt sigh from the other side as she rounded it to get into the passenger seat, and then heard the locks click open. They climbed in, closed the doors and fastened their seatbelts with an almost simultaneous click.

"I just congratulated Brittany on winning the election," Kurt said without reaching for the ignition. "She'll do a great job and she earned it."

He paused and pursed his lips before he continued.

"I just really wanted to win."

"I get that it sucks," Santana tried carefully. "But Kurt, it doesn't… your entire life doesn't have to depend on this."

"I realize that compared to what you're going through, I probably seem like a pitiful, spoiled brat with my problems, but I just… it was my last shot at getting into NYADA."

He turned to look at her this time, and Santana could see every muscle in his face fight away the crying that was simmering just beneath the surface.

"I have nothing to add to my application," he continued, biting his lip a little. "I didn't get anything in 'West Side Story,' I didn't get Senior Class President, I have nothing but 'member of Glee club' to put on there, and I just…"

"Oh please," Santana said and folded her arms. "You'll be fine. Okay, so you're not posing on every club photo like Rachel Berry. So what? Come up with something else to put on there!"

"Like what?" Kurt said, a bit stiffly at Santana's harsher tone, and finally turned the key to start the car and backed out of the parking lot without really looking at her.

"I don't know," Santana said and threw her arms about. "Campaign manager to your dad's campaign? The Celine Dion thing you did for Nationals with the Cheerios last year? Whatever."

She looked intensely at Kurt who, thankfully, had his eyes fixed on the road and not at her. She was not sure why she was being so forceful or why she sounded so annoyed and almost angry. She tried to sort through her emotions and thoughts quickly, just to get the greater picture, but was not sure it helped very much. All she could conclude was that she was not angry with Kurt, but that she did understand his frustration.

Kurt looked thoughtful, a bit scared, and so stubborn that Santana almost raised an eyebrow just for the heck of it, but then she realized that he was not looking her way anyway.

The reason for her pushiness hit her not so much suddenly as it did hard.

_He thinks it's the end of the world when it's supposed to be the start._

"Kurt, the thing is that no matter what, you'll be fine," she heard herself say and was suddenly scared that the autopilot she had discovered the past week had taken over again. She blinked for a brief moment to be sure she was the one in control over what she was saying.

"You told me yourself that you used to tell the guys that threw you into the dumpster that one day they'd be your employees? It's true, so don't just give up. It doesn't depend on this single thing. Even if you don't get into NYADA, you'll just, I don't know, sit down and sew for a year and then launch some great, crazy collection and be an overnight fashion star."

Kurt, eyes still firmly fixed on the road, let out a little laugh at that and Santana felt a pang of accomplishment when she realized that she was getting through to him.

"You'll be fine," she finished with a wry smile, happy that Kurt was not looking at her, because she would just look smug, and all of a sudden she was rather aware that it was not her best trait.

When they stopped in front of the next traffic light, Kurt turned to her slowly and looked at her so solemnly that she almost blushed.

"You're way much nicer than you think you are," he said and Santana could not help but snort, even though she could not will the then-very-much-existent blush away.


	36. Visit

**A/N: I'm so excited to publish this one, I started it months ago because I couldn't resist it, but obviously couldn't publish it until now. I'm really happy that you'll get to read it now, because I think a lot of people have been waiting for this little someone. Let me know what you think!**

Santana knew nothing about the concept of Friday Night Dinners, until she casually asked Kurt if he was going to Blaine's that night or if he had any plans. Kurt, who was filling up a glass of water by the sink, turned to stare at her and half-laughingly told her that his dad would kill him if he missed Santana's first Friday Night Dinner with the family.

"Oh my god," he said when he noticed her clueless frown and tilted head. "I didn't tell you about that?"

Kurt launched into an explanation of the tradition, which Santana listened to with surprised interest. It was odd how Kurt managed to let slip more things about himself in an explanation of Friday Night Dinners than he almost ever did otherwise. He did not skip the story about how Burt's heart attack coincided with a skipped Friday Night Dinner, and even mentioned his mother once with a sad smile. Santana could not recall ever having seen Kurt with his defenses so low. She guessed the reason he did not lock down on himself and keep quiet the way he usually did when it got to the hard and emotional issues was that this time, those parts were told as parts of another, happier, concept and context.

It was fascinating to watch, and Santana knew that she had a broad smile all over her face as she threw in little questions and comments while chewing on an apple that Kurt had tossed to her.

He looked genuinely proud, and told Santana little stories about teaching Burt Hummel how to cook and how, when he thought that project was finally coming to an end, he started all over again when Finn got into the picture.

Kurt looked up at her when he mentioned Finn, as if to check her reaction. She was not sure how much she gave away, because to be honest, she was not sure how she felt about it herself. Angry, sure. But Kurt talked about his brother with more affection than he had ever done about him before, and before she knew it she had Carole's words from a couple of days earlier echoing through her mind.

_I'm not asking you to forgive him right away, sweetie. But I'm asking you to try when you can. Because I don't think he's a bad person._

The doorbell rang before she could finish the thought, and Kurt stopped in the middle of both a sentence and a gesticulation. They both stared dumbly out the kitchen door for half a second before they both got to their feet and into the hallway.

"It's probably Finn," Kurt said as he reached for the door handle, and Santana stopped in the doorway at that, not really wanting to greet Finn at the door.

But before Kurt had pushed the door open, she took a step closer to Kurt and frowned.

"Doesn't Finn have a key?" she asked just as Kurt opened the door to reveal who was behind it.

"Sup?"

"Puck?" Santana and Kurt exclaimed in unison.

Puck stood at the doorstep with his hands in his pockets, looking a little awkward, but at the same time so casual it was almost ridiculous.

"Forgive me for being so crude," Kurt said slowly. "But what are you doing here?"

"I was just stopping by to check up on the despo lesbo I've heard you've been keeping upstairs."

Santana pushed past Kurt and folded her arms again.

"I'm not desperate, Puck," was all she could come up with as an answer. She mentally chastised herself for not coming up with anything better.

"And also not in denial about the lesbo part. NICE!"

He raised his hand for a high five, and Santana was initially so taken aback that she almost raised hers too, as an old reflex.

"I'm not going to high five on that, loser," she finally said and let herself crack open a smile.

Puck smiled back.

"What?" he demanded and threw his arms out of his pockets. "You know I always thought you'd come to your senses about the whole lesb…"

"Just shut up and get your jacket off or I'm not inviting you in."

* * *

><p>Kurt, looking more confused than Santana had ever seen him, kind of ushered them up the stairs and into the room before he somewhat nervously backed out with a mumbled, "I'll leave you two alone, then."<p>

Santana looked after him with furrowed eyebrows as he closed the door, even though she had to admit that she did understand him. She would not have wanted to be the third wheel to herself and Puck either, and in a situation as messed up as the one they were all in, she really admired Kurt for not just staring at them in confusion.

Puck took in the room with a quick, sweeping look.

"This room is so gay. Is that, like, a make-up table?" Puck whistled. "Hummel's even worse off than I thought."

Santana did not hesitate as she kicked his shins.

"Be nice, Puck," she said sternly and took a seat on Kurt's bed, leaving the desk chair to Puck.

Puck did not say anything – he only huffed slightly in pain as Santana's kick hit its target, and climbed past the camp bed to sit down at the swivel chair. He spun half a turn before he turned back and looked at Santana with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, I guess the queer's a good enough kid if he's letting you stay here."

"Puck," Santana hissed warningly.

"Sorry," Puck mumbled. To his credit, he did do the sort-of-apologetic-mouth-twitch Santana knew so well before he threw his legs up at the camp bed to get back his usual look of indifference.

They were silent for a second before Santana spoke up without really knowing what she was about to say.

"I owe Kurt a lot," she said. She pursed her lips and wiggled her head so slowly it would not be noticeable had it not been Puck watching her. She had to do it, had to add some part of the Queen Bitch Santana they both knew, or what she was saying would sound way too cheesy and weak. "Or, I mean, Burt and Carole too, obviously…"

She realized her mistake before she closed her mouth, because she could see it in Puck's eyes that he noticed who she was _not _mentioning at once. Not that it was a secret, and Puck very well knew that she and Finn were fighting, but she just lacked the energy to explain it all to him. She could see him searching for the answer to the unspoken question in her eyes, so she looked down quickly.

Through her lashes, and now mostly to the floor, she hemmed and said, "I owe Kurt a lot, that's all," mostly to stop Puck from just going for it and asking about Finn.

_He would be one to talk, anyway, with their history._

To Santana's great surprise, Puck let it go.

"You know I think he's alright," he said, and Santana looked up again to see Puck biting his lip slightly before he managed to say the next part of that sentence. "Kurt and I have had our moments."

"It's weird how I think I'm quite possibly the only person that can appreciate the fact that you didn't just add 'no homo'."

Puck cracked open a smile.

"Only for you, babe."

"Don't call me babe," Santana said with a dry smile without really meaning it.

The gentle knock on the door made them both look around quickly as Kurt opened it and stuck his head in.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to inform you that Finn just got home."

"Don't worry about it, dude," Puck said and threw his head backwards in something Santana supposed was some kind of male gesture of acknowledgement, but Kurt did not seem to get it either.

Instead he just looked oddly with a wrinkled forehead at Puck.

"Don't call me dude," he said without much emotion and then turned around to leave.

Neither Puck not Santana could stop the burst of laughter that broke out the second Kurt closed the door.

Knowing that Finn was in the house too was kind of unsettling. Not because Santana was so blinded with rage that she had forgotten that the house, after all, was Finn's house and belonged to Finn's family and that _she _was the intruder, but because both Puck and Santana knew that under any normal circumstances, Puck would have been there for Finn's sake.

He did not even go downstairs to say hello, and Santana could not help but feel a pang of guilt. She knew Puck and Finn had sort of managed to restore their friendship at least decently this year, after all that had gone down between them.

"You're not going to say hello to him?" she tried, looking away again.

"Maybe later," Puck answered and spun around the swivel chair again. "I'm not here for him, though."

He stopped the spinning chair, leaned forward and looked at her intensely.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?" he deadpanned, and Santana could not stop her snarky tone when she replied.

"Seriously, Puck, what do you want me to say? I'd say the fact that I'm living in Kurt's room, combined with that commercial you've probably seen by now, kind of make the situation speak for itself."

"So, what? Your parents found out your dirty little secret, kicked you out and now you're living here."

"Way to be sensitive," she said and traced the inside of her mouth with the tip of her tongue, but Puck seemed to get that her answer was meant more like a confirmation than a taunt.

"You could have called me, you know," Puck said carefully after a few seconds.

That took Santana aback, and the only automatic response her body could come up with was a resigned, pushed-out breath. She tried to decipher what Puck had meant by that. There was something in his voice – something a little… tender. Was it hurt?

"As always, picking the best of situations to pity yourself, are you?" she said and regretted it immediately. Puck did not seem to take it personally though, and Santana was thankful when all she got was a meaning look and raised eyebrows.

_Oh. Not hurt, then. Worry._

"You know what I mean", Puck said, and Santana's heart skipped half a beat, because she did know what he meant.

He meant that she could always tell him anything. Because badasses belong together.

"We haven't really talked for a while," he said in something she registered as a tentative effort to get her out of defense and bitch mode, and into talk mode.

It had always worked in middle school when the hormones made Santana impossible to talk to from time to time and she had been in one of her moods the entire day.

It still worked. Every time Puck sort of landed in that mode, the one where he genuinely wanted to talk to her and could skip all the usual bullshit attitude, it reminded her how good friends they really were, and all _her _bullshit attitude armor came crashing down as well.

