fic: We're Not in Kansas Anymore - Part Two
Title: We're Not in Kansas Anymore - Part Two
Author: slacker_d
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Santana, Rachel/Quinn, Brittany, Mike, OMC, Puck, Dr. Lopez, Mrs. Lopez, Sue, Figgins, Karofsky
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU This is all Brittany's fault. But Santana can't be mad at her best friend about anything. Not even about finding herself in an alternate universe where Rachel hates her and is dating Quinn. But that doesn't mean she's staying.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: ~13,800 (total) ~6,150 (this part)
Spoilers: Other stories in the series. But I also took bits and pieces of Seasons 2.
A/N: So this happened. An AU of my Rachel/Santana series. Takes place between Some Days Love is Hell and Assume Crash Positions.
2nd A/N: Apologies. I know the last fic didn't have much Rachel/Santana interaction and this one doesn't either. But the next one? Well it should have a lot more.
3rd A/N: Unbeta’ed, so all mistakes are mine.
series masterlist
Part One
Part Two
Wednesday after an exhausting Cheerios' practice, Santana drives Brittany home, so she can check in with Marco.
"I bet he found something," Brittany says as they pull into the driveway.
"Something useful?"
"Uh huh. Uncle Marco's good like that."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Santana mutters, following Brittany inside.
"I think I've found something," Marco tells Santana as she and Brittany enter the kitchen.
"Yeah?"
"There's an ancient ritual that supposedly helps a person jump worlds, but no one can prove that it works. A lot of people claim it does, but they have no proof."
"Okay."
"But an old shaman I know says there's an updated version of the spell. He emailed it to me. It fits with some of the things you've found. He's checking to see if there's a counter ritual that could get you back."
"How long will that take?" Santana asks.
"Hopefully not too long," Marco replies. "Also pray that it doesn't require another snow globe."
"Yeah, since it's pretty much destroyed," Santana agrees. "How did she even get it? Do you visit more in this universe?"
"I gave it to her," Brittany volunteers.
"Why?"
Brittany shrugs. "She asked."
"Figures," Santana mutters.
"What does the sending spell need?" Brittany asks.
"Uh…" Marco pulls out his phone and scrolls and flicks about until he finds the email. "You need to mix the liquid from the snow globe, a tablespoon of nutmeg, four ounces of lamb blood, three pinches of ground up horse hoof, and several drops of iodine."
"Seriously?"
Marco nods. "It is rather, uh, ridiculous. Of course there's no way to really verify--"
"I can fucking verify that it works," Santana interrupts.
"Actually, I was going to say no one has verified why this mixture supposedly works just as well as the ancient version that uses ground up walrus tusk and interestingly enough, the nutmeg, among other things is equivalent."
"You have to believe," Brittany says.
"Huh?"
"I said you have to believe," Brittany repeats. "That's why it works. The person believes that it'll work. So it does."
"That's actually an interesting theory, Brittany," Marco replies. "The concept that magic is all in the mind, that our belief in something is what causes it to exist; it's fascinating. I think your theory has merit."
"Yay," Brittany claps.
"Either way, assuming it works. You write a spell or chant. Mix the ingredient, say your spell, drink it and then make your wish. But I guess it doesn't work until you go to sleep."
"Like Santa Claus," Brittany offers.
Santana shakes her head.
Marco smiles indulgently. "Yes, kind of like Santa Claus."
"Okay, I have to be dreaming," Santana says. "Someone pinch me."
Brittany reaches out and slaps Santana, hard.
"Ow! What the hell, Britt?"
"I don't like pinching people," Brittany replies. "It seems mean."
Santana can only gape at Brittany.
"Either way," Marco continues. "I'm still waiting for the shaman to get back to me. As well as a voodoo priestess who may know another way to jump universes."
"Sounds promising."
"Eh, well, it is and it isn't," Marco replies. "It's rather unprecedented."
"But still possible?" Santana asks.
"Anything is possible, Santana," Marco tells her. "There are some amazing things out there."
"I hope you're right," Santana replies. "I can't stay here while she's with my Rachel."
"Awww," Brittany coos.
…
Santana is sitting at the corner of the Cheerios' table at lunch. She doesn't feel like talking to anyone and luckily, no one approaches. She supposes the scowl she's wearing helps quite a bit too.
She hasn't seen Britt yet, but it's possible she's hanging out with Artie. Santana has a vague memory of the blonde mentioning something like that.
Quinn is sitting further down, amidst their fellow Cheerios and is constantly shooting Santana dirty looks. She wonders what the hell she did now.
When her phone buzzes, Santana looks down at it in surprise.
We need to talk. You know where.
It's from Rachel. Santana's pretty sure it's not a booty call. Standing, she can only hope that things are similar enough that she can correctly guess where exactly Rachel means.
…
Santana slowly approaches the second floor janitor's closet with apprehension. She's a bit worried that Quinn actually set the text and is going to jump her for messing with her girl. Especially since Quinn basically said as much yesterday.
When she reaches the door, she stops and listens hard. There is only silence and so with nonchalance she's not feeling, she opens the door and steps inside.
It's not dark when the door slams shut. It seems someone has a flashlight. Santana knows because the light is being directed into her eyes. She's blinded for a moment before the light pulls back and is set upright on a nearby shelf.
Once the spots disappear from her vision, Santana is mostly relived to see Rachel, with her arms crossed, standing in front of her.
"Hey babe," Santana tries weakly.
"I told you not to call me that."
Santana shrugs. "Old habits die hard."
"That excuse is getting old," Rachel retorts.
"Sorry. I'll come up with a better one for next time."
"You need to leave me alone," Rachel says.
"Hey, I was just minding my own business, eating lunch," Santana replies. "You texted me."
"So I could tell you to leave me alone," Rachel tells her.
"Well, meeting in the janitor's closet, our spot, isn't sending a clear message," Santana retorts.
"I didn't want anyone to see us--"
"Oooh, scandal."
"And tell Quinn," Rachel continues. "I worry what she may do to you."
"I can take care of myself."
Rachel gives her a sad look. "Yes, well, I'm well aware."
"And I'm not bothering you, so I'm not sure why we're meeting."
"You're staring," Rachel says.
"Now? We're talking. Where would you like me to look?"
"Stop being obtuse," Rachel replies. "I mean in general. All this week, I can feel your eyes on me. It's been so long since you've been so… obsessed, that I'd gotten use to not being stared at. Experiencing it again is quite disconcerting."
Santana shrugs. "I don’t know what to tell you."
"Are you going to stop?"
"Can't say," Santana answers, with feigned indifference. "But it's unlikely."
Rachel lets out a bitter chuckle. "Same old Santana."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you're still the same bitch that drove me away," Rachel replies.
"That is so not true," Santana tells her. "You have no idea how wrong you are, right now."
"All right, then," Rachel says. "Enlighten me."
"It's complicated."
"I bet," Rachel snorts. "Always full of excuses, never explanations."
"I don't know what you want from me, Rach," Santana replies.
"Nothing," Rachel says. "I want nothing from you. I simply wish to be left alone."
"Don't you think ignoring me would be a better strategy?" Santana asks. "I mean, by confronting me, you're letting me know that my method may have some merit."
Rachel stares at Santana.
"After all, we're alone, in a janitor's closet while your girlfriend eats lunch. One could argue that my objective has been achieved," Santana continues. "I would have thought that indifference would have been your first choice. It seems the most logical."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not who you think I am," Santana answers. "But hopefully that'll change soon."
Rachel is still staring at Santana.
"I really wish you would say something," Santana continues. "I'm finding this silence rather disconcerting."
"I'm finding you rather disconcerting right now, actually," Rachel manages.
"Well, I apologize," Santana replies. "That wasn't my intent."
"You're playing me," Rachel accuses.
"What?"
"This one-eighty you've apparently achieved," Rachel continues. "You've concocted some sort of Santana like plan to once again undermine my relationship with Quinn and this is the first step."
"It's not."
"It is," Rachel insists. "And I refused to fall prey to it."
