Warning: Language & Adult Content (You are forewarned, this is a rape fic!)
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any these characters. Yada, yada, yada.
Author's Note: This is based on my most recent fic, My Brittany. You don't need to read it to understand, but feel free to do so if you like this. It's written from Santana's POV, rather than Brittany's.

It was summer, but the icy wind whipped against her skin and sent chills down her already shaking body. It was dark, windy, and eerily quiet and the worst part was that she didn't know where to go. The street lights that softly illuminated the path in front of her seemed to offer no help in guiding her home, as that was the last place she wanted to be. But if she couldn't go home...where could she go?

With each step she took the dull ache between her thighs throbbed incessantly and every so often she stopped in an attempt to silent the pains—just for them to fade ever so gently, but return with growing force as soon as she began to walk again. It wasn't just her thighs that ached, though. The long scratches that ran down her forearm burned as the chilled wind penetrated the raw skin and her shoulders and wrist throbbed against an invisible force.

The blonde hugged her torso tightly in an attempt to keep warm against the agonizingly cold wind. Her jeans were ripped at the knee, giving her goosebumps each time a gust of air danced against the exposed skin. The weather was unusual for that time of year in Ohio, but the naturally chilly air of the early hours of the morning—or so she figured—did make sense.

Eventually she reached the end of the park and came to a four-way intersection. Her wandering had brought her here, but now the realization that she had no where to go hit hard. She just couldn't go home. Everything that had occurred made little to no sense to her. She may not have been the smartest thing, hell, she may have been dumb, but she was smart enough to understand that what had happened to her that night was not a good thing. Her aching body was enough to justify that. Going home just wasn't an option. Her family worried about her enough on a day-to-day basis. She couldn't bring herself to cause them to worry more if she came home looking the way she knew she did.

But where else could she go? No one really understood her or had the patience to deal with her nonsensical ramblings or seemingly dull-witted one-liners. And so she didn't want to bother them.

The combination of the pain between her legs and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness sent tears spilling down her face. The tears were warm, compared to the air on her face, and quickly slid down her cheeks and over her lips. They tasted salty and she licked away the ones that found themselves too close to her mouth. Sobs and gentle whimpers began to escape her mouth, shaking her body even more. Lowering herself to the ground, she sat on the curb and hugged her knees to her chest. Resting her forehead to her knees she cried harder and her sobs grew louder—no longer feeling the need to withhold her emotions. She was all alone, after all.

Brittany wasn't sure of the amount of time she sat there for. It could have been a matter of minutes, it could have been hours. The pain of crying so hard only worsened her overall misery, so she tried to do what her mom had always told her to do when she was sad. All she had to do was think of all the things that made her happy. So she thought of ducks and cats, rainbows and gay dolphins, her family and Cheerios. Then she thought of Glee club and all of the friends that she had made. Glee Club always made her feel happy; especially when she got to sing and dance. Or even when someone sang a song that she really liked that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like that time when Kurt sang "A House is Not a Home". She remembered Santana raising her hand up and linking pinkies with her; the way Santana smiled a big, happy smile and leaned over to rest her head against her shoulder. It was one of the only times her best friend had cuddled with her in public and it made her feel so warm inside. Like, Santana wasn't afraid to step out of the HBIC shell for a little while and show a little affection towards her. It made her feel safe. The idea of that sounded pretty good right then. All she wanted was her BFF to wrap her arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be okay—because Santana always knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do make everything okay.

Oh. Santana. Of course, how could she have forgotten? The Latina was always there for her and would drop whatever she was doing in a heartbeat to come to the blonde's aid. Santana honestly cared for her—Brittany knew that—and she knew that she would never turn her down in a time of need. She silently cursed herself for forgetting about the most obvious choice of help and stood herself up quickly. She elicited a groan as the pain returned to her legs and she began to walk the direction to Santana's house—meanwhile continuing to cry softly.

Although she knew that Santana would never leave her or say no when Brittany showed up at her house, she thought it would be best to call and ask permission to come over anyway. It was late and she certainly didn't want to disturb her.

Reaching for her phone, she dialed the number instinctively and held the phone to her ear as she walked slowly through the streets. The phone rang once, twice, three times with no answer. She's probably sleeping, she thought. The phone rang twice more and just as the blonde was about to hang up, the line clicked and a familiar voice sounded from the other end.

"Hey B..."