"Yeah," she breathed. "I know."


	37. Gift

**A/N: This is sort of a shortie, but do not despair since I'm working on the very exciting next chapter; the big Finntana showdown I know you've been waiting for. I promise it will be longer than I usually make them. Until then; enjoy!**

By some sort of odd, karmic intervention it was Noah Puckerman who prevented Friday Night Dinner at the Hummel-Hudson's, featuring Santana Lopez, from turning into an awkward event that could have easily ended in slightly catastrophic scenarios.

Santana knew that. She knew that it was completely owed to the talk she had with Puck about everything – about her parents, about home, about school, about _Finn_ – that she did not completely crack down five minutes into preparing green beans with the tall and obviously very nervous boy that fidgeted next to her at the sink. Finn did not even dare to properly look at her. Instead, he threw her an uncertain glance every once in a while all throughout the evening, and Santana could tell that he was just as surprised as the rest of them that she had not snapped at him even once so far.

To be honest, Santana was sort of surprised herself, because _seriously_, she thought, _since when do I take this kind of advice from Puck?_

The thing was that Puck had not really told Santana anything she did not already know, but merely pointed out what she had been too busy to stop and think about.

"You do realize that you need to talk to him, like, soon, right?" Puck had said up in Kurt's room after Santana had told him about what was happening. "You live together, it's not like you can just ignore it. The elephant in the room, you know. Sooner or later it takes a shit and you don't want to be the one breathing those fumes."

"I really don't think that's the way that saying goes."

"Just talk to him. And until then, just… try not to blow either of you up. Pretend he's someone else if you need to, and just… I don't know, do small talk. Anything that's not ignoring him completely or ripping him into pieces. "

"I don't think I could pull that off even if I tried."

"Until you've talked it out, that's what you're going to do."

"We're not going to 'talk it out,' Puck –"

"Yes you are," Puck had said, and just the fact that he was prepared to cut her – _Santana Lopez_ – off in the middle of a sentence was enough to know that he really, really meant it.

So somehow, she ended up actually taking the advice. Once or twice during dinner she had to pretend that Finn was someone else – a mix between Mike and Sam she decided she could stand – to be able not to snap, but all in all it ended up being way better than she had imagined.

It was nice. She sort of chit-chatted with Carole about her workplace, joked with Kurt about Ms. Pillsbury's outfit, laughed with Burt at a sudden mention of Kurt's time on the football team and before she could think about it, she even commented when Finn said that he had a ton of Spanish homework to do over the weekend.

"Yeah, well, just don't trust Mr. Schuester when it comes to pronunciation, because I swear his accent is worse than Brittany's," she said and watched the entire table fall silent for a few seconds.

Santana was still not too familiar with how blushing felt, but she was pretty sure that blushing was exactly what she was doing during those seconds of stunned silence while the others tried to get past the initial shock of her actually _speaking_ to Finn.

Burt was the one that broke out of the trance first, and his grunted "You speak Spanish?" was an effective way of making the others come to their senses, too. Santana shot him a grateful look before she told them that yes, she did, and proceeded to stuff her mouth full of salad so she would not have to say more.

But it was not until Burt stood up and cleared his throat while they were all in the middle of finishing the fruit salad dessert that Kurt had made, that Santana completely understood how special this dinner was, how seriously they took it, and how much it meant to all of them.

_Holy crap_, she realized and froze with the dessert fork halfway into her mouth. _He's going to make a speech._

Kurt seemed to be having the same revelation, because when Santana glanced at him, he looked absolutely startled and used the very last air in his lungs to breathe a mortified, "Dad!"

"I just want to say a few words," Burt said to his son, but Kurt did not look less horrorstruck when Santana turned her head back to Burt and put the fork down on her plate with a little clanking sound.

Her emotions were stuck somewhere in between curiosity and terror and her thoughts somewhere between _this is ridiculous, who holds a speech at a fucking dinner _and _this is Burt Hummel, and if this has anything to do with me I'm bound to end up bawling._

"Santana," Burt started, and crushed all her hopes of it not being for her. It sort of knocked the air out of her, and she drew in a breath and held it instinctively. "I know this week has probably been one of the worst of your life, and I know that everything is… kind of new and confusing, and just… a lot."

Her body still refused to let the breath out.

"But I just want – _we_ just want you to know that it's an honor to have you here even though it's because of a horrible situation."

She exhaled, finally, but was suddenly not so sure what good that was supposed to do, because her head kept spinning just the same.

"And also," Burt grunted with a smile and sort of nudged Carole on the shoulder. "We've got… a gift of sorts for you."

She held her breath again, well aware that it probably looked like her chest was twitching more than actually breathing.

"We've talked it through," Carole said with a smile, and looked first at Burt and then at Santana, catching her stunned gaze. "And we came up with the idea that… you know, we have an attic."

Carole paused and tilted her head a little, her smile widening, and Santana was not sure if they were looking for some sort of reaction from her. Because if they were, they were out of luck. She could not really see where this was going.

"We were thinking that we could clear out some space up there," Burt cut in, and Santana looked up at him again, eyes still wide in confusion.

They, in return, looked at her as if she should get it by then.

"Oh, honey," Carole said suddenly, reassuringly as if she understood why Santana was not responding. "Don't worry – there's a wall up there so you wouldn't be living in the middle of all the stuff and boxes, you see."

When it finally clicked for Santana, she was too stunned to say anything in response. She just gaped, which made Carole display yet another worried frown.

"I'm sure we could make it look nice enough," Carole said anxiously and scratched her wrist a little nervously. "I'm sure Kurt could help you pick out some paint that makes it look less… less… storage roomy, if that's what you're worried about."

"You're giving me a room?" Santana finally managed to ask. Her entire body felt as if it was squeezed together, every muscle tight and so very, very present. The tears were welling up, pressing, _waiting_ to get let out.

"Yeah," said Burt and sat down again and started finishing his fruit salad. "If you want it."

The first tear broke loose, and Santana raised her hand quickly to stop it and wipe it away before it could do too much damage.

"I don't even know what to say," she said, unable to decide who she should look at. "It's too much."

"I'm thinking light beige," Kurt said smilingly and elbowed her lightly in the side, and Santana cracked a smile that she instinctively tried to hide with her hands.

"It's too much," she repeated through her hands, unsure where to put them. "I can't… It's too much."

"Light beige isn't too much," Kurt said, and Santana was baffled how he managed to both calm her and tease her in the same sentence. "Maybe a bit too boring, but it's not too much."

She elbowed him slightly just because she could, slid her fingers through her hair, and stared into the table top.

"We'll start tomorrow," Burt said suddenly, and Santana's head snapped back up, mouth a little agape.

_He's serious._

"Thank you," she whispered and then saw Finn, who had remained silent the past few minutes, absolutely beam at the other side and end of the table. Puck's words echoed in her mind.

She would have to "talk it out" in the end, no matter how much she hated the idea.


	38. Confrontation

**A/N: A well-overdue chapter, a long one though, and one you've been wanting for a long time. As always betaed and saved by xxraquelita. I'm guessing you might have opinions on this one, readers, and that's okay. Just enjoy!**

Afterwards, Santana realized that the empty house was staged by the entire Hummel-Hudson household and not so much the coincidence it had seemed at the time.

It was late Saturday morning when it happened. Kurt slipped out the door right after breakfast and drove off to Blaine's house for a few hours, with the promise of being back at three, which was when Burt had declared the clearing of the attic would commence. Santana waved Kurt off absent-mindedly and dug out her homework from the backpack, getting settled at the kitchen table with the papers spread in front of her. She was unsure what it really came down to, but there was something internal that kept her from doing it at the desk up in Kurt's room instead. Maybe it was the fact that in the kitchen, she had a place and seat she could actually refer to as _hers_.

Even so, Santana was admittedly unfocused as she stared at the papers. The letters kept gliding apart and her head constantly threatened to start pounding maliciously if she concentrated too hard. She was only ten minutes into it and already on the verge of giving up completely when she heard Carole call her name from the hallway.

She did not hesitate for an excuse to leave the school work, and hastily stood up and hurried over to the doorway that separated the kitchen from the hallway. Both Carole and Burt were there, Carole buttoning her coat and Burt throwing his jacket on. They looked up at her, and Santana's immediate reaction was to frown slightly, because she was not sure what to tell from their faces.

"Is something wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh no, not at all," Carole said, a bit too quickly. "But we're going to run some errands. Burt needs to look through some papers, and then we should do some grocery shopping and then…"

"We'll be back in a few hours," Burt filled in, and straightened his jacket somewhat uncharacteristically. Maybe that was the moment when Santana should have realized they were up to something, but instead she just nodded once and tilted her head.

"Do you want any help with the grocery shopping? I could…"

"NO!" Or maybe the moment when she should have caught on was when both of them burst out in a nervous but surprisingly simultaneous response. But even though it would all be painfully obvious to her afterward, no alarm bells went off. Later, after reprimanding herself for not getting it, she would ultimately forgive herself with the realization that she genuinely did not know them too well and that they were just a week into their entire relationship. But as it were, instead of reacting she just shrugged lightly and said goodbye to them as they headed out the door.

She went back to the kitchen table, sitting down and staring blankly into the papers again.

_This getting kicked-out thing is going to ruin my grades._

And then, suddenly and before Santana had the time to think anything else at all, Finn strode into the kitchen, walked to the other side of the table, and sat down right across from Santana.

One single, dumb thought floated through Santana's mind.

_That's not his usual seat._

Then he looked her, solemnly and right in the eyes, and she felt the panic spread instantly throughout her body. All of a sudden all she could think was_ karma, karma, karma._

Karma fucking sucked.

She knew she had thought, loud and clear in her mind the very night before, that it would soon be time to talk it out. Just not that soon. She could not imagine feeling less ready.

"Santana," Finn started and she instinctively shut her eyes, as if she just did it hard enough she could simply _will _Finn and his attempt at a confrontation away.

It was clearly obvious that it was an ineffective method, because even though she did her very best to shut everything out, the sound of Finn _breathing_ was the only thing her brain managed to register.

"No," she finally made herself say, still with closed eyes and through teeth clenched so tight it was sort of hurting.

Finn let out a frustrated sigh that made Santana try and press her jaws together even harder, but kept her eyes determinately shut.

"We can't have another week like this one," he said, and it was with pure, jerky reflex that Santana laughed a short, raw laugh and then open her eyes, feeling furious.

_´We can't have another week like this one.´ Who does he think he is?_

Of course, Santana knew what Finn meant: another insanely awkward week where the two of them tried avoiding each other like the plague even though they were living in the same house. Santana knew very well that was what he meant, but as her heart pumped faster and harder by the second, and as the inevitable anger started rising in her stomach, she could not help but snap in response.

"Yeah, well, you know what? A week where my parents don't kick me out, I don't get outed on television or ridiculed in school would be fantastic with me, too."

Santana's greatest asset in conflicts was, incidentally, also her biggest problem in conflicts. It was a catch-22 rooted so deep in her that she never managed to truly escape it. It was her ability to shut people up – because if she wanted to she could make practically anyone, with the possible exception of Sue Sylvester, become absolutely speechless.

At times, it was because she actually managed to make people realize that she was right simply by delivering a hard truth as if it was a bitch slap. But all the more often, it was because she said something so mean that people just crumpled and let her leave them there, mostly breathless and always offended, and also _off her back_.

That had always been her main focus when she got into fights, to make people back off - scare and intimidate them until they left her alone. Until they could not hurt her.

Her ability to shut people up meant she could walk away victorious, even when she knew that she was wrong. It also meant that she never got to, as Puck put it, _talk it out_. She was always provoked enough to press that big, red button long before she would let anyone get to the actual core of the problem.