"Rachel," Santana says, reaching for Rachel.
"Don't touch me," Rachel replies, slapping Santana's hand away.
"I--"
"No," Rachel says. "You are still the same evil, conniving bitch that I wasted a year of my life being intertwined with. And I'm not going back to that miserable existence. Get this through your head Santana Lopez. We are history. Over. Done with. There is nothing you can do to change that. Get it through your thick skull. And if you don't back off, I'm going to sic Quinn on you. And unlike the last times, I won't ask her to spare you."
"Like I'm scared of Quinn Fabray," Santana scoffs. She can't help it. She know this isn't her world, but the resentment of Quinn getting everything and Santana getting nothing is quickly resurfacing.
"You should be," Rachel retorts. "We both know what she's capable of. And what you aren't."
Santana growls.
"Good bye Santana," Rachel says. She snatches her flashlight from the shelf and quickly walks out, pushing by Santana as she does.
The door slams shut and Santana is left standing in the dark.
…
Still smarting over her confrontation with Rachel, Santana stalks down the halls, daring anyone to mess with her. Most people are smart enough to stay clear of her. It amuses Santana that some of the underclassmen actually jump out of her way, the look of fear in their eyes very real. It makes her wonder what kind of person she really is in this universe.
But then there's suddenly someone blocking her way. She looks up. Karofsky. She should have known he wouldn't be smart enough to stay out of her way.
"What?" she growls.
"We need to talk," he replies.
"No. We don't."
"We do," Karofsky insists.
"You really don't want to mess with me right now," Santana warns. "I'm not in the mood."
"Well too bad, Lopez," Karofsky replies. "This has been coming a while."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Karfosky confirms. "I've been watching you lately--"
"Creepy."
"And you haven't been acting like yourself."
"Like you even know," Santana retorts.
"I know plenty, Lopez," Karofsky sneers. "And while I've been willing to ignore your insane obsession with RuPaul, I can't ignore the complete lack of bitchery you've been walking around with lately."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Where did the bitch go?" Karofsky asks. "Fabray may have laid down her law, but that hasn't stopped you from your own reign of terror."
Santana doesn't like where this is going. "So?"
"So, what the fuck happened?"
"Nothing," Santana grinds out. "Outta my way, Karofsky."
"No way, Lopez," he replies. "If you start being nice, I'm gonna have to start being nice and there's no way in hell that's happening. So you need to bring back to bitch."
"I said, get the fuck out of my way, you idiot," Santana snaps. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to take a day off, I will."
"It's been way more than a day, Lopez," Karofsky points out.
"I'm not going to say it again, Karofsky," Santana says. "Move!"
"No."
Santana smiles, though there is no joy in her eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
…
Because the confrontation began just after the lunch bell ring, the halls are filled with students. When the confrontation becomes physical, they back away to give them enough room, but still surround the pair; no one wants to miss any of the action.
When teachers are finally able to push pass the mass of students they find a badly beaten Santana standing over a severely beaten Karofsky curled up on the ground. When they see her foot go out to kick him in the face, they quickly intervene and restrain Santana. She struggles in their grasp.
"All right, everyone break it up," Figgins voice cuts through the crowd. "Get to class now!"
Reluctantly, everyone slowly breaks apart and heads to class.
"You two," Figgins says to the teachers still holding Santana back. "Take Karofsky to the nurse. Lopez. My office."
Wiping some blood from her lip, Santana nods and mockingly holds her hand out, gesturing Figgins to go first.
He shakes his head at her, but does so.
In Figgins' office, Santana slumps into the chair, trying to ignore the pain the action causing. She's going for indifference. It's her only defense at the moment.
Figgins sits in his and eyes her, but he doesn't speak. He's actually waiting for Sue to burst in and demand immunity for one of her favored Cheerios.
"Just get it over with," Santana mutters. "I have things I could be doing."
"Fighting is an automatic suspension," Figgins begins.
"Great."
"You have nothing to say in your defense?" Figgins is surprised.
"How could I possible disprove I was fighting?" Santana asks.
"If you were perhaps defending yourself?" Figgins suggests.
"Are you gonna suspend Karofsky too?"
"I am," Figgins nods.
"How long?"
"Two days," Figgins answers.
"And me?"
"Three days."
"Whatever."
Figgins waits for more, but after a minute, it seems like Santana isn't going to say anymore.
"Fine then. Three days. Do not come back in until Wednesday. Go home now. And I'll be calling your parents."
"Course you will," Santana replies. "I'll go, but I'm stopping by the nurse's office first."
"Ms. Lopez, going after Karofsky wouldn't--"
"I'm injured too, if you hadn't noticed," Santana snaps.
"Fine," Figgins sighed. "But if anything else happens between the two of you, the blame will lie solely with you because he seems far more injured than you."
"Thanks." Santana stands. "Anything else?"
"No. You're dismissed."
Santana nods and exits. "Nice to know some things are the same no matter where I am," she mutters.
…
In glee, everyone is talking about the Santana/Karofsky fight. No one really saw it, though Tina, Mike and Lauren were in the crowd surrounding the two.
"Too bad you weren't there, Hudson," Puck says. "You could have put Tina on your shoulders so she could have seen."
"As if I'd ever do that," Tina scoffs.
Mike elbows Puck.
"Karofsky looked pretty bad," Sam says. "I was walking by the nurse's office and it wasn't pretty."
"Karofsky's always been pathetic like that," Quinn offers.
"Yeah, but did he deserve that?" Sam asks.
"Depends on who you ask," Mike says.
"Yeah," Finn adds. "Kurt might think so."
"Still…"
"Well what the hell set her off?" Sam asks.
"Karofsky being himself isn't enough?" Quinn questions.
"Besides, Santana's usually in high bitch mode," Mercedes adds. "The last couple days of quiet were probably just a build up."
"Yeah, but something had to set her off," Finn says.
Rachel looks at her hands and stays quiet.
Mr. Schue chooses this moment to enter. "I know we all want to talk about today's, uh, incident, but I think it's better to just jump right into practice."
"Did Santana get suspended?" Puck asks.
"She did," Mr. Schue nods. "So let's just put it behind us and do the best we can."
Reluctantly, everyone stands and positions themselves for their first song.
…
Santana is stretched out on her bed when her parents burst in. She's in a bit of pain; Karofsky got in some good hits, though she'd never admit it out loud.
"Santana," Dr. Lopez says.
"I'm here."
"We need to talk."
"So talk," Santana replies. "I'm listening."
"Then sit up and look us in the eye," Mrs. Lopez says.
Reluctantly, Santana does. It takes a moment, but with a busted lip, black eye and bruised jaw, she looks them both in the eye.
Mrs. Lopez gasps.
"You look like hell," Dr. Lopez says.
"Is that your medical opinion?" Santana asks.
"You have nothing else to say?" Mrs. Lopez asks.
Santana shakes her head. And then winces.
"I thought we were past these violent tendencies," Dr. Lopez says.
"Apparently not," Santana replies.
"You're grounded," Dr. Lopez says.
"Obviously," Santana comments, wincing when the sneer she's trying for hurts her lip.
"Your flippancy isn't appreciated," Mrs. Lopez replies.
"I didn't assume it would be," Santana tells her.
"You have nothing to say about being suspended for three days?" Mrs. Lopez continues.
"Nope."
Dr. and Mrs. Lopez look at each other and Santana can tell they're having one of their silent conversations.
"You're grounded for three weeks," Dr. Lopez says. "One for each day you were suspended."
"Goody."
"Watch the attitude young lady," Mrs. Lopez says. "You're on thin ice with us."
"Oh?"
"This is your last chance, Santana," Dr. Lopez says. "Screw up again and we're going to have to take more serious actions."
"What does that mean?" Santana asks.
"Maybe you need to transfer," Dr. Lopez answers. "Maybe you'd be better off at a school with peers more like you."
"What does that mean?" Santana repeats.
"Mess up one more time and you're going to Jane Adams Academy."
"What?!" Santana jumps off her bed and tries to ignore the pain it causes. "That's bullshit."
