FIC: Somewhere Only We Know (2/14)
Fic: Somewhere Only We Know
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez
Rating: R (character injury, strong themes)
Spoilers: In later chapters
Words: 1511 thus far.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee nor the characters.
Summary: Santana and Rachel had the perfect life. They made all kinds of plans for the future, but the thing is that plans don't always work out the way you want them to.
Author's note: I wasn't waking up with any thought of updating this fic today, but hey, it happened. I was in a Pezberry mood. Hope you enjoy.
Everything hurts. Absolutely everything. She feels stiff and sore and she has one of those headaches where it feels like she’s slept for too long. Wait… she doesn’t even remember going to sleep. That’s odd. Her eyes feel heavy though, like they’ve been sewn shut and prying them open would be too painful and it would hurt too much. Her parents are talking quietly next to her, she can hear them whispering, but it sounds like a gunshot for some reason. It’s like all her senses are on high alert, and not in a good way. Like a drug trip gone very wrong kind of way. “Nnng,” she mumbles, and she realizes that her throat feels really dry. As if she’s been screaming or as if she hasn’t drank anything for a really long time. And the air feels funny. It tastes weird. Which is odd, because you can’t usually taste air, but she tastes the distinct taste of plastic. Shifting uncomfortably, she feels like she’s on a mattress, but it’s not hers. She’s probably in a cheap motel passed out somewhere. But wait - why would her parents be at a motel? Oh God, she didn’t like drunk dial them or something, did she?
That’s when she makes the decision that it’s time to open her eyes, too see what the hell is going on.
And what the fuck, she’s in a hospital. That makes no sense. She tries to sit up, but her arms feel like they’re weighed down by lead and she can’t. She groans, frustrated, and that’s when her parents notice that she’s awake. “Oh my God, you’re awake,” her mother says, instantly tearing up as she gets up to clutch her hand. Her father puts down the sports section of the paper and stands up as well, he rests his hand on her leg. “Get the doctor,” her mother instructs, and her father nods and dashes out of the room.
Typical. The Lopez women are always the head bitches in charge.
“What - what happened?” she croaks, making another attempt to sit up. Her voice sounds so tired and so hoarse. She doesn’t sound like herself. Well… it’s probably because she doesn’t know what's happening.
“No, no, stay lying down, sweetie,” her mother begs, stroking her hair gently. “You were in an accident. You were coming home from Rachel’s house and you were-“
“Rachel?” she questions, furrowing her brows. Her head feels like it’s in a fog, sure, but the name doesn’t ring a bell to her. At all. “Who’s Rachel?”
“Rachel Berry, your best friend?” her mother replies, arching an eyebrow at her daughter.
“I don’t know any Rachel Berry,” she replies. Her mother is about to say something to her, but she’s cut off by a stream of doctors coming into the room, her father in toe. “Whoa,” Santana breathes. This looks like something out of that medical show she likes to watch. She can’t remember the name of it right now, for some reason, but she’s got more important things to worry about anyways. Like the reason she’s in a fucking hospital bed. She knows that she was in an accident but she still wants details.
The doctors ask her a bunch of questions and tell her that she needs to go for a head scan. Honestly, she’s feeling kind of livid at this point, she just doesn’t have the energy to protest, so she lets her bed be wheeled out of her room. It’s kind of like being chauffeured, which is cool, she guesses.
On her way to the elevator, she sees a girl in knee socks running down the hall like a fucking madwoman. She’s dressed in the most hideous outfit that Santana has ever seen in her life. Is that a fucking pantsuit? It is, oh God. Santana laughs. Who’s dressing that girl up anyways, her grandmother? It hurts to laugh, she realizes, and clutches onto her ribs. Bitch. If she ever saw her again, she was going to make her pay, that’s for sure.
She pushes the thought out of her head quickly and turns her attention back to the orderly who’s trying to make conversation with her. “You gave everyone quite a scare,” the orderly informed her. Squinting to read his nametag, she saw that his name was Jack.
“What happened? My mom told me that I was in an accident, but I don’t really know what happened aside from that because the doctors started talking to me in all of that college doctor crap,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“You were hit by a drunk driver. You were on your way home from a friend’s house with your older sister - she’s fine, by the way, just a few scratches and bruises, and the driver smashed into your car after running a red light. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks.”
“Three weeks? Oh my God, I missed spring formal!” she whined. Dances weren’t really her thing, but she had the most smoking dress picked out. She was probably going to go stalking the hot guys or something and make out with one of them. She didn’t exactly remember what her plans were, but she knew that formal had been the weekend upcoming, and if she’d been in a coma for three weeks, then she definitely had missed it. Damn it.
“You just woke up from a coma and your first worry is that you missed a dance? I don’t think you’re going to be dancing any time soon, anyways, hun,” Jack informed her, which was when the weighty feeling on Santana’s leg wasn’t just the trippy medications she was probably on, it was a cast.