It was a defense mechanism and she knew it. She knew the reason she always exploded was to keep herself and her heart safe and unexposed. But as she met Finn's eyes over the kitchen table, she knew a few other things as well.

She knew that she was bound to start yelling sooner rather than later. She knew that it was not going to be a fight in which she would be able to restrain herself from playing dirty. And she knew that she was already more exposed than ever.

"I just think we should talk," Finn said in a low voice.

And even though Santana knew that for once he was right and that they genuinely _did_ need to talk, there was no fighting the much greater part of her that could not stand the thought of voluntarily being left alone with Finn Hudson.

"And I don't," she snarled, and got up from the chair to storm off before things got out of hand. Before she had even properly stood up, Finn reached over the table to grab her arm. They froze at the exact same time, Santana with her shoulders a little hunched, halfway up from the chair and with murder in her eyes, and Finn with his hand in mid-air.

Even though his hand was sort of just hanging there not touching anything, the effect was the same as it would have been if he had grabbed her.

"Please just... sit?" he pleaded and awkwardly pulled his hand back to his side of the table.

And she did, her body reacting before her mind could step in and stop her. As if to defy the part of her that made her sit down again, she did it with a massive glare and with lips pursed so hard she felt like she was crushing them.

That was another way she had of shutting people up, which she knew perfectly well.

They were quiet for a few excruciating, long, tense seconds before Santana broke the silence with an icy edge to her voice.

"So?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Santana snorted loudly.

"No, I am! I am!" Finn looked at her with desperation etched across his face. "Listen, I know... I know I did, like, a really stupid thing and I get that you're mad at me. And I'm sorry."

Santana had no idea what she was supposed to say to something like that and instead of finding an answer, her left hand automatically flew to her temple to rub at it.

"Please just say something," Finn pleaded, which made something _burst_ in her.

"What do you even want me to say?" she snapped. "My life is a fucking _mess_. My deepest secret's been honest-to-God _broadcast_. I'm not welcome in my own home anymore. You can be as sorry as you like, but it's not helping me for shit."

She was dangerously close to shouting already and she could swear that her entire chest was trembling with anger.

"But I didn't mean for any of that to happen," Finn said, in a voice much louder than before but with the same apologetic desperation radiating out of him. "I know I shouldn't have shouted that in school, but I didn't know... I just..."

Santana's impulse to go full-on sarcastic bitch and snark _oh, you had no idea I didn't want people to know? God, I'm so sorry, that changes everything, just forget I ever brought it up_ at Finn was almost overwhelming. But when she opened her mouth to answer, her reply came out much calmer than her thoughts.

"You should have known better."

She said it with great bitterness and a sort of sharp sting in her voice that she was pretty sure even Finn would be able to notice, but it was so much more than the bitchy remark she _could_ have delivered. Just that fact alone made the statement all the more true.

The weight of the words settled onto both of their shoulders, becoming almost visible as Finn slouched even more and cast his eyes down towards the table again. She watched him intensely; watched his cheeks turn redder as he flushed with shame. And just like every guy Santana had ever met, Finn tried to hide the shame - quite unsuccessfully since he had her full attention - with a fumbling hand covering his eyes.

"I know," he mumbled in a voice even lower, and behind his hand his skin was an even more intense sort of pink. "I know, I know I should've, like… like, I know I should have known."

He started to talk faster, almost blurting the words, likely not giving pause to run them through a filter before they came out.

"I mean, especially after everything that went down with Kurt and then there's Rachel and her dads and I sort of get it now, because she and Kurt were both like _really_ mad at me, and they made me watch these videos, like Rachel made some sort of playlist on Youtube with like, videos from something called the Trevor Project, and Kurt made me watch loads of them every night this week before I went to bed, and Rachel's been like, quizzing me about them and…"

He looked up at her for a second and immediately fell silent, obviously realizing that he was rambling. Santana was not sure what to think as images of Finn's face scrunching up in front of his laptop popped up in her mind, breaking her boiling anger for a moment.

"Kurt and Rachel made you watch 'It gets better' videos?" she asked incredulously, momentarily too stunned to say anything else.

"Yeah, and, like, I've just been feeling really bad about what I did all week, and I…"

"I really don't want to hear it, Finn," she cut him off fiercely the second she registered what he was trying to say. Another lame apology she could do just as fine without. She stood up from the chair – properly this time – spun around and marched off, with no other intention that just getting away.

If she would have thought one more step ahead, she would have picked Kurt's room to storm off to and not the living room. She realized it was a crappy plan the moment she stepped across the threshold and heard the scraping of Finn's chair against the kitchen floor behind her.

_I should've guessed_, she thought dryly. _The guy is dating Rachel Berry, and not even I can compete with her storm-outs._

If Santana had looked at Finn instead of storming off, she would have seen his face fall and the flush of shame there turn into a red tone of rage instead. If she would have turned around to look at him stalk after her, she would have noticed how heavy his angry footsteps were and how he was curling his fingers into fists.

But she did not, and instead she did not see him or his shift in moods until she was well into the living room and turning around to think of another plan that did not involve Finn Hudson being in the same room as her. When she did see him, she could not help but be a little taken aback.

"I've said I'm sorry!" he bellowed, looking absolutely crushed with frustration. Santana's fighting spirit made her heart beat one extra, fluttery, angry beat just because she did not get to be the first one shouting in the fight. "I've said I'm sorry, and I know I shouldn't have said what I said in school, but you were horrible to me and I just sort of cracked!"

Santana did not need to take a second to process. She was instantly shouting back at him without a moment of hesitation, her posture even more rigid and tense than before.

"You know what? You say you're sorry, but you just keep making excuses, don't you?!"

The fact that she had no new, foul nicknames for him in that outburst was probably proof enough that she was truly pissed off.

"It's not an excuse," Finn shouted and flung his arms about hopelessly. "You were a bitch to me!"

"Yeah, well, no shit," she retorted with a disbelieving look on her face and her arms crossed.

"I know it sound bad," Finn started, breathing heavier but not screaming anymore, "But you really were – "

"Yes, Finn, I know. Everyone knows. I'm a bitch. It's not exactly breaking news. But you know what? The difference between you and me is that I _know_ I'm a bitch, while you just sit around pretending that you're so incredibly _nice_ all the time with no idea whatsoever that you're just fucking not."

She said it while leaning slightly toward Finn, not letting herself compromise her behavior in the least just because he was so much bigger than her.

_Santana Lopez does not back off._

She glared at Finn intensely. He looked positively hurt.

"I know what I did was wrong and I've said I'm sorry!" he said, looking frustrated that he had to say it yet again. "And I'm not a bad person! I know you think I am but…"

"You outed me!" she screamed, higher than ever this time. "In a crowded hallway, in our narrow-minded douchebag-infested excuse of a school, you _outed me_. And yeah, so I provoked you, big deal. That doesn't make it any less real."

"It was a big deal to me," Finn shot back at her, and she gritted her teeth hard, because she knew that for once – even though she had no intention of admitting it – he was right.

She was a bully at times, a bully who did bad things and had no right to expect people to be anything more than bullies back to her. But that was a revelation too big and too scary to come to terms with, maybe at all, let alone in the few seconds she had to react within in the Hummel-Hudson living room, bellowing her heart out.

"Get some perspective," she spat, instead of giving him a point. "You were offended and felt a little bad about yourself. _I_," she continued and could not hide the deep sorrow in her voice as she uttered the next words, "lost everything."

Finn looked genuinely sorry at that and softened almost immediately.

"I'm sorry everything that went down happened to you, and I really want to be there for you. I can, like, protect you and stuff, and I was thinking maybe I could…"

"Why do you need to be such a freaking hero all the time? Because honestly, Finn, you're sort of the last person I want to put on a pedestal right now."

_Why do you need to be such a freaking hero. _

She yelled it instinctively, but it had been before she realized how true it was and how it was probably major button for him. The moment the words started hanging heavily in the air between them, though, the full extent of it hit her. The constant weight on her shoulders she had been feeling more than ever the past week shifted, but it was hard telling if it was for the better or worse; if it was a realization that brought relief or just more misery. _It's a bit like cleaning your room_, Santana thought and let out a breath, almost surprised it did not come out visibly like it would if she were outside in the winter. _When you're in the middle of doing it, it looks even worse than when you started._At least she hoped that was how it was, that it was not for nothing she had pushed the biggest and worst button she could possibly find.

Santana felt weird, anger still pulsing through her veins and jolting out into her body with every heartbeat, but her mind was clearer than she could ever remember it being during a fight. At the same time, she was perfectly aware that it was her doing what she always did – pushing people's buttons just to make them shut up and walk away. And she was so genuinely pissed with herself and the fear that there might be no stopping her, no matter how aware she was of her behavior.

At first, for a few seconds, Finn looked taken aback. Then, his face shifted and he gave a light cringe when the words seemed to really sink in and the bomb truly hit the target and exploded. He looked completely dumbstruck and about to start crying, and he stared at Santana like he was unsure what had just happened - if he was the one hurt or if she was saying something true.

Santana was genuinely surprised when he answered her instead of shutting up and getting out of there like she expected everyone to do after she lashed out at them like that.

"I wasn't… I just wanted to help, like, make things right. I'm not a bad person. You just think I am, but I'm not, I just snapped and…"

The anger took over again. Even though Santana could tell how that was the moment she should drop the attitude and at least _try _and accept his apology, since even she could clearly see that although a bit ineloquent it was at least heartfelt, she could not manage to do that. Not just yet. Instead, she let the fury pumping through her body rise up her throat and come shouting out once more.

"You know what, nacho face? It's weird, because you try so hard to be a good person, but the best you can do is mildly condescending."

It felt like firing what she knew was her last bullet. It was bringing the fight to its maximum, if not for anything else than for making sure that it could only calm down afterward. Her entire body felt it. Her posture had been tense, like it always was when things actually got to her, but she started slumping slightly, and let out a long, shaking breath.

Finn looked like he had no idea what to do with himself and just stood there in front of her, arms hanging by his sides and the dawning realization of his own hero complex probably pushing its way into his conscience.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, and finally, something in Santana accepted the apology and a huge wave of relief washed over her.

"I know," she answered, all the rage from her last sentence gone, and just a worked-up, vibrating tone left in her voice. "It's okay."

Finn looked at her in disbelief, and Santana could not blame him. Her shift of moods probably looked insane to him.

"It's not your fault," she continued, and could almost not even believe that she said it. "I mean, it sort of is your fault, but it's not…"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a briefly before she opened them again and said in one breath, "You're not the evil element in this, but you were the catalyst."

Finn looked nothing but puzzled, and Santana hesitated to simplify it for him, suddenly keen not to sound patronizing.

_Well, that's got to be some kind of progress,_ she thought, _me not wanting to sound patronizing to him._

She sighed and searched for words a bit less big but not small enough to make it sound like she was trying to explain it to a child.

"I mean, you're not… you're not the one who made that commercial, and you're not the one that kicked me out. You were just the one that did something really stupid, thoughtless, and tactless that sort of… like…"

"I get it." Finn spoke with a pained expression. "I was the thing that got it all started."

"Yeah. And I get to be bitter about that," she said and pursed her lips.

"Okay," Finn replied and shrugged.

"Okay," Santana repeated and looked down at her feet to avoid looking like she was up for some sort of make-up-hug. Finn either did not understand the hint or completely ignored it since he crashed into her without hesitation or warning and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She did not return it, but was not sure if it was because she was too baffled to do anything, too uncomfortable with it, or if it was because Finn was holding her so tightly she could hardly move. Most likely it was a combination of it all.