"Language," Dr. Lopez tells her. "And considering, you can't really believe that."
"Whatever," Santana sulks, slumping back onto her bed.
"You brought this on yourself," Mrs. Lopez says.
And then they're both gone, slamming the door shut behind them.
…
Friday is odd. She's grounded and yet both her parents go to work, apparently trusting that she'll stay in the house. It doesn't quite make sense to her.
Still feeling sore from yesterday, she spends the day on the couch watching daytime TV and popping aspirin like they're candy. It's kind of boring, but she doesn't know what else to do.
…
Friday night means a party, of course. Santana doesn't want to go, but also knows not making an appearance would cause too many questions.
Being grounded makes it a bit more difficult, but she still manages to sneak out. She walks to the corner and catches a ride with Puckerman. Thankfully he doesn't say anything.
They split when they arrive; Puck off to find a chick to take advantage of and Santana for some alcohol. It'll help her feel better physically and mentally, at least for a while.
No one seems to like her, though they obviously fear her. The fight with Karofsky probably helps that a lot. Still she's used to it, but having no one in her corner, except for Brittany is tough. She's used to a bit more support.
She really misses Rachel.
Still she's Santana fucking Lopez; appearances must be kept. She grabs a beer and begins to wander.
People mostly stay out of her way, though she still gets a few propositions. Santana briefly wonders if it's still considered cheating if you're in another universe.
The only problem is that leaves Santana with an image of the other Santana with her hands all over her Rachel. Fighting the need to punch a hole in the wall, Santana finishes her beer and goes off in search of more liquor.
In the kitchen, she finds more beer and does a couple body shots of tequila off her fellow drunk Cheerios
Now stumbling through the party, Santana is drunk. On the dance floor, Brittany is getting down and dirty, so Santana joins her. She's always enjoyed drunk grinding with Britt.
She gets lost in the music and so when Brittany decides to stop a few songs later, Santana is left drunk, horny and full of energy.
Santana grabs another beer and fights off the urge to find a warm body to keep her company.
Even though she has no interest in having sex with anyone other than Rachel, it's still hard to break old habits; especially drunk and lonely in another universe.
It's such an absurd thought that she lets out a loud laugh, scaring the others around her.
And then Santana sees her. Rachel.
Santana can't help herself. She's drawn her.
Rachel is leaning against the wall, watching the festivities.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Santana slurs.
"Despite my stance on underage drinking, I believe in socializing with my peers," Rachel replies. "I could say the same of you, though. I can't imagine you escaped yesterday's… antics without punishment."
"You'd be right," Santana agrees. "But you know I don't always follow the rules."
"That's certainly true."
"So why are you here all alone?" Santana asks.
"Quinn's making her rounds."
"Of course. Q has to make her grand appearance, after all."
"That she does," Rachel nods.
"Queen Q does love her power," Santana continues.
"Your jealousy is ridiculously transparent, Santana," Rachel replies.
"Can you blame me?" Santana asks. "She has everything I want; head Cheerio, ultimate popularity, definitive power. You."
"Yes, well, life isn't always what we want it to be," Rachel says.
"Truer words have never been spoken, babe," Santana sneers. "Smart girls are so hot."
"Santana, please don't ruin this almost nice moment by reverting to yourself."
Santana chuckles.
"I'm only tolerating you because you're drunk," Rachel continues.
"Lucky me," Santana leers. "Cause there are plenty of fun things we could do. I only get better when I'm drunk. Can your precious Quinnie say that?"
"We're done conversing now," Rachel announces. She stands upright. "I'm going to go find Quinn."
"Your loss, babe," Santana calls after her.
Rachel doesn't respond.
"Or my loss, really," Santana mumbles to herself.
…
Santana is in the backyard, her back against a tree as she sits and drinks. She knew talking to Rachel, drunk, was a bad idea, but she just couldn't help herself. Pissed off Rachel is so hot.
"Lopez, what the fuck?" Puck says, plopping down on the grass next to Santana.
"Be less specific, Fuckerman," Santana growls as she finishes her beer.
"You've been acting weird this week," Puck answers. "What's up with that?"
"Dealing with some shit."
"When is that not true?" Puck asks. "Share with the ole Puckeronie. He cares."
Santana snorts. "You're not getting into my pants tonight, Puckerman. So save it."
"Lopez," Puck says. "I'm wounded. As if that's all I care about."
"Course not," Santana replies. "There's also getting drunk."
"Don't forget video games," Puck grins.
"Exactly."
They lapse into silence as Puck finishes his beer.
"Dam, you're not still stuck on Berry on you?"
Santana doesn't reply.
"I mean, I'll admit she's hot. Those legs in her skirts is definitely a sin. But it's been years. Practically."
"I don't have to justify myself to your Fuckerman. It's complicated."
"It always is with you, Lopez," Puck agrees. "But I'm here for you or whatever. I know what it's like to lose the girl you want due to stupid shit."
Santana looks at Puck. "Yeah. I guess you would," Santana agrees. "But I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"
"Course. Course. I understand." Puck pulls a small glass bottle out of his pocket. "Whiskey?"
"Hell yeah," Santana rasps. She grabs the bottle and chugs almost half of it.
"Damn…"
"I'll get you another one later," Santana tells him.
"You better." Puck swipes the bottle out of Santana's grasp and takes a large pull.
Before he can drink more, Santana snatches the bottle back and finishes it. Before Puck can say anything, she pulls an unopened beer from her back pocket. Puck looks at it, shakes his head and twists the cap off. He then downs half of it.
"You're a weird chick, Lopez."
"Keeps you interested, Puckerman," Santana retorts.
…
Head pounding, Santana wakes up. Her eyes stay closed; she figures her throbbing head and horribly dry eyes will appreciate it.
She's pretty sure she's not in her own bed. Her surroundings just don't feel familiar. Even less than they already do.
And she's definitely not alone. As soon as she realizes it's not her bed, Santana figured as much, but had hoped she was wrong. It seems that luck is not on her side, but then again that's usually true; especially considering her current predicament.
She decides to risk it and opens her eyes. The room isn't familiar, but considering, that's not saying much. The head of dark hair still buried in the sheets reveal very little. Santana slides out of bed as quietly as possible and quickly dresses. Taking in her surroundings, she sees a lot of soccer related items and she starts to get a bad feeling. She sees a picture on the desk and walks over to take a closer look.
It's Michelle Jamieson posing with two girls who are almost definitely her sisters.
Santana is barely able to hold back a curse and she hurries out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door.
…
Weirdly Michele Jamieson doesn't live that far from her. Though Santana wishes she could remember how she ended up in the soccer player's bed. She spends the walk home trying to decide the best way to get into the house without getting into trouble. Part of her wonders why she cares. She's getting out of here. Santana can't feel bad about putting the other Santana in a bad position since the girl obviously has no qualms about ruining other people's lives.
God, she'll be so glad when this whole thing is over and done with.
Of course, when she arrives home, she has a surprise waiting for her: a pissed off Quinn Fabray sitting on the front step.
"Q," she greets.
"S," Quinn growls back.
"To what do I owe such a dubious surprise on this fine morning?"
"It's 12:45," Quinn says.
"Early afternoon. Whatever."
"We need to talk--"
"Obviously."
"About Rachel," Quinn finishes.
"What about Berry?" Santana asks.
"You were harassing her last night," Quinn accuses.
"Actually we were conversing," Santana replies. "I just tend to get a little… saucy when I drink is all."
"You're a real bitch," Quinn says.
"Back atcha, Cap'n."
"I thought we'd figured this out already," Quinn says.
"We did," Santana insists, even if technically it wasn't her that Quinn's referring to.
"Then why am I here?"
"That's something only you can answer, Fabray," Santana retorts. "I'm allowed to talk to her. She could've told me to fuck off anytime. But she didn't."
"Just stay away from her," Quinn snaps. "You've been really weird lately."
"Maybe it's you, oh paranoid one."
"I don't have time for your games, S," Quinn replies. "Stay out of Rachel's way and we'll all be just fine."