The sound of her voice nearly stopped the girl in her tracks. It sounded a little a confused, but nonetheless the familiar tone was inviting and warm and made her want to curl up in her best friend's arms and cry. When she realized she hadn't said anything in response, she opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried again, but with no luck.

"It's like three in the morning, what's up?" Santana yawned from the other end.

Even if she managed to find her voice, the blonde couldn't think of anything to say. There really wasn't much to say, though. She was confused, tired, in pain, and despondent. There just weren't words for her situation. So instead she did her best to gulp back her tears and try to compose herself, in hopes that Santana would just invite her over.

"Brittany...are you there?" She was starting to sound a little annoyed. It was then that Brittany realized that she would have to say something or Santana would most likely just hang up on her. And she knew that was the last thing she wanted to happen. Unsure of what to say, and feeling oddly comforted by the sound of her best friend's voice, she did the thing that she found most convenient for the time being.

Quiet sobs began to escape her mouth and echo over the phone. Her whole body began to tremble and the phone shook in her hand, but she continued walking. Then, concentrating as hard as she could, she forced a word from her dry throat.

"San..." Her voice cracked as the word left her mouth. It was the first thing she'd said all night.

"I'm here." Santana's voice was softer now, seeming to recognize that something wasn't right.

"C-can I come over?" She stuttered over the words, whimpering slightly.

"Of course, B. You know you're always welcome here. What's the matter, though? Are you alright?"

"I just," she stammered again; coherent sentences becoming even more difficult than normal for the blonde. "d-don't know where to go right now."

From the other end of the line, she could hear Santana's breath hitch as she tried to comprehend what she was hearing, but Brittany quickly hung up before anything else could be said.

The sobs slowly faded into the occasional sniffle as Brittany walked away from the park and towards her best friend's house. The tears, however, continued to trickle down her cheeks. The walk wasn't a long one, but it felt like miles between the pains, the ominous looming feeling of confusion and uncertainty, and the harsh reality that something obviously bad had happened to her. What would she tell Santana? She would obviously ask why she was crying or why she looked like a giant ball of shit. But Brittany didn't really want to talk about it. She just wanted the pain to go away and to curl up in the Latina's arms and sleep forever.

As she reached Santana's neighborhood, Brittany slowed her pace a little to allow more time to collect herself. She hated looking so weak and miserable, especially around someone as tough as Santana. It took a lot of effort and concentration, but she forced the tears to quell themselves and did her best to wipe away the moisture on her face. It took probably more time than it should have—she just couldn't seem to remember which house it was—but she eventually wandered onto Santana's porch and hesitantly rang the doorbell.

In the time that she stood there, staring at the closed door, she fidgeted with her hands and ran through a multitude of scenarios of what Santana would say when she saw her. She would let her in; she would help her. Right?

Taking Brittany by surprise, the door was rapidly and forcefully pulled open, causing her heart to skip a beat and nearly making her jump backwards.

"B, you worried me—" Santana began, but stopped abruptly.

The Latina's slightly tired, droopy eyes seemed to instantly perk up and go wide as she stared at the taller girl in front of her. Her breath hitched quietly as her eyes scanned the length of Brittany's body, taking in the sad sight of her ripped clothes, dirt-covered skin, and messy appearance. Santana's eyes narrowed and she furrowed her brow. "The hell...?" she murmured.

"I wasn't sure of where else to go." Brittany quietly said in her trademark mumble. Her voice lacked its usual confidence.

Santana held up her hands defensively, quickly replying, "No, no. It's fine. Come in." She still looked a little confused, but the hostility had since vanished and she flashed a brief warm smile at the blonde.

The Latina reached out a hand to lead her best friend inside, but before she could grab Brittany's hand, her fingers gently touching the thin, pale wrist, Brittany whipped her hand away, the slight touch just enough to reveal the pain of a forming bruise. It wasn't just the pain, though. It was the skin on skin contact. It frightened her, forcing reawakened memories from that same night; something she didn't want to think about—something she didn't understand. It sent shivers down her spine, reminding her of the pain of his tight grip and the touch of his rough hands again her cold, smooth skin as she struggled...

Santana looked up at her friend, eyes narrowed again, her expression a mixture of confusion, irritation, and apprehension. She lowered her hand back to her side slowly.