She was not sure why he was hugging her; if it was for her sake or for his.

_Maybe_, she thought as Finn let go, _it was for both of us._


	39. Setup

"You set me up," Santana burst out the second Kurt stepped in to their room.

A few fairly awkward but thankfully quiet hours had passed since the fight with Finn, which kept replaying over and over again in Santana's head. Both she and Finn had kept to themselves in separate rooms, if only because of a mutual, quiet understanding that they both needed to calm down and have some space if either of them wanted to be able to think clearly ever again.

As the afternoon rolled around, all she really did was waiting for Kurt to come home, strategically positioning herself in Kurt's desk chair. It would have provided an unblocked view of and path to the door if it had not been for her bed, squeezed in between the bookshelves and Kurt's own bed. She had decided that for someone entering the room, the desk chair had to be the most dramatic position. Her arms were folded tightly to emphasize it all, and she sat still, waiting for Kurt to show up.

Kurt looked taken aback, but the surprise in his face was mixed with both worry and a hint of panic. But within a second he dropped his bag on the floor, closed the door behind him, and shut his eyes briefly before he drew a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, opening his eyes to look at her with a pleading look. "I'm really sorry, but I had to do _something_ and I…"

"And just for the _record_," Santana cut him off with narrowed eyes and a raised, sassy finger, "making people watch 'It gets better'-videos until they crack is _my_ technique."

"Oh."

"You stuck me alone in a house with Finn Hudson. What kind of messed up plan was that?"

"Did it work?"

Kurt looked at her with a barely hidden smile, and Santana had to huff in order not to crack up herself.

"Define 'work,' Hummel."

"Did he at least apologize? Did you get to, I don't know, talk it out?"

"I guess. Sort of. I mean, he did apologize. And I did a lot of yelling."

Kurt smiled and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"It's just…"

Santana trailed off and looked at the bookshelves for a while, her gaze lingering slightly on the prom queen paraphernalia.

"It's just, he's got the biggest case of hero complex in the history of ignorance," she finished off, and heard Kurt giggle in agreement. Santana turned to him and bit her lip as she cracked a small smile.

"At one point I might have called him 'Nacho Face' and then proceeded to tell him that it's odd how he seems to try so hard to be a decent person, but the best he can do is mildly condescending."

Kurt burst out in a genuine roar of laughter and did not reply for a few seconds.

"Please tell me you used those exact words," he said finally, gasping for air.

"I did."

"That," Kurt continued with a chuckle, "is the most accurate summary of his hero complex that I have ever heard. And my own weren't even that bad, you know."

Santana snorted, and they looked at each other for a moment.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you considered making Finn watch stuff from the Trevor Project and leaving him alone with me to 'talk it out' a viable plan."

"Well," Kurt replied, and bit his lip. "Trust me when I say it was better than _his _idea."

"Wait, what?" Santana stared at Kurt. "_Finn_ had a scheme too?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You are a very lucky girl, Miss Lopez, since I managed to stop him before he did any permanent damage with those plans."

"Oh god," Santana groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Kurt, what was he planning on? Do I even want to know?"

She peeked out between her fingers and watched Kurt open his mouth, close it, and then open it again in hesitation.

"Come on, Kurt, that was a rhetorical fucking question, of course I want to know. Stop gaping and _spill_."

"He might have sort of had an idea about mashing our show choirs together for a while so we could give you a lady music week," Kurt explained.

"Excuse me?"

Kurt cracked up.

"And I quote," he said in a suppressed giggle, "'music by ladies, for ladies.'"

Santana's hands dropped to her lap.

"Ten years from now," she said with a blank expression, "remember who you heard say it first; the guy's a freaking sociopath."

"No, Santana," Kurt replied softly with a wry smile. "He's not a sociopath, he's an awkward and not too bright teenager."

Santana gave him a small smile, but did not answer and let silence fill up the room for a few moments. Kurt was looking at her, and she fixed her eyes on the prom queen crown again, taking in the way it sort of glowed in the afternoon light.

Kurt did not break the silence, and she knew he could tell that she was building up to say something, and she knew that he was waiting for her to just say it.

"I'm such a bitch." It did not come out at all the way she wanted it to. It was way too fast and shaky and honest, and so very far from the airy comment she had intended it to be.

But once the words were out of her mouth and hanging over them both in Kurt's room, there was nothing Santana could do about them. She could not do a thing about the pressing truth in them, just like she could not do anything about the reluctant sincerity she knew her voice had coated them in, which she was more than sure Kurt had picked up on.

He kept quiet, though, looking straight at her with his piercing sort-of-blue-but-almost-green eyes, and Santana realized not for the first time that Kurt really, really wore his heart on his sleeve. Even with all his guards up and his hand clutching the strap of his messenger bag, it was pretty obvious what he was feeling - if you knew how to read him. And now, he was still waiting for her to say something.

"I was horrible to Finn, before."

She knew Kurt got that she was not talking about just then, nor about the fight, but about the week before.

"I'm horrible to almost everyone, actually" she continued and looked down at the floor. "Except for Britt, occasionally some people in glee, and now apparently you. I'm an awful person."

"No, Santana," Kurt started in but fell quiet when Santana turned to look him in the eyes.

"I just walk around so _mad_ at the world, Kurt. Every day feels like a war, and I'm not even sure who I'm fighting anymore. It's like I'm both fighting with myself and fighting the rest of the world at the same time."

She swallowed hard, not sure where the truths were coming from.

"It's exhausting. I know I'm a bitch, and I know I've made people feel awful. But I'm just constantly so _angry_ with the world, I don't really know what else to do. It just seems so pointless to be nice when no one except for my 'already chosen ones' seem to have any intention of being nice to me."

Kurt was quiet for a moment. He did not contradict her like she had half expected him to do, and for a selfish second, that hurt a little, even though she knew she had been telling the truth and it was nothing Kurt could, or at least should, try to refute.

"Okay, Santana. I want you to listen to me closely and not turn your head away just because you think what I'm saying is, I don't know," he waved his arms slightly and disguised his voice to the one Santana had learned was supposed to sound like her, "some sentimental crap you don't have to listen to. Okay?"

Santana nodded, and watched Kurt take a deep breath.

"I am ridiculously confident that your 'chosen ones' are a steadily increasing number. I also happen to know that when you want to be, Santana, you are a good person. And until the end of time, I will keep believing that when the day comes that all this misery has stopped happening to you and you've found a way to channel your anger, you are going to run the freaking world."

Santana laughed an embarrassed but heart warmed laugh and looked down.

"You're right. That definitely was some sentimental crap I didn't have to listen to," she said, because she could not help herself.

Kurt's unwavering smile told her that he knew she was just saying it because she could and because it was what her autopilot was preset to do, and a wave of relief rushed over her.

"Let's go participate in what I'm sure will be a mindblowingly frustrating Hudmel-Lopez team building exercise in the attic," Kurt said as he stood up. "And then maybe we can save you from misery when you no longer will have to share a room with me or that squeaky bed."

A few hours later, Santana stood staring through the odd little doorway into the dusty but cleared out space that was becoming _hers_. It was far from big, and when she made an effort to picture a desk by the little window and a bed in there, hardly any space was left. It was a weird room – not very natural, considering the fact that they had to pull down the retractable, fold-up attic ladder to access it. And even though none of that escaped Santana, she felt her heart thump fondly at the look of it all.

_It's pretty fucking close to perfect_.

She glanced around to see Burt sit down on a stool in a corner in the other end of the attic, pulling his baseball cap off and breathing out. Next to him was Carole, putting the last box down in the big pile. Finn was in the corner, lifting some of the smaller boxes up onto a shelf, and just as Santana looked at him, Kurt came sliding up to stand beside her and look into the room with her.

"What do you think?" he asked, casting a critical gaze over the room.

"I love it," Santana said, holding her folded arms tight.

"Good," Kurt replied, turned slightly and shifted his weight so he leaned on the doorjamb instead. He fiddled carefully with his fingertips, and Santana was fairly certain he was inspecting the damage that had been done to his fingernails. "But I'm pretty sure you're going to have to bribe Puck into getting a bed up in here, you know."

"What?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed you're going to have to carry it up a retractable attic staircase, that is, basically up a ladder through a hole in the ceiling, and you're not going to be able to do it on your own. Obviously I'd never let dad help," Kurt said, nodding towards his father, "and I worry too much about Carole getting back problems from work to ever let her do it. And Finn…"

Kurt paused slightly and then lowered his voice.

"Let's just say he doesn't really have a good track record with precise motor skills."

Santana smiled.

"He really doesn't," she agreed, but winked at Kurt. "That still leaves you, though."

"_I_," Kurt said and gave Santana a forceful look, "will be busy picking out the color themes. I will, under no circumstances, be participating in any heavy lifting. Through holes. In the ceiling. Via _ladder._"

"Whatever you say, Prince Prissy."

"No, I mean it."

"I'm sure you do," Santana smirked.


	40. Comeback

**A/N: Here you go, darlings. I hope you're not giving up on this story just because I'm busy and slow, because it's still got so many places to go. As always, this would be a big pile of rubbish if it wasn't for xxxraquelita, who always saves the day as my beta.**

The room, her own space, made a sense of reality, normality, and an unexpected calmness actual components of Santana's life again. Once the bed was in place, she felt like everything could be okay again; that the pieces of her life could come together once more.

She had watched Puck and, to her endless amusement, Kurt practically fight the bed up the retractable staircase complete with an amount of swearing she had always counted on from Puck but never had expected from Kurt.

"Sore back from Cheerios _my ass, _Santana," Kurt had managed to spit through gritted teeth with the lower end of the bed resting heavy in his arms and glaring at Puck higher up the ladder. "In fact it might be the lamest excuse I've _ever_ heard, considering the fact that you're back _on top_ of the frickin' pyramid. I swear you're just doing this to humiliate me."

Santana had shrugged with a badly suppressed grin and not even given a half-hearted attempt of gesturing vaguely at her back to indicate the fictitious pain – clearly enjoying the scene more than she should.

"Just _heave_, Hummel," Puck had groaned. "Seriously, just push it upwards, it's not that hard!"

"Then stop pushing it downwards, smartass," Kurt had snapped back, and the last bit of bad conscience Santana had for luring them into the situation disappeared immediately as she decided that it definitely was way too entertaining to regret.

She had even picked up her phone and taken a picture of the sight with the intention of posting it on the New Directions facebook wall, before she realized that she was not a part of that anymore. Hurriedly, she had tucked both the phone and the thought away before it stung too much and too close.

The room quickly proved to be a place of refuge, a sanctuary and a break Santana had not really understood that she needed quite so desperately. Finally, it was her and Brittany sprawled across a bed she could call _hers _again with tangled limbs, not really doing anything except breathing, stroking each other's hair and just feeling life get sort of okay again.

But even so, Santana woke up sweating in crumpled sheets with a cry stuck in her throat her third night in the attic. The sound of someone running over the floorboards towards her initially scared her slightly, but then she realized that the feet that had rushed up the ladder belonged to Kurt.

"Are you alright?" he panted, and Santana felt both the lingering terror from the dream mingle with relief and shame in a stomach-churning mixture.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked hoarsely.

"Yeah."

"Did I wake the others, too?"

Kurt did not answer, which gave Santana the answer as clearly as anything. She let out a little groan and looked at Kurt apologetically.

"Just," Kurt said, dismissing her embarrassment with a wave of his hand, "tell me if you're okay."

"I'm fine," she replied, which was not as big a lie as the look on Kurt's face told her he thought, but it was still very much untrue.

"You do realize that you're talking to the boy who uses that exact phrase to deflect whenever things are majorly and seriously messed up with him, right? I'm sorry Santana, but I can't buy that particular brand of bullshit."