“It’s broken?” she inquired, which was rather dumb, considering that her leg probably wouldn’t be in a cast for any other reason. But her mind was still racing. She was tired, honestly, but she had a lot of questions.
“Yeah. You were lucky, honestly. You suffered a pretty bad concussion, but aside from that, all you ended up with was that broken leg. You should be okay in a couple of months, but until then, it’s going to be a pain.”
“Mother fucker,” Santana growled. She had recently picked up swearing as a habit, and it had become her new favorite way of expressing herself. Settling herself as best as she could in the uncomfortable hospital bed, Santana sighed as they reached the radiology department. Santana had had to have one of these scans before as a kid, when she had hit her head after tripping at the public pool and hitting her head on the cement. That had hurt like a bitch, and it was mortifying. But at least she knew what it felt like. It wouldn’t be scary, but the noise was probably going to be deafening, considering that everything was still so sensitive. The dull beeping of her IV pump was beginning to get to her. It was really the most annoying noise she had ever encountered.
Laying back as the technicians got her ready, Santana sighed and processed everything that Jack had told her. She’d been in an accident. She’d been in a coma for three weeks of her life. Those were three weeks she would never get back. Oh no, what if she had missed cheerleading tryouts for the McKinley High Cheerios? She remembered seeing the sign up sheet on the door of the science lab and she’d decided that she was going to sign up and try out. Now, she would have to miss priority auditions and she’d have to go through the hellish process of auditioning with everyone else. Damn it, that Quinn Fabray girl was probably going to be in and she was going to be sporting that smug smile that she always wore when she got whatever she wanted.
Closing her eyes, Santana nodded as the technician gave her some instructions. She was still so sleepy, but a part of her was afraid that if she slept again, she would never wake up again. However, the battle with her eyelids was a losing one, and soon she was dozing off again, the real world the farthest thing from her mind. It was probably better since the CT machine made a lot of noise, and it would have been hard to handle, given that her senses still seemed to be hyper aware.
When she was transported back to her room about an hour later, she was still sound asleep, shifting around uncomfortably. It was only when she felt a set of hands clasp around one of hers that she was pulled back out of her slumber. “Mom?” she inquired, wincing slightly.
“No, not Mom,” someone said. It was a female voice, but it was so unfamiliar. Honestly, she didn’t remember hearing it. Whoever it was was sniffling. Opening her eyes, Santana gasped and pulled her hand away. It was that pantsuit wearing dwarf she’d seen earlier.
“Ew, what the hell are you doing in my room, Disco Hobbit?” Santana wondered, making a face at the other girl. Honestly, now that she was closer, under the pantsuit was a t-shirt that Santana knew hadn’t been cool since the 80s. Seriously, what era was this girl from?
“Santana Lopez, while I’m grateful that your sense of humor has returned, it’s quite cruel to say hello to your gi-“
“My sense of humor is fully intact, thank you. Your pantsuit is really hilarious in a sort of sad smurf impression kind of way. I’m serious, who are you, and why are you in my room? If you’re one of those candy stripper people, what the hell are you doing in that awful outfit?” Santana wondered, shaking her head slightly.
“Santana. It’s me. Rachel,” Rachel replied, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Wait, you’re Rachel Berry? As in, the girl my mom said was my best friend?” Santana scoffed, arching an eyebrow. Her mother had totally lost her mind. “Clearly all the pot my mom did in the 70s is starting to catch up with her, because there’s no way that I would ever be best friends with a dwarf that was rejected on the assembly line.”
“Santana, why are you being like this? I don’t understand…” Rachel sobbed, looking completely confused.
“Get out of my room,” Santana warned, clenching her jaw, despite the pain that it caused to her head.
“What? Why? Santana.... this, this isn’t funny,” Rachel informed her, wiping at her eyes.
“I said get. out.,” the Latina snarled, thankful that her mother walked into the room. “Mom, get this hobbit out of my room.”
“But San-“
“Get her out,” Santana repeated. She wanted to yell, she wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the voice to do it.
“Rachel, you should leave,” her mother nodded.
“But why? I don’t understand she said she didn’t know me and-“
“I will call you and explain later, Rachel. Please leave.”
Santana smirked as the other girl picked up her things and walked out, looking sadder than Santana had ever remembered seeing anyone. It didn’t make sense. Why was everyone saying she knew this girl? Santana had no memory of her at all. All she knew was that she would never, in her right mind, have spoken to a girl who dressed as hideously as that, there was no way that they would have been friends. The girl had probably told her mom that they were friends, hoping that she’d be grateful to have a friend if she woke up and wouldn’t care what she looked like. Well, this Rachel girl was wrong. What a fucking opportunist. Santana Lopez wasn’t friends with losers. That was just not how she worked.