Brittany could see the confusion in Santana's face. She was perceptive enough to realize that she was behaving differently than her best friend was used to, and that in itself was cause for alarm. That was one of the last things she wanted to do, though. She hated to worry Santana, although she was aware of the fact that she did quite often. Santana frequently had to come to the rescue of the blonde who seemed to have a knack for getting herself into some extremely awkward, implausible, and worrisome situations. That night being one of them. But hardly ever did any of these situations cause her pain. It wasn't something Santana was used to dealing with and it just didn't seem right to her to burden her protector and best friend with something like that.

So she did her best to put on a brief smile. "Oh...sorry," she insisted and offered her wrist to the Latina. Santana stared at it momentarily and then reluctantly took it and led the blonde inside.

Brittany's POV:

I cringed the entire time Santana held onto my wrist. It wasn't a burning pain or anything—like that one time where I tried to eat fire so I could convince everyone I was a dragon—but a...bruisey pain. You know, like when an anvil gets dropped on you or something. Heavy. I wondered if it was going to be blue or purple...

The pain stopped, though, when she sat me down on the couch in her living room. The room was dark and it made me sleepy. She went to turn on the light and I glanced at the clock. It was so late. Or technically it was early, I guess.

The room was suddenly filled with light and I quickly shut my eyes and squinted against the brightness—it was the first light (besides the street lamps outside) that I had seen for hours. Once my eyes adjusted, I took in Santana's face. It was pale and staring straight at me, her lips shut tightly together and the corner of her mouth twitching slightly. If I didn't feel like shit, I would have said it was pretty freakin' adorable. She looked like she had seen a ghost or something. Oh God, I'm not a ghost am I? That would be bad. But then again, that meant that I could walk through walls, and spy on boys in the boys' locker room, or even Santana when she was getting dressed or taking a shower...

Then I realized that she probably looked like that because she was looking at me. Her gaze wandered up and down my body, stopping to take in the bruises and scratches. Finally, she paused for a long time on my face. Her scrutiny made me feel weak and helpless all over again. It made tears well up in the back of my eyes, but I discretely blinked them away. It wasn't that Santana was making me feel that way on purpose or anything. It was just the way she was examining my appearance, and the worry and fear I saw in her eyes—it seemed to make it all real again. Like, I was actually there. And everything that had happened earlier, was real. And now, I don't know what to do or what to say. And I'm guessing neither does she.

I watched as she took a tiny step back and her eyes went wide for a second. Then, they returned to normal.

"What the fuck happened?" She cautiously approached the couch and sat down next to me, but left a little space between the two of us. Her words were barely above a whisper. Had I scared her that badly? Maybe I had made the wrong decision in coming here. It wouldn't have been the first time.

I couldn't answer her question. How could I tell her everything that happened? I didn't even understand, myself. Of course Santana would understand, but I couldn't bare to think about what happened or how she would react. I didn't want to have to relive the pain, the whimpering, the tears. I didn't want her to have to face that too. Maybe this was my way of protecting her for once.

But the more I tried to forget, to avoid the question, the more the memories began to flood my mind. It was like Hurricane Katrina all up in my brain. There was flooding everywhere and I needed a rowboat just to get from one thought to another.

The room was silent and I had to fight against the sobs that were slowly encroaching me. My breathing quickened and grew heavier, and in an attempt to avoid Santana's steady gaze and to control my emotions, I stared at the floor.

"B..."

I had nothing to say.

Santana sighed and turned her body to face mine. She lifted her hand, but stopped abruptly as she moved it in my direction. Then, her body relaxed itself once again and she rested her hand on my knee. The action itself was so comforting and sweet, but nonetheless I flinched as her hand came into contact with my leg. All I could think about and feel were his hands slowly sliding up my body, gliding up and down over my knees. Then as he lay on top of me, the way his kneecaps pressed forcefully down against mine. I knew Santana would never purposely harm me and that she only had good intentions, but all I could think about was him.

"Please talk to me." She begged.

I had to say something. I didn't want her to get mad at me.

"I couldn't go home..." was all I could manage. It wasn't a lie, after all.

"That's fine. It's okay. Just tell me what's going on." She squeezed my knee gently.

"I-I can't." I breathed, my voice barely audible. The tears were building up in my eyes again and I leaned over and buried my face in my hands to hide it. If Santana saw me crying, I would lose it.

It's not like Santana had never seen me cry. We've been friends for like a bajillion years. We've both had our fair share of problems, usually because of some stupid boy. Not to mention I seem to have a tendency to get myself into bad situations that result in me bawling like a little baby. But Santana's always there to make it better. The bad part is, every time I'm even remotely close to tears, and I look into Santana's sweet, caring face, I just completely fall apart. She's literally my weakness.