"Okay, so I'm not fine," she answered moodily. "I'm a fucking wreck. I just don't want to talk about it. I want to just forget about it for a while."

"Don't bottle up," Kurt started, before Santana cut him off.

"Don't be a bitch. Just, let it go. Just for now. Please."

_Don't be a bitch. That probably didn't come from the right person._

The pleading was probably what made Kurt step down.

"Alright," he said. "How about I talk obsessively about how much I can't stand Sebastian Smythe instead?"

"Sebastian? Who the fuck is that?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Wait," Santana said as a distant memory of a mention of a Sebastian in a conversation about Dave a week earlier popped back into her mind, "the guy you guys went to Scandals with?"

"Correction; the evil, slutfaced douchebag that we went to Scandals with."

"Wow, I really am a bad influence on you. Slutfaced douchebag. Really, Kurt?"

"He's becoming my nemesis at much too high speed for me not to be allowed to take drastic measures when it comes to what language I use when I talk about him."

Santana could not help but smirk.

"I'm intrigued," she said and crawled up to a proper sitting position. "What did he do that turned Kurt 'The Prude' Hummel catty enough to go to Scandals and start calling people _slutfaced_?"

The way Kurt just launched into the subject of this new enemy, who was apparently trying to get into Blaine's pants, reminded Santana why it was so easy being around Kurt. His ability to just give all of himself to make her feel better, even if that consisted of hating on some guy trying to steal his boyfriend just to make her focus on something else, made her feel, if nothing else, safe. Even hearing Kurt in this bitch mode, relentless and very much the opposite of the soft boy that would bring her hot chocolate, made her like him more. And even though she could not tell whether it was the fact that his hard edges showed, or if it was the fact that he had inexplicably adopted some of her Lima Heights attitude, the thought of them being so very much alike soared through her mind again and left her with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

The rumor that Sam Evans was back at McKinley reached Santana by text message halfway through eighth period Tuesday afternoon.

**Kurt Hummel: Not sure exactly how this is possible, but several sources (read: both Finn, Rachel and Mercedes) has under a time span of a baffling two and a half minutes relayed the same insane information to me. Rumor has it that Sam is both back at McKinley, and –here's the crazy part - a former stripper.**

Santana read the message cupping her hand over the display to hide it from the teacher and the rest of the class, but she was sure the expression on her face was pretty much a dead giveaway anyway, because she felt her features twist in shock and disbelief.

**Santana Lopez: If you're messing with me, Hummel, I swear I won't even let you design my wedding dress.**

**Kurt Hummel: I'm not. So I take that as an offer rather than a threat. Now please give me a proper reaction to this news before you implode.**

**Santana Lopez: I'll get back to you once I regain consciousness.**

**Kurt Hummel: Get your ass to the choir room the second you get out of class, Lopez. No excuses.**

It only took Santana a few minutes to stuff everything except one of her little red notebooks sloppily into her backpack, dump everything by her locker and storm through the school and into the choir room, and yet once she got there, she seemed to be the last one to arrive at the scene. She could clearly see Sam's blonde hair in the midst of the group of New Direction boys, chattering with excitement.

Without thinking it even halfway through, Santana opened the notebook she had clutched in her hand at a completely random page, and with a jolt of excitement she realized that what she was doing right now, must be a sign that things were going back to normal. Because that feeling of smug anticipation she felt in the pit of her stomach, was a feelings he had not felt for something that seemed like a really long time. It was the same feeling she always got before firing off some of her better ammunition, something she just knew was fiery, over the top, fierce, nasty and _clever. _

She was not sure it was insulting when it was people she had missed. But she had missed that feeling of control, the feeling of doing something of which she was the undisputed queen. And for one of the first times of her life, before pulling the trigger, a flickering hesitation flew through her mind.

_Sam won't really mind_, she briskly told herself._ He did date me. He knows how I am._

And only because she knew that it was, oddly, true, she actually did pull the trigger.

"Just heard the news that Trouty Mouth is back in town," she said as she took the final steps into the choir room. She just _knew_ that she had a grin spreading all over her face as the group turned to face her.

" I've been keeping a notebook, just in case this day ever came," she continued. She felt like all the energy she had lost lately soared right back through her veins, and she welcomed feeling like her old self so much that she could not even bring herself to care that this was the side of her that people detested the most. She could not care that she was far from an angel and frankly, quite mean. Not right then. Then, all that mattered was that unmistakable flow of energy that had always pulsed within her, finding its way back. She knew she was not using it in the best possible way, but she was _using _it, she still _had_ it, and the mere relief of that made it worth being the biggest bitch in the world.

She looked down into her pretend notes before she launched on.

"Welcome back, Lisa Renna. I've missed you so much since your family packed their bags, loaded them in your mouth and skipped town. Can't tell you how many times I've wanted to enjoy a crisp pickle but couldn't find anyone to suck the lid off the jar."

As if answering her silent, barely existent prayers that Sam would not really mind, he actually smiled and, to Santana's surprise, he looked genuinely happy to see her – genuinely happy that she unleashed all of her newfound energy on him.

"I assume you've been working as a baby polisher where young mother place their infants heads in your mouth to get back that newborn shine," she said. Glancing over Sam's shoulder, she could see Kurt in the back row, and she knew that at least he understood what she was pointedly _not_ saying she actually assumed what Sam had been working as, which would admittedly have been the basis of much better, mouth-related jokes.

"So glad you're back. I haven't seen a smile that big since a claymation abominable snowman got his teeth pulled by that little, gay elf. Love, Santana."

"I missed you too, Santana," Sam said, and crushed her in a hug she had not been expecting nor wanting, but which she welcomed anyway. Although she made a point out of being thoroughly stiff throughout the hug, the grin on her face made it all very obvious that she was nothing if not perfectly happy.

Santana walked alongside Sam through the corridor for a little while, when he was heading for Ms Pillsbury's office to sort out some paperwork and she was walking towards her locker.

"Just – how are you here? Did you move back?" she asked.

"No, no, Finn and Rachel came to get me back," he answered, like that made any sense to her.

"Wait, so your family's still in Wisconsin?"

"Kentucky. But yeah. Actually, I'm staying at Rachel's house."

The mere absurdity of the situation made Santana stop dead and throw back her head in mad laughter.

"I feel like I'm missing something," Sam said, tilting his head slightly.

"You're staying with Berry," Santana gasped in between fits of laughter. "You're staying with Berry."

"Yeah," Sam replied, puzzled.

"You and me used to be some of the hottest pieces of ass at this school, you know," she said when her cramping stomach had settled. "Or, at least I did. And now you're living with _Berry_, and I'm with Kurt. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"You're staying with Kurt? What? Why?" Sam asked, bewildered.

And what Santana said next, she did not say to be cruel or to rub it even more in Finn's face, or because she needed any sort of revenge, even though she knew that was what it would sound like to any outsider except for Brittany; and that was only because Brittany would never be an outsider when it came to understanding Santana.

She said it because she was tired, because it was true, and because she could not really bear telling someone the story of how everything fell apart again.

"Ask Finn."


	41. Family

**A/N: As always, it's taking me ages, but I'm still going strong here. Enjoy, everyone!**

Santana used her newfound energy to go in hardcore for Sectionals. When she put all her power into performing at rehearsal, Ms. Corcoran looked like she hardly recognized the girl in front of her. Halfway into trying out the chorus of the mash-up that up until then Santana had only been vaguely aware they were even doing, she knew they were unstoppable. And when Brittany tilted her head and announced that she would be the one doing the choreographing, Santana knew that there was nothing that could go wrong.

* * *

><p>"Just for your information, we're kicking your asses so hard tomorrow," she informed Kurt while wrapping her hair in a towel after showering the night before the competition. It was a new habit of hers, hanging out in Kurt's room on her way back from showering.<p>

"Yeah, why, is Sugar singing lead?" Kurt teased with a quirked eyebrow.

"No, seriously. We're kicking your sorry asses so hard that not even Berry's going to want to ever perform again, she'll be so crushed by the defeat. I'm telling you, as of tomorrow night, Rachel Berry will be permanently positioned under a blanket, and _we_," Santana said as she gestured toward herself, "will be on our way to Regionals."

But instead of smiling and bantering back at her, Kurt sighed.

"I miss performing with you guys," he replied, and looked up at her quickly to check if he was saying something terribly wrong. "I just really… miss it."

He trailed off, and Santana desperately tried to will her autopilot to say something appropriate, or really, anything at all.

_So do I_._  
><em>  
>"Uh," was what she said instead, and nervously reached for her ponytail to fidget with until she realized her hair was still wrapped in the towel. With her hand hanging awkwardly in the air over her shoulder, Santana was struck by the sudden abyss between the two of them. Kurt, who had shocked her before by not being so unlike her as she had thought, seemed miles away.<p>

_He constantly wears his heart on his sleeve and I can't even tell him I miss them back._

"I should… get up to my room," she mumbled, and fled back out the door and climbed up the staircase.

When Santana walked out onto the stage with the rest of the Troubletones, she neatly pushed away every thought of missing the old days and the New Directions in favor of focusing on the performance. The sheer joy of being on a stage again made it a fairly easy job, and as the adrenaline kicked in, all Santana felt was the pulsating sense of anticipation she always felt when she knew that she was about to do something she was really, really good at. As the audience fell silent and the intro started playing, she felt like everything made such ridiculously good sense.

It had been a long time since Santana felt connected so intensely to something she was performing. Singing about surviving, about losing something huge, about redemption, about standing on your own two feet, about being in a place in life you would never have expected to be, about never giving up even though the world fell apart, all of it had such an obvious connection to her situation that it was almost ridiculous. As she clasped Brittany's hand to steer off into what Brittany had referred to as the "tango move" all week, she knew there was no way she would ever forget this performance, and by the time they dropped down to the floor, she could not even imagine not winning.

* * *

><p>"What just happened?" she said, incredulously as she sunk down on a chair in an empty classroom with the rest of the group, defeated after the announcement from the judges. The glittery dresses, that had only half an hour earlier made them all sparkle, now mostly felt like remnants of a birthday party that ended long ago. "How did we not win that?"<p>

"We were amazing," Sugar stated, looking dazed.

"Even though I _rationally_ understand that Rachel Berry's outrageous voice coming from that tiny body like a surprise-pack of vocal dynamite every time they perform and Sam actually bringing in some sex appeal to that troop of prudes they _might_ have been _sort of_ as good as us, there's just no way they were _better_," Santana spat and threw her arms into the air in frustration.

"Now what are we supposed to do?" Mercedes asked and took her shoes off to stretch her feet.

And the thought just barely passed through Santana's mind before she forced it away, but it was enough for it to actually exist. _Maybe this is the push we need to get back home – back with the New Directions._

When Quinn came to talk to them in the girls' bathroom the very next day, Santana's heart skipped a beat at the first mention of coming back to their old glee club. For a second, she imagined the scene with a rather surreal, beautiful glow in her mind, before Mercedes snapped her back to reality.

"And what are we supposed to do? Come back to glee club and sing background for Blaine and Berry until we graduate? I'm not doing that again. We know what it feels like to be out front now."

It was, ultimately, the reason they had left in the first place, and Santana felt her heart sink a little as she realized that none of the options were good by that point – being in a glee club that would not even go to Regionals, or being in a glee club that they had already left because they did not give them enough of the spotlight.

It was odd, standing in her Cheerio's outfit next to Brittany in an identical one, but across from Quinn who was no longer in hers. It was a sight Santana was not sure she would ever get properly used to. The power balance had shifted so many times in their friendship that Santana was unsure which one was the normal and usual one, but she felt certain that the only time it had felt right was when they had been united instead of split.

