The Unholy Trinity Hangover (1/9)
Title: The Unholy Trinity Hangover
Author: Race122VE (Coll)
Pairing: Santana/Brittany, Quinn/Rachel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Basically The Hangover Brittana/Faberry/Unholy Trinity style. Santana and Brittany take Quinn and Rachel to Vegas for a bachelorette party, wackiness ensues. Glee AU fic.
Word Count: 27,410 ish, completed.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LYNNE! This is a present for Lynne (lynnearlington ) who is one of my all time favorite writers ever. It has been slightly beta’d (by Mal gogogorilla ) but it’s a fic based on The Hangover so…it’s not to be taken too seriously.
Prologue
Santana’s standing out in the middle of the desert, kicking at the stones in the sand as the ringing from her phone keeps sounding in her ear. Each ring that goes unanswered is more nerve racking than the previous and she worries her lip with her teeth before remembering that it got busted up, cursing as she brings her free hand up to press against the small, open wound.
This was a phone call she did not want to make, that she tried to avoid for a whole fucking day, but now there was no way getting around it. She was terrified, nervous, and pissed. They wasted a whole day getting caught up in some of the most fucked up shit she’s ever experienced (well, that she has consciously experienced) trying to avoid the inevitable. This.
They should have done this yesterday, but then she wouldn’t have known what to say. That’s mostly because yesterday she didn’t remember what had happened. Now that she did, as well as she could be expected to anyway, she thinks she liked it better before.
For a moment, she thinks she’s going to get away without actually having to talk to someone right away.
But then Kurt picks up. “Hello,” he greets cautiously.
A part of her wants to just get it over with, but she procrastinates a little bit longer. “Kurt,” she replies, wincing at the rough tone in her voice. “It’s Santana.”
On the other end, she can hear Kurt rise to his feet and hiss menacingly into the phone, “Santana…where the hell are you guys? I am freaking out.”
She sighs heavily, running her hand through her hair and looking down on the ground. “Yeah…listen…uh…” she holds the phone away from her ear slightly as she stammers on, not able to bring herself to actually say what she’s dreading to say.
But she has to, and she decides to rip off the band aid.
“We fucked up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The bachelorette party…the whole night…it’s…things got out of control and, uh…” she begins, not really knowing where to start but knowing the point behind it all. Santana throws her head back, looking up at the sky and silently praying to be smacked down because the next words out of her mouth were not going to be easy to admit.
“We lost Rachel.”
“What?”
“We can’t find Rachel,” she repeats, closing her eyes and preparing for the onslaught that Kurt Hummel would no doubt throw her way.
“What are you saying Santana?” Kurt throws back, a lot less angry than she expected and more disbelieving. “The wedding is in five hours.”
Santana fights the urge to snap back ‘no shit’ but her attitude wasn’t going to help anything. Rachel was gone, she was out in the middle of fucking nowhere, with Brittany and Quinn waiting by the car, and she had no fucking idea about what to do next except admit defeat.
“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
Chapter 1 - Two Days Earlier
The day seemed to go by slower than usual, but Santana had expected as much.
They’d been planning this trip for a couple months now after finally wearing down Quinn and, mostly, Rachel fucking Berry, aka the bane of her existence.
That might be a little harsh, actually.
Santana likes Rachel, she does, but, in a way, they’re very similar. Both are outspoken, stubborn, and they both firmly believe that they are right about ninety-nine percent of the time. When it came down to it, however, Rachel made Quinn happy. Happier than she had seen her friend in a long time, so she went with it and tried her best not to snap at Rachel.
Brittany was helpful in that department. She liked everyone, which included Rachel, so whenever Santana behaved Brittany would reward her.
But there wasn’t enough sex in the world to hold back the ‘why the fuck not’ that escaped her mouth when Rachel vetoed a bachelorette party in Vegas right before the wedding.
“Santana,” Rachel said back immediately after Santana had made the suggestion. “I’m not going to let you and Brittany take Quinn to Sin City right before our wedding. No way.”
She immediately scoffed at the way Rachel scandalizes ‘Sin City.’ Her fists then clenched at her side and she leaned forward in her chair, ready to argue but Brittany beats her to it. “You should come to,” she suggested with a shrug.
All eyes shifted to the blonde and she went on, unaffected by the skeptical stares. “It’s her wedding too,” she reminded them. “Rachel deserves a bachelorette party just as much as Quinn does.”
Even though she had a point, Santana hated the idea instantly.
Unfortunately, Quinn loved the idea and after a few more minutes of Brittany and Quinn talking Rachel into the idea, she gave in.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if there had been more people involved, but once planning got started Quinn and Rachel insisted (although, Santana supposed Rachel was doing more of the insisting) that it be a small group, just the four of them.
Brittany convinced her to go along with things later that night, but as the weekend quickly approached, she was more and more weary of the idea of going to Vegas with Rachel.
There was no randomness behind the offer to have a bachelorette party for Quinn there, it’s something the three of them, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn, had been saying they should do since they turned twenty-one.