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez
Rating: R (character injury, strong themes)
Spoilers: In later chapters
Words: 1511 thus far.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee nor the characters.
Summary: Santana and Rachel had the perfect life. They made all kinds of plans for the future, but the thing is that plans don't always work out the way you want them to.
Author's note: I wasn't waking up with any thought of updating this fic today, but hey, it happened. I was in a Pezberry mood. Hope you enjoy.
Everything hurts. Absolutely everything. She feels stiff and sore and she has one of those headaches where it feels like she’s slept for too long. Wait… she doesn’t even remember going to sleep. That’s odd. Her eyes feel heavy though, like they’ve been sewn shut and prying them open would be too painful and it would hurt too much. Her parents are talking quietly next to her, she can hear them whispering, but it sounds like a gunshot for some reason. It’s like all her senses are on high alert, and not in a good way. Like a drug trip gone very wrong kind of way. “Nnng,” she mumbles, and she realizes that her throat feels really dry. As if she’s been screaming or as if she hasn’t drank anything for a really long time. And the air feels funny. It tastes weird. Which is odd, because you can’t usually taste air, but she tastes the distinct taste of plastic. Shifting uncomfortably, she feels like she’s on a mattress, but it’s not hers. She’s probably in a cheap motel passed out somewhere. But wait - why would her parents be at a motel? Oh God, she didn’t like drunk dial them or something, did she?
That’s when she makes the decision that it’s time to open her eyes, too see what the hell is going on.
And what the fuck, she’s in a hospital. That makes no sense. She tries to sit up, but her arms feel like they’re weighed down by lead and she can’t. She groans, frustrated, and that’s when her parents notice that she’s awake. “Oh my God, you’re awake,” her mother says, instantly tearing up as she gets up to clutch her hand. Her father puts down the sports section of the paper and stands up as well, he rests his hand on her leg. “Get the doctor,” her mother instructs, and her father nods and dashes out of the room.
Typical. The Lopez women are always the head bitches in charge.
“What - what happened?” she croaks, making another attempt to sit up. Her voice sounds so tired and so hoarse. She doesn’t sound like herself. Well… it’s probably because she doesn’t know what's happening.
“No, no, stay lying down, sweetie,” her mother begs, stroking her hair gently. “You were in an accident. You were coming home from Rachel’s house and you were-“
“Rachel?” she questions, furrowing her brows. Her head feels like it’s in a fog, sure, but the name doesn’t ring a bell to her. At all. “Who’s Rachel?”
“Rachel Berry, your best friend?” her mother replies, arching an eyebrow at her daughter.
“I don’t know any Rachel Berry,” she replies. Her mother is about to say something to her, but she’s cut off by a stream of doctors coming into the room, her father in toe. “Whoa,” Santana breathes. This looks like something out of that medical show she likes to watch. She can’t remember the name of it right now, for some reason, but she’s got more important things to worry about anyways. Like the reason she’s in a fucking hospital bed. She knows that she was in an accident but she still wants details.
The doctors ask her a bunch of questions and tell her that she needs to go for a head scan. Honestly, she’s feeling kind of livid at this point, she just doesn’t have the energy to protest, so she lets her bed be wheeled out of her room. It’s kind of like being chauffeured, which is cool, she guesses.
On her way to the elevator, she sees a girl in knee socks running down the hall like a fucking madwoman. She’s dressed in the most hideous outfit that Santana has ever seen in her life. Is that a fucking pantsuit? It is, oh God. Santana laughs. Who’s dressing that girl up anyways, her grandmother? It hurts to laugh, she realizes, and clutches onto her ribs. Bitch. If she ever saw her again, she was going to make her pay, that’s for sure.
She pushes the thought out of her head quickly and turns her attention back to the orderly who’s trying to make conversation with her. “You gave everyone quite a scare,” the orderly informed her. Squinting to read his nametag, she saw that his name was Jack.
“What happened? My mom told me that I was in an accident, but I don’t really know what happened aside from that because the doctors started talking to me in all of that college doctor crap,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“You were hit by a drunk driver. You were on your way home from a friend’s house with your older sister - she’s fine, by the way, just a few scratches and bruises, and the driver smashed into your car after running a red light. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks.”
“Three weeks? Oh my God, I missed spring formal!” she whined. Dances weren’t really her thing, but she had the most smoking dress picked out. She was probably going to go stalking the hot guys or something and make out with one of them. She didn’t exactly remember what her plans were, but she knew that formal had been the weekend upcoming, and if she’d been in a coma for three weeks, then she definitely had missed it. Damn it.
“You just woke up from a coma and your first worry is that you missed a dance? I don’t think you’re going to be dancing any time soon, anyways, hun,” Jack informed her, which was when the weighty feeling on Santana’s leg wasn’t just the trippy medications she was probably on, it was a cast.