"Whatever," Santana replies. "Move. I'm hung over and can't deal with you right now."
"Fine." Quinn stands. "I'm leaving. But I meant what I said."
"Uh huh," Santana grumbles. "Later." She waves with more energy than she has.
Quinn stomps to her car, parked in the street and drives away quickly.
Santana sighs, goes inside and up to her room.
…
Santana spends Saturday sleeping off her hang over. Thankfully, her parents are weirdly trusting of her and were gone when she arrived home. Which also explains why Quinn was sitting on the step.
It's lonely and strengthens Santana's resolve to escape this universe.
…
Sunday morning, Santana is woken up by a text from Brittany.
Uncle Marco said come over
Santana hopes that means he has a solution. She's not sure how much more of this place she can take.
She quickly dresses and climbs out her window, ignoring the soreness her body is still feeling.
…
Santana finds Brittany and Marco in the kitchen she arrives at the Pierce's.
"I know how to get you back," Marco announces.
"Thank fucking god," Santana mutters as she sits at the table.
"My shaman friend came through and found a modernized counter spell," Marco continues.
"Let's hear it," Santana replies.
Marco pulls out his phone and opens the email. "He says it has to be done at midnight on the night of a full moon. You slash your palm with a large knife and cover it with your own blood. You then use the knife, still covered in your blood to stir a mixture of Earl Grey tea, ground up Cassava root and rose petals. You drink the mixture, recite the spell and make your wish."
"That seems easy," Brittany says.
Santana can only stare.
"I know how it sounds," Marco says. "But you remember the spell that got you here, don't you?"
Santana nods.
"It was just as ridiculous."
"You want me to cut my hand, put the blood on the knife and then add my blood to a mixture of things I never want to ingest separately, much less together?"
"Basically."
"And what the hell is a Cassava root?" Santana asks.
Marco searches on his phone. "Well according to Wikipedia it's a woody shrub of the Euphorbiaceae native to South America, and is extensively cultivated as an annual crop in tropical and subtropical regions for its edible starchy tuberous root, a major source of carbohydrates."
"Oh well, then that explains it," Santana snarks. "Wait a minute. Where the hell am I even supposed to find Cassava root?"
"The store, duh," Brittany says.
"I'm sure we can find some somewhere," Marco replies.
"Since this is all your fault," Santana says. "You're in charge of getting the ingredients."
"Now, wait a minute," Marco protests.
"I’m serious," Santana replies. "And when is the next full moon, anyway? Please tell me it wasn't yesterday."
"You're in luck," Marco answers. "We looked it while we were waiting for you. It's actually Thursday night."
"Well that's a lucky break, anyway."
"San's right, Uncle Marco," Brittany says. "You should be in charge of getting everything. It's only fair. Plus, you'd know where to get it. And can afford it. Poor San doesn't have any money."
"Yeah," Santana adds.
Marco sighs. He can't say no to Brittany. "Fine. I'll get everything, including the knife. But you two are going to have to come up with the spell."
"What?" Santana asks. "Isn't that something you got in your email?"
"No," Marco shakes his head. "Apparently you're supposed to write your own. That one you found, apparently the other you wrote it."
"Hmph. Well that's interesting."
"Don't worry, San," Brittany says. "I'm working on one."
"Uh, Britt, I'm not sure how--"
"Wanna hear?"
Santana sighs. "Sure."
Brittany holds up the notebook she has in front of her. "Reverse what has happened. Undo what has been done. Return what is right. And repair what is wrong. I request of thee. Please fix my fate. I cannot stay. I need to leave. Return what is right. And repair what is wrong." Brittany looks up at Santana expectantly. "I used the one my San wrote. It helped."
"That's actually not bad, Britt," Santana says, smiling. "Thanks."
"That should work just fine," Marco agrees.
"So I'm going home?"
"You're going home."
…
Now that Santana knows how she's getting home, she can relax. Sort of. Of course now it's just a matter of waiting. It's only four days. She's counting her blessing since the wait could have been a month. But still, she hates waiting.
Britt helps distract her Sunday, even going as far as to sneak into Santana's room after lunch. They spend the day watching movies and talking. It's not a horrible Sunday afternoon. She has to wonder about this whole grounding thing though, because her parents don't seem to be checking up on her too much.
"They're probably afraid you'll throw your chair at them or something," Brittany says casually.
"Say what?"
"You did last year after Rachel told you that she and Quinn were dating," Brittany answers. "Your parents were mad about your falling grades and so you threw a chair at your dad."
"Holy shit."
"You missed," Brittany continues. "But it broke completely. It was really bad."
"I bet."
"Yeah. I was really surprised that they grounded you. I woulda thought they'd be afraid of being chaired again."
"I'm really not very nice am I?" Santana asks.
"You're just in pain," Brittany assures her. "And you don't know how to deal with it or ask for help."
"Oh."
"But don't worry," Brittany says. "I won't give up on you."
"Thanks Britt."
…
Monday is beyond boring. She spends the day watching TV, exploring her room and surfing the internet trying to find things that are different. The big things seem to be the same. The president is still Obama and there's still a war going on. But she does notice a few smaller differences like different TV shows, movies and weirdly the ending to the Harry Potter books. Which she only read because of Brittany.
At one point, she's so bored, she takes a nap and tries not to feel like a toddler or a ninety year old woman.
…
Tuesday is spent much the same way, killing time. Though around noon, feeling lonely and missing her girlfriend, Santana logs onto MySpace and watches Rachel's videos.
It actually helps. A lot. She spends the rest of the day watching them. After the third time through, she creates a new account and begins leaving complimentary comments, hoping to counter all the negativity already there.
Feeling almost normal, Santana goes to bed, glad her suspension is over tomorrow.
…
Wednesday Santana wakes up excited to go to school; more out of boredom than anything else. She supposes she could have escaped the house since her parents were at work, but it's Lima, so it's not like she had a lot of options.
No one gets anywhere near her when she enters McKinley. That was certainly true last week, but today it seems even more obvious. She's at her locker when she sees Karofsky and she understands a bit of the other students fear.
He looks like hell. He's walking like it hurts to do so and he has an arm in a sling. His face is a mess of bruises and cuts and he's wearing an eye patch. Santana hopes she didn't blind him; that seems a bit cruel, even for her.
Santana feels her respect grow for him though when he notices her and only flinches slightly. He gives her no other reaction and out of anyone, he has the most right to.
She nods at him and walks towards class. While he simply stood at his locker, awkwardly pulling out books as she walked by, their classmates scurry out of the way, some almost tripping in their haste. It's pathetic and Santana lets herself chuckle a bit.
…
During Cheerios practice she has to endure Coach Sylvester constantly yelling at her. It seems the reason Coach didn't try to bail her out is that it's not the first time something like this has happened. It's moments like this that she wishes she kept a journal or something, so she could have some sort of guide to this universe. Britt's been great about filling in some holes, but considering the blonde says they've at odds some this year, it's probably that there's a lot she doesn't know.
So Santana puts up with the constant ridicule, extra laps, the suicides and extended practice. The physical is a nice distraction from her brain, anyway.
When it's all over and she's flat at her back, trying to summon the effort to sit and drink some water, a shadow stands over her.
"Not terrible, Lopez," Coach Sylvester says. "Keep this up and I may not demote you to the bottom of the pyramid again."
Again, Santana thinks. But all she does is nod slightly as she finally manages to sit up and sip the water that Brittany left for her.
Coach Sylvester smirks, nods and just as quick, is gone.
…
Her mother is in the kitchen when she gets home. Knowing she had Cheerios practice, nothing is said, though she does raise an eyebrow at Santana's appearance. Santana ignores her and goes up to shower.
She eats dinner with her parents, keeping quiet, but trying not to appear too surly or sullen. It must work because while her parents ignore her, there's an air of peace surrounding the table.
When she goes to bed that night, it's knowing that she'll be home soon. And so she falls asleep with a smile on her face.
A/N: So I couldn't decide how I wanted to end this crazy thing, so I wrote two endings.