Then I can feel her hand on my back. I shudder against the touch, but it's warm and comforting regardless. It helps relax my breathing a little as she rubs circles between my shoulder blades. Have I ever mentioned how much I love this girl?

"B, you know you can tell me anything," she whispers. "Really, B. You can tell me. No one cares about you more than I do. Let me help you...please."

Fuck. How can I resist that? How can I say no to that?

The way her words come out, slow and sincere, it makes me feel so guilty. I'm trying to protect her from having to deal with this because she doesn't need to be burdened by my shit. But then again, I'm sitting here being a bad best friend. It's obvious that I'm upset, and I even came here looking for comfort, but here I am not willing to tell her what's wrong. To tell Santana—my best friend. I'm really an awful BFF. She cares so much about me; all she wants to do is help. But I'm too much of a bad person to deal with it. God, I'm so fucked up right now.

But I guess it couldn't get any worse. I mean, what harm could it do?

Gulping back the tears and the lump in my throat, I swallowed hard. Then, pulling my face out of my hands, I sat up slowly and nodded my head in response. Everything she had said was true and I wanted her help. I just didn't want to end up hurting her.

The space between us minimized as I slid my body next to hers so that our legs were touching.

"I know."

My voice was barely audible, but I knew she had heard me.

"Please?" Santana begged. The pain in her voice was evident. She was hurting. And it was all my fault. Because of me, she was upset. All she wanted was to know what happened, so she could make it better. God dammit, I give. I give.

"He hurt me, San." Was all I could manage.

Next thing I know, I'm cradled in Santana's arm. My head is buried in her shoulder and my arms are loosely wrapped around her torso. The need to hold back the tears and the cries is gone and I'm freely sobbing into her quickly drenched shoulder. The memories of earlier that night, the pain, the worry I had caused Santana, it was all there. Everything that had gone wrong was hitting me all at once and I could no longer hold back my emotions.

My heart thudded in my chest and my sobs grew louder. I pushed myself tighter against her body and let my mind wander. There was no point in trying to forget now. So I let the memories swarm my brain. The worst part was that the more I thought about it, the stronger the thudding between my legs became—and so I cried even harder.

After what felt like an eternity, the tears began to subside. Looks like my eyes were all out of water.

When the sobs ceased, I could finally relax my breathing and I slowly pulled away from Santana's hold. I leaned back against the couch and wiped at my wet cheeks. Then my eyes focused back to Santana. She was staring at me, a concerned frown on her face. I pouted at her. I guess the duck's out of the hat, now.

Santana didn't say anything and so to break the silence, I motioned at the ocean on her shoulder. "Sorry..." I whispered.

"It's okay." She smiled warmly at me. "So, do you want to talk about it?" The smile was gone.

I did. But I also didn't. Thinking about it made me feel so helpless and I didn't like feeling that way. I didn't like crying so hard, either. But maybe if I talked to San about it, she would make it better.

"I don't know..." I said quietly. "I just don't really understand..."

Santana sighed at that. I'm not sure why, though. Did I say something wrong?

"What don't you understand?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Exhaling softly, I slid over next to Santana. I took her hand and laced our fingers together and rested our hands on her thigh. I needed her for this.

And so I began to recount my story.

"Well, I was just outside going for a walk. I wanted to go see the ducks at the pond—they're pretty. But, I forgot where the pond was and next thing I know I was by myself and it was dark. Then, I realized it was night time and I had to go home. So I was trying to find my way back and I was just about to find it—I really was, I just had that feeling, you know?—when next thing I know this guy grabbed me and started pulling me away. And I didn't know what was going on so I started to scream, but he covered my mouth so I couldn't." I stopped to breathe and Santana nodded her head.

"But then he was on top of me and taking my clothes off..." My voice faded away as I came to the part of the story that scared me the most. I had to swallow hard to fight back more tears. I guess someone turned on the waterworks again...

Santana squeezed my hand in reassurance. If she said it was okay to go on, then it would be okay.

I chose my next words carefully, speaking slowly and trying to control my breathing. "And then he was hurting me, San. I don't get it. Like, we do that with boys, but it didn't feel like this. This felt different than that. And I just don't understand. I don't like how it felt..."