“It’s broken?” she inquired, which was rather dumb, considering that her leg probably wouldn’t be in a cast for any other reason. But her mind was still racing. She was tired, honestly, but she had a lot of questions.
“Yeah. You were lucky, honestly. You suffered a pretty bad concussion, but aside from that, all you ended up with was that broken leg. You should be okay in a couple of months, but until then, it’s going to be a pain.”
“Mother fucker,” Santana growled. She had recently picked up swearing as a habit, and it had become her new favorite way of expressing herself. Settling herself as best as she could in the uncomfortable hospital bed, Santana sighed as they reached the radiology department. Santana had had to have one of these scans before as a kid, when she had hit her head after tripping at the public pool and hitting her head on the cement. That had hurt like a bitch, and it was mortifying. But at least she knew what it felt like. It wouldn’t be scary, but the noise was probably going to be deafening, considering that everything was still so sensitive. The dull beeping of her IV pump was beginning to get to her. It was really the most annoying noise she had ever encountered.
Laying back as the technicians got her ready, Santana sighed and processed everything that Jack had told her. She’d been in an accident. She’d been in a coma for three weeks of her life. Those were three weeks she would never get back. Oh no, what if she had missed cheerleading tryouts for the McKinley High Cheerios? She remembered seeing the sign up sheet on the door of the science lab and she’d decided that she was going to sign up and try out. Now, she would have to miss priority auditions and she’d have to go through the hellish process of auditioning with everyone else. Damn it, that Quinn Fabray girl was probably going to be in and she was going to be sporting that smug smile that she always wore when she got whatever she wanted.
Closing her eyes, Santana nodded as the technician gave her some instructions. She was still so sleepy, but a part of her was afraid that if she slept again, she would never wake up again. However, the battle with her eyelids was a losing one, and soon she was dozing off again, the real world the farthest thing from her mind. It was probably better since the CT machine made a lot of noise, and it would have been hard to handle, given that her senses still seemed to be hyper aware.
When she was transported back to her room about an hour later, she was still sound asleep, shifting around uncomfortably. It was only when she felt a set of hands clasp around one of hers that she was pulled back out of her slumber. “Mom?” she inquired, wincing slightly.
“No, not Mom,” someone said. It was a female voice, but it was so unfamiliar. Honestly, she didn’t remember hearing it. Whoever it was was sniffling. Opening her eyes, Santana gasped and pulled her hand away. It was that pantsuit wearing dwarf she’d seen earlier.
“Ew, what the hell are you doing in my room, Disco Hobbit?” Santana wondered, making a face at the other girl. Honestly, now that she was closer, under the pantsuit was a t-shirt that Santana knew hadn’t been cool since the 80s. Seriously, what era was this girl from?
“Santana Lopez, while I’m grateful that your sense of humor has returned, it’s quite cruel to say hello to your gi-“
“My sense of humor is fully intact, thank you. Your pantsuit is really hilarious in a sort of sad smurf impression kind of way. I’m serious, who are you, and why are you in my room? If you’re one of those candy stripper people, what the hell are you doing in that awful outfit?” Santana wondered, shaking her head slightly.
“Santana. It’s me. Rachel,” Rachel replied, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Wait, you’re Rachel Berry? As in, the girl my mom said was my best friend?” Santana scoffed, arching an eyebrow. Her mother had totally lost her mind. “Clearly all the pot my mom did in the 70s is starting to catch up with her, because there’s no way that I would ever be best friends with a dwarf that was rejected on the assembly line.”
“Santana, why are you being like this? I don’t understand…” Rachel sobbed, looking completely confused.
“Get out of my room,” Santana warned, clenching her jaw, despite the pain that it caused to her head.
“What? Why? Santana.... this, this isn’t funny,” Rachel informed her, wiping at her eyes.
“I said get. out.,” the Latina snarled, thankful that her mother walked into the room. “Mom, get this hobbit out of my room.”
“But San-“
“Get her out,” Santana repeated. She wanted to yell, she wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the voice to do it.
“Rachel, you should leave,” her mother nodded.
“But why? I don’t understand she said she didn’t know me and-“
“I will call you and explain later, Rachel. Please leave.”
Santana smirked as the other girl picked up her things and walked out, looking sadder than Santana had ever remembered seeing anyone. It didn’t make sense. Why was everyone saying she knew this girl? Santana had no memory of her at all. All she knew was that she would never, in her right mind, have spoken to a girl who dressed as hideously as that, there was no way that they would have been friends. The girl had probably told her mom that they were friends, hoping that she’d be grateful to have a friend if she woke up and wouldn’t care what she looked like. Well, this Rachel girl was wrong. What a fucking opportunist. Santana Lopez wasn’t friends with losers. That was just not how she worked.