Ending A: Home Sweet Home
Ending B: It was only a dream…
Author: slacker_d
Pairing/Characters: Rachel/Santana, Rachel/Quinn, Brittany, Mike, OMC, Puck, Dr. Lopez, Mrs. Lopez, Sue, Figgins, Karofsky
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU This is all Brittany's fault. But Santana can't be mad at her best friend about anything. Not even about finding herself in an alternate universe where Rachel hates her and is dating Quinn. But that doesn't mean she's staying.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: ~13,800 (total) ~6,150 (this part)
Spoilers: Other stories in the series. But I also took bits and pieces of Seasons 2.
A/N: So this happened. An AU of my Rachel/Santana series. Takes place between Some Days Love is Hell and Assume Crash Positions.
2nd A/N: Apologies. I know the last fic didn't have much Rachel/Santana interaction and this one doesn't either. But the next one? Well it should have a lot more.
3rd A/N: Unbeta’ed, so all mistakes are mine.
series masterlist
Part One
Part Two
Wednesday after an exhausting Cheerios' practice, Santana drives Brittany home, so she can check in with Marco.
"I bet he found something," Brittany says as they pull into the driveway.
"Something useful?"
"Uh huh. Uncle Marco's good like that."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Santana mutters, following Brittany inside.
"I think I've found something," Marco tells Santana as she and Brittany enter the kitchen.
"Yeah?"
"There's an ancient ritual that supposedly helps a person jump worlds, but no one can prove that it works. A lot of people claim it does, but they have no proof."
"Okay."
"But an old shaman I know says there's an updated version of the spell. He emailed it to me. It fits with some of the things you've found. He's checking to see if there's a counter ritual that could get you back."
"How long will that take?" Santana asks.
"Hopefully not too long," Marco replies. "Also pray that it doesn't require another snow globe."
"Yeah, since it's pretty much destroyed," Santana agrees. "How did she even get it? Do you visit more in this universe?"
"I gave it to her," Brittany volunteers.
"Why?"
Brittany shrugs. "She asked."
"Figures," Santana mutters.
"What does the sending spell need?" Brittany asks.
"Uh…" Marco pulls out his phone and scrolls and flicks about until he finds the email. "You need to mix the liquid from the snow globe, a tablespoon of nutmeg, four ounces of lamb blood, three pinches of ground up horse hoof, and several drops of iodine."
"Seriously?"
Marco nods. "It is rather, uh, ridiculous. Of course there's no way to really verify--"
"I can fucking verify that it works," Santana interrupts.
"Actually, I was going to say no one has verified why this mixture supposedly works just as well as the ancient version that uses ground up walrus tusk and interestingly enough, the nutmeg, among other things is equivalent."
"You have to believe," Brittany says.
"Huh?"
"I said you have to believe," Brittany repeats. "That's why it works. The person believes that it'll work. So it does."
"That's actually an interesting theory, Brittany," Marco replies. "The concept that magic is all in the mind, that our belief in something is what causes it to exist; it's fascinating. I think your theory has merit."
"Yay," Brittany claps.
"Either way, assuming it works. You write a spell or chant. Mix the ingredient, say your spell, drink it and then make your wish. But I guess it doesn't work until you go to sleep."
"Like Santa Claus," Brittany offers.
Santana shakes her head.
Marco smiles indulgently. "Yes, kind of like Santa Claus."
"Okay, I have to be dreaming," Santana says. "Someone pinch me."
Brittany reaches out and slaps Santana, hard.
"Ow! What the hell, Britt?"
"I don't like pinching people," Brittany replies. "It seems mean."
Santana can only gape at Brittany.
"Either way," Marco continues. "I'm still waiting for the shaman to get back to me. As well as a voodoo priestess who may know another way to jump universes."
"Sounds promising."
"Eh, well, it is and it isn't," Marco replies. "It's rather unprecedented."
"But still possible?" Santana asks.
"Anything is possible, Santana," Marco tells her. "There are some amazing things out there."
"I hope you're right," Santana replies. "I can't stay here while she's with my Rachel."
"Awww," Brittany coos.
…
Santana is sitting at the corner of the Cheerios' table at lunch. She doesn't feel like talking to anyone and luckily, no one approaches. She supposes the scowl she's wearing helps quite a bit too.
She hasn't seen Britt yet, but it's possible she's hanging out with Artie. Santana has a vague memory of the blonde mentioning something like that.
Quinn is sitting further down, amidst their fellow Cheerios and is constantly shooting Santana dirty looks. She wonders what the hell she did now.
When her phone buzzes, Santana looks down at it in surprise.
We need to talk. You know where.
It's from Rachel. Santana's pretty sure it's not a booty call. Standing, she can only hope that things are similar enough that she can correctly guess where exactly Rachel means.
…
Santana slowly approaches the second floor janitor's closet with apprehension. She's a bit worried that Quinn actually set the text and is going to jump her for messing with her girl. Especially since Quinn basically said as much yesterday.
When she reaches the door, she stops and listens hard. There is only silence and so with nonchalance she's not feeling, she opens the door and steps inside.
It's not dark when the door slams shut. It seems someone has a flashlight. Santana knows because the light is being directed into her eyes. She's blinded for a moment before the light pulls back and is set upright on a nearby shelf.
Once the spots disappear from her vision, Santana is mostly relived to see Rachel, with her arms crossed, standing in front of her.
"Hey babe," Santana tries weakly.
"I told you not to call me that."
Santana shrugs. "Old habits die hard."
"That excuse is getting old," Rachel retorts.
"Sorry. I'll come up with a better one for next time."
"You need to leave me alone," Rachel says.
"Hey, I was just minding my own business, eating lunch," Santana replies. "You texted me."
"So I could tell you to leave me alone," Rachel tells her.
"Well, meeting in the janitor's closet, our spot, isn't sending a clear message," Santana retorts.
"I didn't want anyone to see us--"
"Oooh, scandal."
"And tell Quinn," Rachel continues. "I worry what she may do to you."
"I can take care of myself."
Rachel gives her a sad look. "Yes, well, I'm well aware."
"And I'm not bothering you, so I'm not sure why we're meeting."
"You're staring," Rachel says.
"Now? We're talking. Where would you like me to look?"
"Stop being obtuse," Rachel replies. "I mean in general. All this week, I can feel your eyes on me. It's been so long since you've been so… obsessed, that I'd gotten use to not being stared at. Experiencing it again is quite disconcerting."
Santana shrugs. "I don’t know what to tell you."
"Are you going to stop?"
"Can't say," Santana answers, with feigned indifference. "But it's unlikely."
Rachel lets out a bitter chuckle. "Same old Santana."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you're still the same bitch that drove me away," Rachel replies.
"That is so not true," Santana tells her. "You have no idea how wrong you are, right now."
"All right, then," Rachel says. "Enlighten me."
"It's complicated."
"I bet," Rachel snorts. "Always full of excuses, never explanations."
"I don't know what you want from me, Rach," Santana replies.
"Nothing," Rachel says. "I want nothing from you. I simply wish to be left alone."
"Don't you think ignoring me would be a better strategy?" Santana asks. "I mean, by confronting me, you're letting me know that my method may have some merit."
Rachel stares at Santana.
"After all, we're alone, in a janitor's closet while your girlfriend eats lunch. One could argue that my objective has been achieved," Santana continues. "I would have thought that indifference would have been your first choice. It seems the most logical."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not who you think I am," Santana answers. "But hopefully that'll change soon."
Rachel is still staring at Santana.
"I really wish you would say something," Santana continues. "I'm finding this silence rather disconcerting."
"I'm finding you rather disconcerting right now, actually," Rachel manages.
"Well, I apologize," Santana replies. "That wasn't my intent."
"You're playing me," Rachel accuses.
"What?"
"This one-eighty you've apparently achieved," Rachel continues. "You've concocted some sort of Santana like plan to once again undermine my relationship with Quinn and this is the first step."
"It's not."
"It is," Rachel insists. "And I refused to fall prey to it."
"Rachel," Santana says, reaching for Rachel.