All the plans Santana had mentally concocted were flushed down the drain, but it was fucking Vegas and she was not going to let Berry ruin her trip. Being a teacher means shit benefits and even shittier vacation time, so nothing was going to stop her from getting fucking shitty this whole weekend.
The bell rings, she’s out of the class before most of her students have even collected their belongings, and heading straight for the teacher’s lounge to get her things and get the fuck out of the building.
Santana pushes the front door to the school open, squinting against the sun and slipping her aviators over her eyes. And, of fucking course, one of her fucking students has something to say, “Ms. Lopez…?”
“It’s the weekend, slugger,” she says, unapologetically cutting the kid off. “I do not know you, you do not exist.”
She doesn’t even look back to see the kid’s expression because she is looking at the most beautiful woman in the world sitting in the most beautiful fucking car she has ever seen. A 1969 Mercedes-Benz Cabriolet, no doubt belonging to Rachel’s dads who were fucking loaded.
“Shit…nice car,” she says while Brittany and Quinn giggle and Rachel holds her chin up a little higher, pleased with Santana’s approval. “I’m driving.”
“No chance-“ Rachel starts off, but then begins to yell as Santana tosses her bag in the back with Brittany and steps on to the door and plops down next to the blonde. “Whoa! Don’t step on the…God…watch the leather!”
As much fun as she has making Rachel mad, Brittany’s arms slide around her waist to tug Santana closer. “Hi,” she whispers before pressing their mouths together.
Santana is able to enjoy the kiss for all of five seconds before the annoying ring that is Rachel’s voice, as she continues to blather on about her daddies’ car, begins to force its way into her ears. “Just shut up and drive before these nerds ask me another question,” Santana shoots back before getting happily distracted as Brittany kisses down her neck.
The car peels out and Santana couldn’t be more thrilled to turn her head and watch as the school, aka hell, disappears into the distance while Brittany whispers dirty things in her ear.
It’s not long before they’re out on the highway with some beer bottles cracked open and watching as every single car zoomed by them.
“Come on, Berry,” Santana whines as she throws an arm around Brittany. “Just to Barstow! Everybody is passing us!”
“Absolutely not. I promised my dads that I would be the only one driving the car,” Rachel replies snootily. “Besides, you’re drinking.”
“What are you a cop now?” Santana sneers. “Besides…I drive great when I’m drunk. Quinn can back that up.”
Rachel eyes Quinn quickly before turning her attention back to the road. “Quinn?”
She lets out a deep sigh and shrugs, “It’s true. Santana was always our designated drunk driver.”
The disgusted sound that Rachel lets out has Quinn sliding down in her seat and setting her beer in one of the cup holders as her fiancé tightens her hold (hands placed exactly at the ten and two) on the steering wheel. “My dads love this car,” she tells them. “All I ask is for a little respect-”
“Here we go,” Santana cuts in. “Look…I just want to enjoy myself, OK? We’ve been talking about a trip to Vegas for years now and, Quinn, you might just want to reign in your dwarf a little because come Sunday you’re gonna start dying a little bit. Every day.”
“Totally,” Brittany agrees. “That’s why me and Santana aren’t getting married.”
“Really?” Quinn turns and arches an eyebrow. “You agree with her, B?”
The blonde bobs her head up and down and Santana tightens the grip she has on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “I just need to clarify this-”
“Again?”
Ignoring Santana, Quinn presses on (even though she damn well knows Santana’s stance on marriage), “You two have been together for over ten years, practically inseparable, but the moment you get married you just start deteriorating or something?”
“It’s just a piece of paper,” Santana shrugs. “And you have to throw a fucking expensive party for your freeloader friends who just get all drunk and disorderly and keep you from having sex.”
“You mean how you and B are going to be at our reception?” Quinn asks pointedly, eyeing her two best friends knowingly.
They both smirk and exchange glances before Rachel chimes in, “OK…can we please refrain from speaking about marriage and how awful you two think it is?”
“Well…I don’t think it’s awful,” Brittany clarifies. “But S doesn’t want to so…”
An uncomfortable silence falls over them. Well, Brittany takes a long sip of her beer and remains untouched by the awkwardness, but the way Quinn is looking at Santana suggests that while the topic seems to have tapered off, she is far from letting it drop with Santana.
Maybe she’ll get lucky and her drunk alter ego will have the conversation and then she won’t actually have to deal with it.
Rachel, ever the midget, tries to turn and check her blind spot, but her need to drive like a grandmother on the brink of death hinders her ability to get a good look. “Brittany? Am I clear?”
Santana’s busy fidgeting with her beer bottle and doesn’t notice if Brittany properly checks, but the blonde gives Rachel the all clear and then suddenly they’re screaming their heads off and nearly knocking an eighteen wheeler off the highway.
Rachel keeps screaming ‘Oh my God’ over the sound of the truck’s horn while Quinn is clutching her fiancé’s shoulder and glaring back at the cackling women in the back seat. “That was awesome!” Brittany shouts.