"What if Mr. Schue agreed to let the Troubletones sing at least one number per competition?" Quinn asked, looking like she thought she was a genius.

Santana almost snorted at that, because any idiot could see the holes in that plan.

"Well, even if Mr. Schue did agree to that, Rachel never would," she said and crossed her arms.

"What if I told you they both already did?" Quinn shot back, and shut Santana right up.

Santana did almost not hear Quinn telling them the information about the number in the auditorium, she was so numb and surprised. And even as Quinn left to let them decide, Santana did not even move. In her opinion—in her mind, in her _heart_—there was really no decision at all to be made. She could see it all so clearly – this was what she had been waiting for ever since her world fell apart; for it to, somehow, on some level, come back together again.

_I'm getting my family back_, Santana thought as she walked down the hall to the auditorium five minutes later, side by side with the other girls. _Even though it took me until now to realize just exactly who they were._

She let Mercedes sing the first notes to announce their arrival, even though she was burning to do it herself, and then launched into the chorus so intensely she was surprised it did not come out sharp. Brittany looked at her, clasped her hand and threw it into the air; a gesture of victory Santana had not even known she was aching to do.

And then Quinn came over and brought Mercedes back over the floor, and then Rory and Artie came for the other two girls, and before Santana knew it, she was the only one singing on her side of the auditorium. She was not the last one standing there because she wanted to come back the least, or hesitated the most, because it really was the other way around. She had rarely been surer of anything than she was of this. But regardless, Santana knew that she would wait until someone came for her. Until they made it perfectly clear that they wanted her back. She was done with not feeling wanted, done with being rejected. She would stand there, prouder than ever and on her own two feet, no longer afraid of, for once, wearing her heart on her sleeve and showing them that she wanted them, if they would have her. For once not hiding everything behind being a relentless bitch that pretended like she did not care.

She wondered who would be the one to come over and get her. She locked eyes with Kurt for a second, but knew that they both understood that he was not the one that needed to go get her. For a terrifying second, she wondered if the logical person to do it would be Finn, but the moment after, she caught Berry's eye and knew there was no one else that could.

Rachel was her antagonist, and they both knew it. Santana had not forgotten where they started out – with Rachel as the ultimate loser, and Santana as at least some sort of head bitch in charge – but when Rachel came over and clasped her hand, it was difficult to remember that they had ever been anything else than a big family.


	42. Future

Christmas came long before any of them were even remotely ready for it, and Santana felt like it crashed through the door to her life without even knocking first. She had not thought about it too much, her mind being completely occupied elsewhere, until Jingle Bells played in the grocery store and took her by surprise one afternoon. She was there with Burt, as a result of her own insistent campaigning that she would do more around the house.

"It's Christmas," she deadpanned as she threw a can of crushed tomatoes into the shopping cart.

"It is," Burt agreed and threw her a thoughtful look under his baseball cap. "You surprised?"

Santana looked back at him, biting her lip.

"I guess I sort of didn't see it coming this year, that's all," she said nervously, and placed her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt just to stop them from fidgeting too much.

"Is it going to be weird for you?" Burt asked, as bluntly as ever. The frankness of the question took Santana slightly aback.

"I, I don't…" she faltered before she gave another quick glance at Burt steadily pushing the cart in front of him, as stable a figure as ever, and swallowed before she continued. "I don't know. I've never tried Christmas without them."

Burt was silent for a moment before he answered her. He adjusted the cap a little, and continued pushing the cart towards the checkout.

"We're going to have an obnoxious tree, you know," he said with a smile. "Kurt decorates it obsessively every year. It takes him hours. And Finn, he reminds me a lot of a five year old when it comes to the presents – I swear last year he was up at five thirty Christmas day, pounding on Kurt's door he was so excited to open them up."

He looked at her a bit wearily, but still smiling, as if just checking if she was alright.

"Kurt does a legendary apple pie, and won't let anyone else even touch the turkey. And I wouldn't miss Carole's chocolate fudge if I were you. And then, obviously, I'm pretty well known for my mashed potatoes, which you probably remember from Thanksgiving."

Santana smiled vaguely at him, and stopped at the end of the line, right by the rack of postcards. Christmas was starting to show there too, with snow and Santa and reindeers and cheerful messages.

One of the cards – a religious one, with Mary and Joseph both bent over baby Jesus – caught Santana's eye and before she knew it, she had reached out and taken it down.

She stared at it, and could feel a lump form in her throat.

_It's just a stupid card, _she thought to herself. _Don't be stupid._

"You okay?" Burt asked, and Santana spun around.

"Of course I am," she said, way too quickly – an obvious lie.

She was not okay, because suddenly it was all real again, and it was all right there, everything summed up in one stupid card.

There was the Virgin Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus. The mother and father-figure, watching over their baby, swamped in the Catholic showiness of the card. The Christmas, the golden stylized halos and "The Miracle of Christmas" in some frilly font. Everything.

With a quivering upper lip, she realized that it was probably enough to drive her crazy if she let it get to her too much.

"It's nothing," she said in a voice she hoped sounded if not cocky then at least self-assured. "It just reminded me of my parents."

Burt quirked a thoughtful eyebrow and nodded slightly.

"Do you want it?" he asked, with a nod toward the card still in her hands.

"I'll pay for it," she said quickly and felt her cheeks flushing.

"No, you won't, kiddo," Burt replied and started unloading the cart onto the conveyer belt.

Santana's flush was not going anywhere, and unable to come up with a sensible reply, she started to help unload the cart, too. It was not until they were both in the car, seatbelts fastened, that she realized what the logical response would be.

"Thank you," she said, a bit too loud and way too sudden, but Burt just smiled and turned the ignition.

"Are you going to send it to them?" he asked, backing out of the parking lot.

"Yeah," she replied. "I think I will."

She spent the entire way home thinking about what she could possibly write to them. A million ideas – all impossible and far-fetched – floated through her mind as she stared out the window.

For a disconnected, dizzy, miserable second she considered writing _I love you_. Anger – constantly waiting for a spark to ignite on these days – flared up in her at that.

_They're not worth it, _she thought bitterly, and found that a new determination settled in her stomach._ If they could stop loving me, I can stop loving them. I need to get to be happy. I deserve to be happy. _

So instead, as soon as they had gotten home, Santana ran up the stairs, climbed the last distance up to the attic, grabbed her thickest black pen from the desk and crashed into her bed. She flipped the card open and quickly scribbled down "Lopez" and their address at the right side of the card. And then she wrote, with a steady hand and without hesitation: FUCK YOU.

She considered signing it with an imprint of a lipstick kiss, but realized that she could not be bothered with finding a red lipstick for them. Instead, she grabbed her backpack by the foot of the bed and dug out her planner. Between the tiny map of the world and the year summary page, was a set of stamps.

She smashed the stamp almost violently onto the postcard, and smiled.

If nothing else, she was starting this Christmas – this _first_ Christmas – with a proper greeting to the people in her life that needed it the most. The most accurate fuck you she had ever set off.

She whistled to herself as she strolled to the mailbox to post it that afternoon, and grinned as she threw the post card through the slot. She watched the static box for a moment, before she shrugged, smiled slightly and picked her phone up to call Brittany.

"Hey," she said and turned around. "Do you mind if I come over?"

* * *

><p>With only a week left of school before holiday break kicked in, Santana started to get an empty feeling in her stomach.<p>

Glee club turned into the usual Christmas drama monster Santana was sort of used to after three years of mad, teenage intrigues. Classes, papers and homework thinned prominently, leaving space for the restless, giddy feeling of holiday expectations.

But instead of the giddiness she could practically _see_ everyone else showing off, all she could feel was a distinct emptiness tearing in her stomach.

It took her a while to figure out just what it was that was bothering her, but when she did, it hit her like a hurricane.

It struck her halfway through a meaningless history class; the empty feeling was worry.

_Because what the fuck was supposed to happen next? _

For a second, everything inside the classroom just stopped as Santana realized what exactly she should be worrying about. What everyone else was already worrying about.

College.

She'd had, she knew, way too much to process lately in order for her become too shocked with herself. But even so, she could not help but feel so incredibly, incredibly stupid. She had not even _thought_ about college, and January first was not even weeks away.

She had always imagined herself going to college. She had also, sometimes, entertained fleeting thoughts of easy fame and decadence started off with her college fund. But in the end, she knew – and had always known – not to waste her brains.

Besides, there was no college fund to count on anymore. A doctor father no longer did her any good.

Then, she panicked. College applications were due January first, and she had no idea what she wanted to do, no idea what she_ could_ do, and no money to do it with.

So as soon as class was dismissed, Santana found herself pounding on Ms. Pillsbury's door.

She could not believe the three pamphlets pushed over the table.

**So, you're a disowned, teenage gay kid!**

**Cool and hip doesn't mean you won't need a scholarship!**

**How to get a letter of recommendation even though you're a rude bitch!**

They were all borderline offensive, but Santana perked up at the sight of them. The knowledge that Ms. Pillsbury had thought about her and what she could do for her enough to come up with three pamphlets, made her marginally calmer.

Ms. Pillsbury asked her what she would like to do after high school, and Santana could not come up with an actual answer.

"I don't know," she said instead, and looked down at her hands.

"But you _do _want to go to college?" Ms. Pillsbury asked softly, and Santana instantly started nodding.

She was fully aware that a month ago she would not have been so sure. Working in a bar somewhere, not rushing anything, maybe never getting an education, would not have seemed like such a bad option. But now, with everything stripped away and the only things she had left bared before her, she was sure.

She was not going to take anything for granted.

"You just don't know what to study? Okay. Well. What do you enjoy here?"

A younger version of her would have snorted at that, made a joke out of it, tried to seem cool and unbothered, said that there was nothing about school you could possibly _enjoy_. But now, she knew that there really was.

Now, she knew that she was actually pretty good at math, one of the best in English literature, and really liked speech. And then, obviously, there was glee club, and the always growing role of music in her life.

She slowly managed to list them to the concerned guidance counselor, flushing as she knew that most people probably came a little more prepared.

But when Ms. Pillsbury asked her where she would like to go, the answer came faster.

"New York," she said, surprised at her sure tone. "Or LA, I suppose. Or, I mean, San Francisco would cut it, too."

She flicked through all the big universities and colleges in her head. She had no desire for the fancy ones – all she wanted was big. She was done with Ohio, done with Lima, done with small.

Not so much later, she carried home a big stack of papers and pamphlets, a colorful mix of Julliard and scholarship information, of San Francisco and due dates, of LA and forms. A mix of happy hope and honest anguish.

* * *

><p>When Carole stuck her head up through the opening in the attic floor to ask her if she wanted some cake, Santana was so tired of staring into the papers and brochures that her eyes were starting to ache.<p>

"What are you doing?" Carole asked after Santana, yawning, had agreed to the cake and stood up to come down.

"It's information about college," Santana said tentatively. It was odd, standing up and looking at Carole when her head was so down by the floor. It made her slightly uncomfortable.

_I feel like a giant._

"They really threw me out last second," Santana said in an ill-placed effort to ease the mood with a joke. "Any later and I would have never applied for scholarships in time."

She instantly wanted to slap herself hard, because as soon as she said it, she knew the joke would not have the intended effect. Instead of whatever bizarre reaction Santana had anticipated, Carole's eyes widened, her head tilted, and then it only took her a second to be awkwardly rushing up the last few steps of the ladder.

"Sweetie," Carole said and placed a hand on Santana's left shoulder. "Don't worry about that. You shouldn't have to worry about that. We'll figure it out."