"Don't touch me," Rachel replies, slapping Santana's hand away.
"I--"
"No," Rachel says. "You are still the same evil, conniving bitch that I wasted a year of my life being intertwined with. And I'm not going back to that miserable existence. Get this through your head Santana Lopez. We are history. Over. Done with. There is nothing you can do to change that. Get it through your thick skull. And if you don't back off, I'm going to sic Quinn on you. And unlike the last times, I won't ask her to spare you."
"Like I'm scared of Quinn Fabray," Santana scoffs. She can't help it. She know this isn't her world, but the resentment of Quinn getting everything and Santana getting nothing is quickly resurfacing.
"You should be," Rachel retorts. "We both know what she's capable of. And what you aren't."
Santana growls.
"Good bye Santana," Rachel says. She snatches her flashlight from the shelf and quickly walks out, pushing by Santana as she does.
The door slams shut and Santana is left standing in the dark.
…
Still smarting over her confrontation with Rachel, Santana stalks down the halls, daring anyone to mess with her. Most people are smart enough to stay clear of her. It amuses Santana that some of the underclassmen actually jump out of her way, the look of fear in their eyes very real. It makes her wonder what kind of person she really is in this universe.
But then there's suddenly someone blocking her way. She looks up. Karofsky. She should have known he wouldn't be smart enough to stay out of her way.
"What?" she growls.
"We need to talk," he replies.
"No. We don't."
"We do," Karofsky insists.
"You really don't want to mess with me right now," Santana warns. "I'm not in the mood."
"Well too bad, Lopez," Karofsky replies. "This has been coming a while."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Karfosky confirms. "I've been watching you lately--"
"Creepy."
"And you haven't been acting like yourself."
"Like you even know," Santana retorts.
"I know plenty, Lopez," Karofsky sneers. "And while I've been willing to ignore your insane obsession with RuPaul, I can't ignore the complete lack of bitchery you've been walking around with lately."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Where did the bitch go?" Karofsky asks. "Fabray may have laid down her law, but that hasn't stopped you from your own reign of terror."
Santana doesn't like where this is going. "So?"
"So, what the fuck happened?"
"Nothing," Santana grinds out. "Outta my way, Karofsky."
"No way, Lopez," he replies. "If you start being nice, I'm gonna have to start being nice and there's no way in hell that's happening. So you need to bring back to bitch."
"I said, get the fuck out of my way, you idiot," Santana snaps. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to take a day off, I will."
"It's been way more than a day, Lopez," Karofsky points out.
"I'm not going to say it again, Karofsky," Santana says. "Move!"
"No."
Santana smiles, though there is no joy in her eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
…
Because the confrontation began just after the lunch bell ring, the halls are filled with students. When the confrontation becomes physical, they back away to give them enough room, but still surround the pair; no one wants to miss any of the action.
When teachers are finally able to push pass the mass of students they find a badly beaten Santana standing over a severely beaten Karofsky curled up on the ground. When they see her foot go out to kick him in the face, they quickly intervene and restrain Santana. She struggles in their grasp.
"All right, everyone break it up," Figgins voice cuts through the crowd. "Get to class now!"
Reluctantly, everyone slowly breaks apart and heads to class.
"You two," Figgins says to the teachers still holding Santana back. "Take Karofsky to the nurse. Lopez. My office."
Wiping some blood from her lip, Santana nods and mockingly holds her hand out, gesturing Figgins to go first.
He shakes his head at her, but does so.
In Figgins' office, Santana slumps into the chair, trying to ignore the pain the action causing. She's going for indifference. It's her only defense at the moment.
Figgins sits in his and eyes her, but he doesn't speak. He's actually waiting for Sue to burst in and demand immunity for one of her favored Cheerios.
"Just get it over with," Santana mutters. "I have things I could be doing."
"Fighting is an automatic suspension," Figgins begins.
"Great."
"You have nothing to say in your defense?" Figgins is surprised.
"How could I possible disprove I was fighting?" Santana asks.
"If you were perhaps defending yourself?" Figgins suggests.
"Are you gonna suspend Karofsky too?"
"I am," Figgins nods.
"How long?"
"Two days," Figgins answers.
"And me?"
"Three days."
"Whatever."
Figgins waits for more, but after a minute, it seems like Santana isn't going to say anymore.
"Fine then. Three days. Do not come back in until Wednesday. Go home now. And I'll be calling your parents."
"Course you will," Santana replies. "I'll go, but I'm stopping by the nurse's office first."
"Ms. Lopez, going after Karofsky wouldn't--"
"I'm injured too, if you hadn't noticed," Santana snaps.
"Fine," Figgins sighed. "But if anything else happens between the two of you, the blame will lie solely with you because he seems far more injured than you."
"Thanks." Santana stands. "Anything else?"
"No. You're dismissed."
Santana nods and exits. "Nice to know some things are the same no matter where I am," she mutters.
…
In glee, everyone is talking about the Santana/Karofsky fight. No one really saw it, though Tina, Mike and Lauren were in the crowd surrounding the two.
"Too bad you weren't there, Hudson," Puck says. "You could have put Tina on your shoulders so she could have seen."
"As if I'd ever do that," Tina scoffs.
Mike elbows Puck.
"Karofsky looked pretty bad," Sam says. "I was walking by the nurse's office and it wasn't pretty."
"Karofsky's always been pathetic like that," Quinn offers.
"Yeah, but did he deserve that?" Sam asks.
"Depends on who you ask," Mike says.
"Yeah," Finn adds. "Kurt might think so."
"Still…"
"Well what the hell set her off?" Sam asks.
"Karofsky being himself isn't enough?" Quinn questions.
"Besides, Santana's usually in high bitch mode," Mercedes adds. "The last couple days of quiet were probably just a build up."
"Yeah, but something had to set her off," Finn says.
Rachel looks at her hands and stays quiet.
Mr. Schue chooses this moment to enter. "I know we all want to talk about today's, uh, incident, but I think it's better to just jump right into practice."
"Did Santana get suspended?" Puck asks.
"She did," Mr. Schue nods. "So let's just put it behind us and do the best we can."
Reluctantly, everyone stands and positions themselves for their first song.
…
Santana is stretched out on her bed when her parents burst in. She's in a bit of pain; Karofsky got in some good hits, though she'd never admit it out loud.
"Santana," Dr. Lopez says.
"I'm here."
"We need to talk."
"So talk," Santana replies. "I'm listening."
"Then sit up and look us in the eye," Mrs. Lopez says.
Reluctantly, Santana does. It takes a moment, but with a busted lip, black eye and bruised jaw, she looks them both in the eye.
Mrs. Lopez gasps.
"You look like hell," Dr. Lopez says.
"Is that your medical opinion?" Santana asks.
"You have nothing else to say?" Mrs. Lopez asks.
Santana shakes her head. And then winces.
"I thought we were past these violent tendencies," Dr. Lopez says.
"Apparently not," Santana replies.
"You're grounded," Dr. Lopez says.
"Obviously," Santana comments, wincing when the sneer she's trying for hurts her lip.
"Your flippancy isn't appreciated," Mrs. Lopez replies.
"I didn't assume it would be," Santana tells her.
"You have nothing to say about being suspended for three days?" Mrs. Lopez continues.
"Nope."
Dr. and Mrs. Lopez look at each other and Santana can tell they're having one of their silent conversations.
"You're grounded for three weeks," Dr. Lopez says. "One for each day you were suspended."
"Goody."
"Watch the attitude young lady," Mrs. Lopez says. "You're on thin ice with us."
"Oh?"
"This is your last chance, Santana," Dr. Lopez says. "Screw up again and we're going to have to take more serious actions."
"What does that mean?" Santana asks.
"Maybe you need to transfer," Dr. Lopez answers. "Maybe you'd be better off at a school with peers more like you."
"What does that mean?" Santana repeats.
"Mess up one more time and you're going to Jane Adams Academy."
"What?!" Santana jumps off her bed and tries to ignore the pain it causes. "That's bullshit."
"Language," Dr. Lopez tells her. "And considering, you can't really believe that."