“That was not awesome!” Rachel fires back.
Quinn joins in as well, “That was insane!”
It doesn’t stop Brittany. “You should have seen your faces!”
“It was fucking funny,” Santana laughs, happy to be past the serious talk.
For now, at least.
---
Santana is standing in line at the rest stop, gazing out the window as Brittany shouts at an old man to keep walking and not touch Rachel’s dads’ car.
The book that she had her nose pressed into is now grasped in her one hand and dangling at her side as she steps forward, daring the old man to come closer. It’s Rachel’s fault, really. She asked someone to stay behind with the car while she went and prepaid for gas. Brittany asked, “Like, protect it?” To which Rachel agreed and now she was chasing a way a grandpa or something.
The corners of her mouth tug upwards as she watches her girlfriend slowly step back to lean against the car again and continue reading her book while still peeking an eye towards the old guy every so often.
Santana’s so completely lost in just watching Brittany that she doesn’t notice Rachel slide up to stand next to her.
“Brittany means well right?” Rachel asks, nodding towards her over protectiveness of the car.
“You told her to take care of it,” Santana replies. “She’s fine. It’s actually kinda funny and…cute.”
Rachel merely nods as Quinn wedges herself between them, handing Rachel the biggest bottle of water the store carries. It’s, like, comically big and Santana’s about to make some kind of remark (she’s searching her head for the best, snarkiest comment) but she gets side tracked when she notices Quinn staring at a woman outside with a baby.
Quinn’s always been the maternal type. Santana would never admit this to anyone, but she’s always been the leader in their trio. It just made sense. Santana was the badass that didn’t give a shit about anyone outside of her small group, and Brittany wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box and needed some corralling, so Quinn kept them in check.
That was her job.
But she always managed to do it with a soft hand and a stern voice that was more parental than Santana’s parents have ever been or would ever be. It’s just the way that Quinn’s always been since she transferred to their high school when she turned seventeen and it was something that she and Brittany kind of needed in a way.
Before she can really think anything of it, the cashier is ringing them up and both Santana and Rachel turn expectantly at Quinn. She gives them a good eye roll before fishing out her credit card and handing it over.
After bagging up their things and filling up the car they’re back on the road. Santana’s sipping her third beer as she watches the desert pass as the wind whips through her hair. Quinn and Rachel are being disgusting and whispering to each other, smiling, holding hands, and testing Santana’s gag reflex. Brittany still has her nose in a book that, Santana has learned, is teaching her how to count cards.
“It says here we should work in teams,” Brittany pipes up all of a sudden. “S, you should be my spotter.”
“You know, Brittany,” Rachel begins. “I don’t think you should be doing so much gambling tonight. At all, really.”
“Gambling?” Brittany echoes, brow furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t say anything about gambling. I mean…it’s not really gambling if you know you’re going to win. Counting cards is a fool proof system.”
Quinn adds, “It’s also illegal.”
“It’s not illegal, it’s frowned upon,” she fries back, opening the book to her saved page. “You know, like…sex on an airplane.”
There’s a moment where Quinn is shaking her head and smiling slightly while Rachel just looks completely mortified. Whenever Santana or Brittany, usually by extension, can make Rachel feel uncomfortable Santana calls that a win.
Her hand finds itself on Brittany’s thigh and she slowly starts moving it up when Quinn unknowingly interrupts. “That’s illegal, too you know.”
“Well…yeah,” Brittany agrees, putting her hand over Santana’s and tangling their fingers together. “When you’re not, like, in the bathroom.”
“Regardless,” Rachel says sharply, the car jolting slightly after Brittany’s slip up. “You have to be extremely smart to count cards properly and-”
“Watch it, Berry,” Santana snaps, squeezing Brittany’s hand.
But the blonde seemed unfazed and smiled at Santana. “What about Rain Man?” she points out proudly, turning to address Quinn and Rachel. “He bankrupted a casino and he was a re-tard.”
“What?”
Santana sends Rachel another glare through the rear view mirror, but Brittany just repeats, firmer, “He was a re-tard.”
Santana slides closer to Brittany, yanking the book from her hands and throwing it to the ground. “It’s OK, Britt,” she whispers. “I’m sure we’ll fit in some gambling, but we’re going to have other things to do.”
Just like every other time Santana lowers her voice to a husky whisper and ghosts the words into Brittany’s ear, it takes her a moment to get what Santana actually means if it’s not spelled out. Once she does though, she turns her head and slants her lips over Santana’s. “Other things, huh?”
Santana’s just about to lean forward when Rachel coughs loudly and addresses them through the mirror, “Could you two keep it in your pants until you’re alone? We’re heading into the city right now.”
Sure enough the bright lights appeared before them, shining (even though it was still light out) and calling out to them. Brittany gave Santana a quick kiss on the lips before leaning forward in between Quinn and Rachel, squealing and clapping with excitement. Santana scoots forward on Quinn’s side, giving her shoulder a squeeze and smiling at the promise the night held.
Chapter 2