Santana stared at Carole as she understood what she actually meant.

_She's crazy, _she thought. _She's crazy._

"Oh my god," Santana said exasperatingly, still staring at the worried mother in front of her. "Listen, Carole. I could never – _never_ – dig into Kurt's or Finn's college funds."

Carole looked at her with so much pity in her eyes that Santana let out a laugh and started fiddling with her hair in desperation, pushing it behind her ears.

"No, look, Carole, it'll be alright," she said, and the second she said it, she knew that she – somehow – believed it. "I'll … get a job. I'll work my ass of, I'll get a killer letter of recommendation, and I'll get to fucking college, alright?"

"It's not fair that it's so much harder for you," Carole replied, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter. And I can't – literally can't – take any more gifts or help from you."

Carole gave her a weak smile.

"Except maybe some cake," Santana added and rolled her eyes, before she nudged Carole gently with her elbow.

* * *

><p>Santana didn't have to ask to know that it was Carole who spoke with Coach Sylvester.<p>

"I'm more powerful than you'd think," Sue said after having pulled Santana into her office the next day, and Santana blinked. "I could use some of that power to land you a full ride cheerleading scholarship to the University of Louisville. In fact, it's already arranged."

Santana blinked again.

"There are no full ride cheerleading scholarships," she replied with a disbelieving look.

"Let me correct you; there _were_ no full ride cheerleading scholarships, but then I decided to collect some debts."

Santana stared at her for a few second before she broke the silence.

"Okay, Sue, you know what? If you want to help, help. But I'm not cheering my way through college. I'm just not."

"What's wrong with cheering?" Sue snapped.

"Nothing! Just - I had everything taken away from me, and I had to reevaluate. And this time I'm… thinking bigger."

"I've always liked you," Sue said abruptly, which took Santana completely aback. "You've always known how to fight a battle."

"Thank you?" Santana said, confused.

"I'll see what I can do for you. You're dismissed."

Santana left the office wearily, not sure what to think or what to believe, but with a definite feeling of determination.

_For the first time in a really long time, _she thought as she pushed the door into the hallway open, _I really am thinking bigger._


	43. Christmas

Christmas turned out to be intense and exhausting on a level Santana had not expected. She was not sure what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been the incoherent, mad jumble of traditions that exploded at the house the second school let out. It left Santana sometimes breathless, sometimes laughing, and sometimes just plain confused.

During the holiday, she shifted houses more frequently and freely than ever before. There was Christmas at home – this strange, new concept now complete with a proper room and, shockingly, sort of a proper family. Then there was Christmas at Brittany's house, too, and Santana thrived in the luxury of knowing there were two entire houses standing with open arms ready to absolutely soak and drown her in Christmas spirit and simple love.

She knew that, by then, her old home in Lima Heights was filling up with guests. Her abuela, aunts, and uncles would probably, just like all other years, have driven in from Columbus. Usually there were extra beds all over the place during that time of year, and the house never really fell quiet, somehow buzzing even at night with anticipation and preparations.

Santana knew all that, but at the Hummel-Hudson residence she was, to her great relief, constantly too occupied to even think about it. Instead of sliding back into thoughts about what Christmas without her would look like back in Lima Heights, she could always lose herself in of the million tasks that were suddenly all over the house.

Kurt had worn a rather wild look ever since they got home the last day of school, and kept shoving boxes marked "Christmas" into her hands as soon as she was not baking or wrapping gifts.

Either that or she was at the Pierce's, helping finish up Lord Tubbington's Santa Claus costume that Brittany had been working on for a while, or lazily watching TV shows and Christmas specials on her girlfriend's laptop.

The balance of constant work and complete relaxation turned out to be a method pretty close to perfect when it came to actually enjoying Christmas instead of loathing every single heartbreakingly homesick second of it, which was, when Santana thought about it some more, all she actually had expected.

She and Carole struck up a deal late one night when Carole, coming home late from a shift at the hospital, had found Santana still sitting up with her laptop and papers all over the kitchen table.

"I'm sorry," Santana said yawning. "The desk got a bit small for all this, so I came down here."

"College?" Carole asked, putting her coat on a hanger.

Santana nodded, and Carole came and sat down next to her.

"You know what?" Carole said, reached out for the laptop and closed it quickly. "No. You're not sitting all alone in the middle of the night on Christmas break, filling out papers and reading about scholarships."

"What, do you have a better idea?" Santana mumbled, only half a second away from snapping angrily.

"Actually, I do," Carole replied calmly, which made Santana shift in her seat.

"I'm listening."

"You won't do it yourself, you'll do it with me. And you won't do it at night, and you won't sit with it forever. I'll sit with you every day between, I don't know, four and six, until it's done."

Santana looked down.

"But then I want you to promise me not to worry about it the rest of the time," Carole added.

"I can't promise that," Santana said, and it came out much weaker and fainter than she had expected. "You know I can't."

"I know," Carole said and tilted her head. "But I never took you for a girl who wouldn't at least try."

Christmas, decorations, cakes, cookies, food, college applications, lazy TV, Christmas specials, flower arrangements in the kitchen window, coffee, chocolate boxes. It all just came so fast, swirled around the house more like a storm than a holiday, and left Santana without much clue as to what life she was actually living.

"I hope you don't mind," Carole said one afternoon when they sat down together to look at their project. "But I Googled something for you."

"Okay?"

"It's just – don't judge me for the search, okay?"

Carole wore a look on her face that Santana had never seen on her before, but which she realized must be a look of embarrassment.

"Wait, what did you type in?"

Carole looked Santana in the eyes, cocked her head quickly to the side and threw her a hasty closed-mouth apologetic smile before she confessed.

"I literally Googled 'scholarships for gay students'."

Santana laughed, but stopped immediately when Carole pushed a paper over to her side of the table.

"Wait, seriously? You mean you actually got something out of that search?"

"I think you have a shot." 

Quinn called her that night. When they were younger they had been on the phone together all the time, but with both of their lives sort of spiraling out of control, making them part-time friends and part-time enemies, it had stopped being a regular occurrence. So Santana was surprised, stared for a few seconds at the phone before she picked up, and let everything go back to when things were not that complicated between them before she answered.

"What're you up to?" Quinn asked, and Santana put down the pencil she was holding.

"You'd never believe me if I told you."

"What, screwing Puckerman again?"

"Are you really sure you want to go there, Q?"

"Touché."

They were silent for a moment before Santana breathed out.

"I'm writing an essay for this scholarship I'm applying to get," she said, biting her lip.

"What's so unbelievable about that?"

"That it's – for real, Quinn – a gay scholarship. Queer kids only."

"Does that even exist?"

"I know, right?"

And then there were even more cakes, more cookies, more chocolate boxes, and suddenly it was right there; a Christmas tree and a Christmas dinner and Christmas presents in colorful wrapping paper.

Santana did not really have a lot of money, and agonized for a few days over how she was going to cover Christmas presents for her new family.

In the end, though, she had to pride herself on her creativity, when she after all had accomplished four rather good presents.

Finn, she had no idea what to do for until she discussed it with Brittany, who lit up, ran down into the basement of her house, and came back with her old Mario Kart games.

"Brittany, those are yours," Santana hesitated.

"No, silly, they're for my old Playstation 3. I've got a 4. But Finn's still got a 3."

"And he doesn't already have Mario Kart?"

"He always went over to Puck's house to play it, you know that." Brittany said like it was the most obvious thing ever and handed over the box. "Take it. It'll be perfect."

Burt and Carole turned out to be trickier than Santana had originally figured they would be, but in the end she made Kurt stay up half a night with her after everyone else had gone to bed, to help her bake a Rosca de Reyes, a traditional Mexican cake she had helped do a million times before but never done on her own.

"Technically it's for twelve days after Christmas," she told Kurt as they closed the oven. "But I highly doubt Burt and Carole will mind, do you?"

Kurt laughed and looked at her a bit incredulously before he set the timer.

"I don't even think they know you have a Mexican heritage. I thought it was Dominican."

"It's both," she said with a shrug. "But the Mexican cakes are better."

For Kurt, she put her old, giant, black Lady Gaga bow in a shoebox she found in the attic, and tied a string around it.

**I'm sorry for disappointing you, but this isn't a new pair of shoes. It's a small reminder how happy Í am that we are, after all, friends**.

For Brittany, she got the old Lebanese t-shirt out of her wardrobe, wrapped it nicely in Kurt's ridiculous wrapping paper, and left a note.

**I know you're not supposed to give gifts back, and I'm not. I'm just showing it to you in a new light. You taught me to see myself. I love you, Santana.**

The gift made Brittany throw her arms around Santana's neck and kiss her senselessly even though both Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were in the room. At the Hudmel house, the gifts made Finn look so touched that Santana could swear he was about to choke, Carole openly cry, and caused both Burt and Kurt to cough unnaturally and wipe away poorly hidden tears. It made Santana blush and fiddle with the fabric of the dress Kurt had gotten her until they got to the next present.

And then, before they knew it, Christmas was over and New Years was right there.

She dragged Kurt along to Puck's New Year's Eve party, not stepping down even for a second when Kurt persistently continued to protest.

"Don't be so boring," Santana exclaimed as she was brushing her hair in Kurt's room. He had the better mirror – hell, he had a _vanity_, and Santana didn't like the lights in the bathroom. "Just let loose a little for once."

"I'm not going to that party, Santana!" Kurt's voice came from behind his bed. "I don't want to go to a party where..."

"We've been over this," Santana moaned. "It's just Puck, Kurt!"

"My point exactly."

"Oh calm down, hissy fits. He loves glee just as much as I do, so stop worrying!"

"Says the girl who just rejoined glee club _and_ set that purple piano on fire only, what, five months ago?"

Santana quickly turned around over the chair with the brush raised in her hand.

"Can everyone just let that go? Sue made me!"

"Fine, whatever. I just don't feel comfortable being at some party full of jocks at Puck's house."

"Yeah, okay, reality check, Hummel. First of all, this isn't freshman year. Puck's not going to shove your head down a toilet. You guys know each other! Second, all of glee club is going to be there too!"

"I'm pretty sure that's not entirely accurate."

"Well, they will if they know both you and I are going. What's the problem anyway? It's like you've never been to a party or something! What are you, twelve?"

"I've never actually been invited to a party like this."

"Have you completely forgotten Rachel Berry's trainwreck extravaganza last year? Because last time I checked it was pretty memorable."

"Not exactly invited – I blackmailed Finn to get there, and it was at _Rachel's_."

"Okay, whatever, you've never been invited. Why does that even matter? You're not a vampire. If you've never been to a proper party then maybe you should consider pulling that stick out your ass and get to one. You're coming with me." 

Burt and Carole let them go to the party under the rather understandable conditions that Kurt was the designated driver even though none of them were supposed to drink, and that they had dinner together at the house before they left.

"Why does Kurt get to be the one you trust?" Finn muttered.

"What was that about almost killing a mail man?" Kurt immediately cut in with a smile, and Finn cracked up, too.

Somehow, that made Santana feel just a tiny bit relieved. Seeing the boys act like brothers again, teasing each other without intent to hurt, was oddly almost enough like proof that she had not _broken_ anything between them.

Santana hadn't paid much attention to her wardrobe as of late, but for New Years she made an effort and went through everything Burt had brought home for her. She settled for a black, laced dress and her gold pumps, and she pretended not to be flattered when Kurt fawned at her.

Kurt was suitably over-dressed in a sequined jacket set, Blaine wore a ridiculous, sparkling bowtie, and Finn had, after two rounds of Kurt sending him back upstairs to first shed the padded vest, and then change into a clean t-shirt, at least managed to look dressed-up.