"Whatever," Santana sulks, slumping back onto her bed.
"You brought this on yourself," Mrs. Lopez says.
And then they're both gone, slamming the door shut behind them.
…
Friday is odd. She's grounded and yet both her parents go to work, apparently trusting that she'll stay in the house. It doesn't quite make sense to her.
Still feeling sore from yesterday, she spends the day on the couch watching daytime TV and popping aspirin like they're candy. It's kind of boring, but she doesn't know what else to do.
…
Friday night means a party, of course. Santana doesn't want to go, but also knows not making an appearance would cause too many questions.
Being grounded makes it a bit more difficult, but she still manages to sneak out. She walks to the corner and catches a ride with Puckerman. Thankfully he doesn't say anything.
They split when they arrive; Puck off to find a chick to take advantage of and Santana for some alcohol. It'll help her feel better physically and mentally, at least for a while.
No one seems to like her, though they obviously fear her. The fight with Karofsky probably helps that a lot. Still she's used to it, but having no one in her corner, except for Brittany is tough. She's used to a bit more support.
She really misses Rachel.
Still she's Santana fucking Lopez; appearances must be kept. She grabs a beer and begins to wander.
People mostly stay out of her way, though she still gets a few propositions. Santana briefly wonders if it's still considered cheating if you're in another universe.
The only problem is that leaves Santana with an image of the other Santana with her hands all over her Rachel. Fighting the need to punch a hole in the wall, Santana finishes her beer and goes off in search of more liquor.
In the kitchen, she finds more beer and does a couple body shots of tequila off her fellow drunk Cheerios
Now stumbling through the party, Santana is drunk. On the dance floor, Brittany is getting down and dirty, so Santana joins her. She's always enjoyed drunk grinding with Britt.
She gets lost in the music and so when Brittany decides to stop a few songs later, Santana is left drunk, horny and full of energy.
Santana grabs another beer and fights off the urge to find a warm body to keep her company.
Even though she has no interest in having sex with anyone other than Rachel, it's still hard to break old habits; especially drunk and lonely in another universe.
It's such an absurd thought that she lets out a loud laugh, scaring the others around her.
And then Santana sees her. Rachel.
Santana can't help herself. She's drawn her.
Rachel is leaning against the wall, watching the festivities.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Santana slurs.
"Despite my stance on underage drinking, I believe in socializing with my peers," Rachel replies. "I could say the same of you, though. I can't imagine you escaped yesterday's… antics without punishment."
"You'd be right," Santana agrees. "But you know I don't always follow the rules."
"That's certainly true."
"So why are you here all alone?" Santana asks.
"Quinn's making her rounds."
"Of course. Q has to make her grand appearance, after all."
"That she does," Rachel nods.
"Queen Q does love her power," Santana continues.
"Your jealousy is ridiculously transparent, Santana," Rachel replies.
"Can you blame me?" Santana asks. "She has everything I want; head Cheerio, ultimate popularity, definitive power. You."
"Yes, well, life isn't always what we want it to be," Rachel says.
"Truer words have never been spoken, babe," Santana sneers. "Smart girls are so hot."
"Santana, please don't ruin this almost nice moment by reverting to yourself."
Santana chuckles.
"I'm only tolerating you because you're drunk," Rachel continues.
"Lucky me," Santana leers. "Cause there are plenty of fun things we could do. I only get better when I'm drunk. Can your precious Quinnie say that?"
"We're done conversing now," Rachel announces. She stands upright. "I'm going to go find Quinn."
"Your loss, babe," Santana calls after her.
Rachel doesn't respond.
"Or my loss, really," Santana mumbles to herself.
…
Santana is in the backyard, her back against a tree as she sits and drinks. She knew talking to Rachel, drunk, was a bad idea, but she just couldn't help herself. Pissed off Rachel is so hot.
"Lopez, what the fuck?" Puck says, plopping down on the grass next to Santana.
"Be less specific, Fuckerman," Santana growls as she finishes her beer.
"You've been acting weird this week," Puck answers. "What's up with that?"
"Dealing with some shit."
"When is that not true?" Puck asks. "Share with the ole Puckeronie. He cares."
Santana snorts. "You're not getting into my pants tonight, Puckerman. So save it."
"Lopez," Puck says. "I'm wounded. As if that's all I care about."
"Course not," Santana replies. "There's also getting drunk."
"Don't forget video games," Puck grins.
"Exactly."
They lapse into silence as Puck finishes his beer.
"Dam, you're not still stuck on Berry on you?"
Santana doesn't reply.
"I mean, I'll admit she's hot. Those legs in her skirts is definitely a sin. But it's been years. Practically."
"I don't have to justify myself to your Fuckerman. It's complicated."
"It always is with you, Lopez," Puck agrees. "But I'm here for you or whatever. I know what it's like to lose the girl you want due to stupid shit."
Santana looks at Puck. "Yeah. I guess you would," Santana agrees. "But I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"
"Course. Course. I understand." Puck pulls a small glass bottle out of his pocket. "Whiskey?"
"Hell yeah," Santana rasps. She grabs the bottle and chugs almost half of it.
"Damn…"
"I'll get you another one later," Santana tells him.
"You better." Puck swipes the bottle out of Santana's grasp and takes a large pull.
Before he can drink more, Santana snatches the bottle back and finishes it. Before Puck can say anything, she pulls an unopened beer from her back pocket. Puck looks at it, shakes his head and twists the cap off. He then downs half of it.
"You're a weird chick, Lopez."
"Keeps you interested, Puckerman," Santana retorts.
…
Head pounding, Santana wakes up. Her eyes stay closed; she figures her throbbing head and horribly dry eyes will appreciate it.
She's pretty sure she's not in her own bed. Her surroundings just don't feel familiar. Even less than they already do.
And she's definitely not alone. As soon as she realizes it's not her bed, Santana figured as much, but had hoped she was wrong. It seems that luck is not on her side, but then again that's usually true; especially considering her current predicament.
She decides to risk it and opens her eyes. The room isn't familiar, but considering, that's not saying much. The head of dark hair still buried in the sheets reveal very little. Santana slides out of bed as quietly as possible and quickly dresses. Taking in her surroundings, she sees a lot of soccer related items and she starts to get a bad feeling. She sees a picture on the desk and walks over to take a closer look.
It's Michelle Jamieson posing with two girls who are almost definitely her sisters.
Santana is barely able to hold back a curse and she hurries out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door.
…
Weirdly Michele Jamieson doesn't live that far from her. Though Santana wishes she could remember how she ended up in the soccer player's bed. She spends the walk home trying to decide the best way to get into the house without getting into trouble. Part of her wonders why she cares. She's getting out of here. Santana can't feel bad about putting the other Santana in a bad position since the girl obviously has no qualms about ruining other people's lives.
God, she'll be so glad when this whole thing is over and done with.
Of course, when she arrives home, she has a surprise waiting for her: a pissed off Quinn Fabray sitting on the front step.
"Q," she greets.
"S," Quinn growls back.
"To what do I owe such a dubious surprise on this fine morning?"
"It's 12:45," Quinn says.
"Early afternoon. Whatever."
"We need to talk--"
"Obviously."
"About Rachel," Quinn finishes.
"What about Berry?" Santana asks.
"You were harassing her last night," Quinn accuses.
"Actually we were conversing," Santana replies. "I just tend to get a little… saucy when I drink is all."
"You're a real bitch," Quinn says.
"Back atcha, Cap'n."
"I thought we'd figured this out already," Quinn says.
"We did," Santana insists, even if technically it wasn't her that Quinn's referring to.
"Then why am I here?"
"That's something only you can answer, Fabray," Santana retorts. "I'm allowed to talk to her. She could've told me to fuck off anytime. But she didn't."
"Just stay away from her," Quinn snaps. "You've been really weird lately."
"Maybe it's you, oh paranoid one."
"I don't have time for your games, S," Quinn replies. "Stay out of Rachel's way and we'll all be just fine."
"Whatever," Santana replies. "Move. I'm hung over and can't deal with you right now."
"Fine." Quinn stands. "I'm leaving. But I meant what I said."
"Uh huh," Santana grumbles. "Later." She waves with more energy than she has.
Quinn stomps to her car, parked in the street and drives away quickly.
Santana sighs, goes inside and up to her room.
…
Santana spends Saturday sleeping off her hang over. Thankfully, her parents are weirdly trusting of her and were gone when she arrived home. Which also explains why Quinn was sitting on the step.
It's lonely and strengthens Santana's resolve to escape this universe.
…
Sunday morning, Santana is woken up by a text from Brittany.
Uncle Marco said come over
Santana hopes that means he has a solution. She's not sure how much more of this place she can take.
She quickly dresses and climbs out her window, ignoring the soreness her body is still feeling.
…
Santana finds Brittany and Marco in the kitchen she arrives at the Pierce's.
"I know how to get you back," Marco announces.
"Thank fucking god," Santana mutters as she sits at the table.
"My shaman friend came through and found a modernized counter spell," Marco continues.
"Let's hear it," Santana replies.
Marco pulls out his phone and opens the email. "He says it has to be done at midnight on the night of a full moon. You slash your palm with a large knife and cover it with your own blood. You then use the knife, still covered in your blood to stir a mixture of Earl Grey tea, ground up Cassava root and rose petals. You drink the mixture, recite the spell and make your wish."
"That seems easy," Brittany says.
Santana can only stare.
"I know how it sounds," Marco says. "But you remember the spell that got you here, don't you?"
Santana nods.
"It was just as ridiculous."
"You want me to cut my hand, put the blood on the knife and then add my blood to a mixture of things I never want to ingest separately, much less together?"
"Basically."
"And what the hell is a Cassava root?" Santana asks.
Marco searches on his phone. "Well according to Wikipedia it's a woody shrub of the Euphorbiaceae native to South America, and is extensively cultivated as an annual crop in tropical and subtropical regions for its edible starchy tuberous root, a major source of carbohydrates."
"Oh well, then that explains it," Santana snarks. "Wait a minute. Where the hell am I even supposed to find Cassava root?"
"The store, duh," Brittany says.
"I'm sure we can find some somewhere," Marco replies.
"Since this is all your fault," Santana says. "You're in charge of getting the ingredients."
"Now, wait a minute," Marco protests.
"I’m serious," Santana replies. "And when is the next full moon, anyway? Please tell me it wasn't yesterday."
"You're in luck," Marco answers. "We looked it while we were waiting for you. It's actually Thursday night."
"Well that's a lucky break, anyway."
"San's right, Uncle Marco," Brittany says. "You should be in charge of getting everything. It's only fair. Plus, you'd know where to get it. And can afford it. Poor San doesn't have any money."
"Yeah," Santana adds.
Marco sighs. He can't say no to Brittany. "Fine. I'll get everything, including the knife. But you two are going to have to come up with the spell."
"What?" Santana asks. "Isn't that something you got in your email?"
"No," Marco shakes his head. "Apparently you're supposed to write your own. That one you found, apparently the other you wrote it."
"Hmph. Well that's interesting."
"Don't worry, San," Brittany says. "I'm working on one."
"Uh, Britt, I'm not sure how--"
"Wanna hear?"
Santana sighs. "Sure."
Brittany holds up the notebook she has in front of her. "Reverse what has happened. Undo what has been done. Return what is right. And repair what is wrong. I request of thee. Please fix my fate. I cannot stay. I need to leave. Return what is right. And repair what is wrong." Brittany looks up at Santana expectantly. "I used the one my San wrote. It helped."
"That's actually not bad, Britt," Santana says, smiling. "Thanks."
"That should work just fine," Marco agrees.
"So I'm going home?"
"You're going home."
…
Now that Santana knows how she's getting home, she can relax. Sort of. Of course now it's just a matter of waiting. It's only four days. She's counting her blessing since the wait could have been a month. But still, she hates waiting.
Britt helps distract her Sunday, even going as far as to sneak into Santana's room after lunch. They spend the day watching movies and talking. It's not a horrible Sunday afternoon. She has to wonder about this whole grounding thing though, because her parents don't seem to be checking up on her too much.
"They're probably afraid you'll throw your chair at them or something," Brittany says casually.
"Say what?"
"You did last year after Rachel told you that she and Quinn were dating," Brittany answers. "Your parents were mad about your falling grades and so you threw a chair at your dad."
"Holy shit."
"You missed," Brittany continues. "But it broke completely. It was really bad."
"I bet."
"Yeah. I was really surprised that they grounded you. I woulda thought they'd be afraid of being chaired again."
"I'm really not very nice am I?" Santana asks.
"You're just in pain," Brittany assures her. "And you don't know how to deal with it or ask for help."
"Oh."
"But don't worry," Brittany says. "I won't give up on you."
"Thanks Britt."
…
Monday is beyond boring. She spends the day watching TV, exploring her room and surfing the internet trying to find things that are different. The big things seem to be the same. The president is still Obama and there's still a war going on. But she does notice a few smaller differences like different TV shows, movies and weirdly the ending to the Harry Potter books. Which she only read because of Brittany.
At one point, she's so bored, she takes a nap and tries not to feel like a toddler or a ninety year old woman.
…
Tuesday is spent much the same way, killing time. Though around noon, feeling lonely and missing her girlfriend, Santana logs onto MySpace and watches Rachel's videos.
It actually helps. A lot. She spends the rest of the day watching them. After the third time through, she creates a new account and begins leaving complimentary comments, hoping to counter all the negativity already there.
Feeling almost normal, Santana goes to bed, glad her suspension is over tomorrow.
…
Wednesday Santana wakes up excited to go to school; more out of boredom than anything else. She supposes she could have escaped the house since her parents were at work, but it's Lima, so it's not like she had a lot of options.
No one gets anywhere near her when she enters McKinley. That was certainly true last week, but today it seems even more obvious. She's at her locker when she sees Karofsky and she understands a bit of the other students fear.
He looks like hell. He's walking like it hurts to do so and he has an arm in a sling. His face is a mess of bruises and cuts and he's wearing an eye patch. Santana hopes she didn't blind him; that seems a bit cruel, even for her.
Santana feels her respect grow for him though when he notices her and only flinches slightly. He gives her no other reaction and out of anyone, he has the most right to.
She nods at him and walks towards class. While he simply stood at his locker, awkwardly pulling out books as she walked by, their classmates scurry out of the way, some almost tripping in their haste. It's pathetic and Santana lets herself chuckle a bit.
…
During Cheerios practice she has to endure Coach Sylvester constantly yelling at her. It seems the reason Coach didn't try to bail her out is that it's not the first time something like this has happened. It's moments like this that she wishes she kept a journal or something, so she could have some sort of guide to this universe. Britt's been great about filling in some holes, but considering the blonde says they've at odds some this year, it's probably that there's a lot she doesn't know.
So Santana puts up with the constant ridicule, extra laps, the suicides and extended practice. The physical is a nice distraction from her brain, anyway.
When it's all over and she's flat at her back, trying to summon the effort to sit and drink some water, a shadow stands over her.
"Not terrible, Lopez," Coach Sylvester says. "Keep this up and I may not demote you to the bottom of the pyramid again."
Again, Santana thinks. But all she does is nod slightly as she finally manages to sit up and sip the water that Brittany left for her.
Coach Sylvester smirks, nods and just as quick, is gone.
…
Her mother is in the kitchen when she gets home. Knowing she had Cheerios practice, nothing is said, though she does raise an eyebrow at Santana's appearance. Santana ignores her and goes up to shower.
She eats dinner with her parents, keeping quiet, but trying not to appear too surly or sullen. It must work because while her parents ignore her, there's an air of peace surrounding the table.
When she goes to bed that night, it's knowing that she'll be home soon. And so she falls asleep with a smile on her face.
A/N: So I couldn't decide how I wanted to end this crazy thing, so I wrote two endings.
Ending A: Home Sweet Home
Ending B: It was only a dream…