They met Brittany at Puck's doorstep. She had redone her prom dress from the past year with different colored, round tulle balls and glitter attached to the fabric. To top it off, she wore a pink tiara on top of an elaborate hair-do Santana knew Mrs. Pierce always helped Brittany out with when she was asked.

"You look like a space princess," Finn said, and Brittany beamed. Santana leaned in, kissed her, and couldn't help but laugh an endeared giggle.

"A space princess hooking up with a fantasy villain," Santana replied. 

Puck opened the door just as Brittany cupped Santana's cheek.

"First party out of the closet," Puck said with a smirk, but both Santana and Brittany knew him well enough to know that was Puck for 'I'm happy for you.'

"And yet, last time I saw Santana having a tequila, she was licking the salt off Brittany's stomach," Kurt commented, pushing through them into the hallway. "So I'm not too sure the difference will be all that extravagant."

"There's a streak of gold in your braid, San," Brittany said as Puck let them all in. "It matches your shoes."

"Don't take credit for that," came Kurt's voice again. "That was my work."

"Braiding each other's hair now?" Puck grinned. "I think your gay might be rubbing off on old Hummel, Santana."

"Shut your mouth or it'll be Snixx, not Santana, to you the rest of the night." 

In the midst of the party, between the drinks and the dance and the shouted discussions, Santana halted to watch the wonder with sort of sober eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered what she would have said three years ago if she knew this was the reality the future held – Puck's living room filled with, sure, some Cheerios and footballers, but also an incoherent troop of nobodies, losers and outcasts, all having the time of their lives.

"Are you sure you're okay with not drinking, man?" She heard Puck ask Kurt. "Being the designated driver sucks."

"Like you've ever been the designated driver, Puck."

"You sure? You could all just crash here if you change your mind."

"Thanks but no thanks. I'm not too good with alcohol anyway. Last time I got drunk, I threw up on Ms. Pillsbury's feet." 

She got to kiss Brittany when the clock struck twelve, her heart pumping ecstatically. It was not until they pulled apart that Santana realized there were three jocks jeering at them, staring, and she turned around slowly.

"If you ever look at us like that again," she said sharply, "I'll rip your fucking eyes out."

"There'll be no need for that, Snixx," Puck spoke up behind her. "You three, out. Just get out."

"Like you've never watched them, Puck," the guy in the middle said with a nervous laugh, and the change in Puck came immediately.

"I changed my mind," Puck said in a stiff tone. "It's probably better to just rip their eyes out."

"I'll do you one better," Santana replied, taking a quick step forward, grabbing hold of the guy in the middle, and kneeing him in the balls.

She, Brittany and Puck watched them flee out the door, and even Brittany, ever the violence hater, had a small smile on her face when the door smacked closed.

She glanced over at Kurt and Blaine, both standing decidedly quiet after having watched the scene unfold. They were holding hands – squeezing hands tightly by the look of it, and Santana's heart sank as she realized that this was going to be a never ending story – people seeing them and behaving like idiots.

The boys smiled meekly at her, and she knew that they were thinking the exact same thing.

"Let's dance," she said loudly with her eyes fixed on Kurt and Blaine, and then turned around to find Puck's laptop and get rid of the ridiculous rock playlist he had on, upping the volume and watching the party unfold in front of her.


	44. Change

**Updated spoiler-situation: now contains spoilers up to S03E10, Yes/No. I should also add a trigger warning about non-explicit mentions of drug-use.**

**A/N: Okay, hi. So I realize it's been about three months since my last update and I'm sorry. But when you're working on something as slow and lengthy as this (I've been writing Karma for almost two years) ups and downs are obviously present, and I've had to write on another story just to rinse my thoughts and plans for Karma. I'm sorry either way, I never meant to have you all waiting. So if anyone still actually reads this story, here you go:**

They had only been back in school for a few days after Christmas break when Santana found herself in Sue Sylvester's office, unable to stop staring at her coach.

She had been shocked by the coach before – at one point the woman had tried to shoot Brittany out of a cannon, so Santana had learned her lesson to never underestimate the power of Sue Sylvester, and how random she could be. Even so, she had never found anything Sue said as hard to believe as this.

There were a few seconds of silence before Santana managed to get her thoughts together again and broke the quiet with a hoarse, "What? How did you even-"

"Well, thanks for asking, fake boobs. Like all the musically brainwashed losers in that cesspool you call glee club, you want to go to New York. And like all said losers in said cesspool, you want to study music."

Sue leaned back in her chair, smiled contently and stretched her arms. Once again it took Santana a moment to muster up enough focus to able to answer.

"You just assumed that I wanted to study classical music in New York?"

"I also have eyes everywhere."

"Not even _you _have a camera in my house," Santana said somewhat nervously, as if saying it out loud made it pretty obvious that she might actually have.

"No. But I do have Porcelain in your house, and seeing as he has both eyes and a soft spot for me, I'd say he makes a decent substitute."

"Kurt told you I wanted to go The New School and you what, pushed the deadlines with like a month and just made a scholarship show up out of thin air?"

Sue huffed, clearly offended.

"Well, I did call in a favor from the Senate, had Olivia Newton-John start a petition, produced a video with a sob story speech about how society very much let down the teenage lesbian minority Latina that would have become a viral phenomenon had my blackmailing not worked out. It also involved an unbelievable amount of money, but if you don't want to give me more credit than that, then fine, go ahead."

Santana was quiet for a second before taking a breath.

"They've never even seen me perform, how could they possibly -"

"Please," Sue said and rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you don't think none of those absurd little shows that glee club puts on in the auditorium have never been video-taped. I told them you were smart, do I have to redo the application?"

"Sue, this can't be legal –"

"Neither is kicking a minor out of the house," Sue cut her off and leaned in over the desk. "Just take it, Santana."

"Are you actually serious? You got me accepted to classical music at The New School?"

"And also got you a scholarship, did you not hear me the first time?"

Santana swallowed down hard, stood up, and gave Sue a hug.

"I... Thank you."

"Go be someone."

She literally had no idea what to do with the information that she was going to college in New York. Her first thought was, ironically, that she should tell Rachel, because she couldn't think of anyone else that would understand the magnitude of it as well. But then the illegality of it struck Santana again and she realized that this was not, however tempting it was, something she could just go around telling people.

But she had to tell Brittany. And Kurt, and Carole, and Burt, even Finn. And then Quinn, and Rachel was a must no matter what, and the glee club sort of did have the right to know and then, well, there weren't exactly too many others she'd even want to tell after that, and that brought the train of thoughts right back to square one.

So after having spent all of fourth period staring into the whiteboard, Santana grabbed a hold of Kurt in the line to the cafeteria.

"Come on, I have to talk to you."

"But-"

"You don't even like meatballs. We'll get a sandwich or something, just come on."

She told him the news sitting on the benches over at the football field.

"But that's fantastic news," Kurt exclaimed happily, his cheeks rosy. "Why so…?"

"Kurt, do you even realize how legally doubtful this is? I can't tell people or I'll lose it."

"Oh come on. You don't have to tell everyone, just tell the family and Brittany and glee club. They won't mind!"

"Yes, because Rachel Berry would never mind me sort of not completely legally getting into a music program in New York City."

"She's not even applying there. Look, just… don't tell them 'Sue blackmailed my way into The New School.' Say you got in, early admissions, special consideration due to your _situation_ and everyone will just be happy for you. It's not even a lie!"

Also involved in the plan she and Kurt struck up was to tell the rest of the family over dinner that night. Those plans were immediately overturned when Finn, Carole, and Burt met them in the school parking lot after Santana's cheerleading practice and Kurt's study session in the library.

She spotted them immediately when she and Kurt walked down the few steps in the stairs and she stopped in the middle of a rant about Mr. Schues' surprise proposal plans. There was Carole in her red coat, Burt in his usual cap, and several yards away, Finn.

"What the hell," Santana said slowly as she reached out to tap Kurt's arm to draw his attention.

Kurt's reaction was immediate and scared Santana. Without a warning he set off running, his face completely drained of color, and Santana set off after him as quickly as she could.

"What's wrong?" Kurt panted, terrified. "What's happened?"

And then, somewhere in Santana's head, it clicked. _His mother was dead and his father had a heart attack the year prior, of course his default setting is catastrophe._

"Nothing's happened," Burt said with steadying hands on Kurt's shoulders as soon as he reached them, but that somehow triggered Finn.

"What do you mean nothing's happened? Everything's happened!"

The yell was raw, verging on insane, and took them all completely by surprise.

"Calm down, Finn, you know I didn't mean it like –"

"I don't care what you mean, I just-"

"Finn!" Santana shouted, her hands on the straps of her backpack, and everyone stilled. "Let's not have another fight in public, okay?"

Finn looked at her for a few seconds, breathing heavily and looking straight into her eyes, before he gave her a quick nod and drew in a small breath.

"Why don't I drive you in the Navigator and Burt and Carole take Kurt in their car," she said. Kurt quietly handed her the keys, and Burt pulled Carole into a half embrace before they headed over to their car.

Dinner was both intense and, above all, _tense_. Bit by bit the story of Finn's father unfolded, not very chronologically and not very put together. But in the end, both Kurt and Santana pretty much got the picture even though they were both dead silent for the most part of dinner, watching the family war taking place.

But it was not until Finn yelled, "You know what, this doesn't change anything! I'm still joining!" and kicked over his chair on his way up to his room that Santana really reacted.

"Wait, joining what?" she asked the rest of the table, who were all staring miserably after Finn.

"Yes," Kurt chimed in anxiously, "joining what?"

"The army," Carole said, expressionless. Kurt looked completely taken aback, but Santana instantly stood up and ran after Finn. He slammed the door shut to his bedroom a few seconds before she reached it, but there were no locks in the Hudson-Hummel house and Santana found she had a sudden lack of respect for privacy as she – a bit violently – pushed the door open.

"Don't fucking join the army, okay?"

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Okay, let me break it down for you. You're not cut out for the army. For one, you have terrible coordination. You wouldn't last a week before you shot yourself in the leg or something."

"Why do you always have to be so mean? You're such a bitch, Santana!"

"Is everyone idiots?" Santana exclaimed, half moaning, half laughing. "Why can't anyone tell apart when I'm being mean and when I'm telling the truth? This is_ not_ me being mean, Finn."

She paused slightly, and was surprised that Finn didn't take the opportunity to yell at her again.

"Me calling you fat and making whale jokes_, that's_ me being mean. Me telling you not to risk your life in what would be the mistake of a lifetime, that's me telling the truth."

"Yeah, well, like I said, you can't tell me what to do!"

"Maybe not, but I can tell you that you're being an idiot if you really think this is a good idea. Why would you even want to join in the first place?"

Finn didn't answer straight away, but glanced over to the framed picture of his father on his desk.

"My father."

Santana stayed quiet and watched Finn sink down to sit on his bed.

"I just found out my father didn't die in the war. He died of a drug overdose in Cincinnati. So you know what, excuse me if I'm freaking out and I'm sorry if me joining the army doesn't_ suit_ you or whatever, but maybe this is something I need to do. To honor him or, just… I need to…"

Finn fell quiet, and Santana waited for a moment before she spoke again, softer this time.

"One thing I've learned this past year, Finn, is this: don't ever do shit just because of your parents."

Finn looked up at her.

"Easy for you to say," he mumbled. "Yours aren't-"

"Finn, my parents kicked me out, stopped loving me, and flat out abandoned me. Don't ever do shit because of your parents, do shit because of _you_."

She turned around and took the few steps back out the door.

"Just don't join the army," she said with a firm look before she closed the door and went back downstairs to dinner.


End file.