On the last word, my voice faltered and my eyes got a little foggy. Too bad we don't have windshield wipers on our eyes. I needed some then. Santana must have noticed because she let go of my hand and pulled me in close to her. She wrapped one arm behind me and with the other she rubbed my arm reassuringly. "I know. You're right, it was different. And it wasn't a good thing, B. I'm just so, so sorry that had to happen to you. Are you okay?"

I nodded my head ever so slightly. "My legs hurt. And my arms." I raised my arms and pointed to the bruises and the scratches. Her face was blank as she looked at them.

"I just want to forget it ever happened."

"I don't blame you."

Her hold around me tightened and I took in the warmth and comfort of her arms. It felt so good to be held.

We were both silent for a while, but eventually Santana broke the quiet. "Here, you need to take a shower. C'mon."

She stood and then helped me up from the couch. Our fingers intertwined gently—it was so sweet the way she was being all cautious and trying not to hurt me. Had I not been in such a lousy state of mind or in that much pain, I would have been much more grateful. I hope she realized that.

Santana led me through the dark house and carefully up the stairs. We took each step slowly after I hissed in pain on the first step. The inside of my thighs were starting to ache even worse and I cringed with each step we took. She walked me through her room and into the adjoining en-suite bathroom.

Once there, she sat me down on the toilet while she leaned over to turn on the water in the shower. Neither of us said a word as she waited for the water to warm up and while I simply stared at the floor. Like I had said before, there just really wasn't much to say.

When she decided that the water was warm enough she helped me stand up and told me to take my shirt off. At first I was hesitant. It's not like it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, it just reminded me of what had occurred earlier that night. It was the feeling of vulnerability. But I did comply. I removed my top somewhat slowly, my expression probably reading that I was a ball of nerves right now. I let it drop to the floor.

Then Santana bent over and undid the buttons on my jeans and unzipped them for me. She held my hand as I stepped out of them and slid them across the floor with my foot. Her face blanched as she saw my freshly dark, bruised thighs. It was the first time I was seeing them, but with the pain, it was what I had come to expect. They were a mix of purple and blue and the color grew more intense and the splotching more frequent towards the inside of my thighs. I tried not to look at them for very long in an attempt not to cry anymore. I hoped to be done with the tears for the night.

But as I stared at Santana, who was having a rough time taking her eyes off my pitiful legs, I felt a twinge of heartbreak. It felt like my heart had been ripped into two and shredded into individual, microscopic pieces as I saw the expression written on her face. She looked like she was about to cry. Then, she looked up at me dismally. I nodded, to let her know that I was well aware of my own misfortune, but that I would be alright. Obviously in need of comfort, I wrapped my arms around her neck and in turn she thew hers around my nearly bare back. Her hands were soft and warm against my still cold skin.

I hated seeing her like this. She had taken me in and comforted me and had been the best best friend I could have asked for, but this is what I gave her in return. I felt awful.

"Thank you, Sanny." I whispered into her ear. It was all I could really think of to say. I wished I knew a better way to express my gratitude—to tell her how much this really meant to me—to tell her how much she really meant to me. If anything, I wanted her to not feel so sad.

"Mhm." She replied with a nod. She pulled her face away so she could kiss my cheek. "I love you." She murmured into my ear. Then gently, she placed a hand on the back of my head and guided it to rest below her collarbones.

I nodded against her chest and then pulled away after a few moments. She seemed to have collected herself again, and as much as I was enjoying the comfort of her holding me, I was eager to get in the shower.

Slowly spinning myself to face away from her, I offered her my back. Obviously understanding what I was getting at, she unclasped my bra for me and I shrugged it off. Santana repositioned herself to my side and knelt down beside me. But when her fingers entangled in my underwear and began to pull, my heart skipped a beat. I jumped back quickly so I was out of reach of her hands. My hands shook slightly as I stood there, my eyes wide and lips parted. It wasn't that I was self-conscious or anything. It was just that in the moment, again, all I could think about was him. It was like my brain was having some sort of flashback and I could see him and feel him pressing down against me as I struggled and tried to scream. I could feel one of his hands covering my mouth as I cried, while the other hand laced its hard, grimy fingers through my underwear and began to pull...

Santana looked up at me in concern. She gazed directly into my eyes. "You can trust me." She whispered.

I stared back into her sympathetic eyes. She obviously recognized what had just happened—why I had acted so weird. I was glad I had such an understanding friend. Relaxing myself once again, I nodded in agreement and returned to my original place next to her. Much more slowly this time, she took hold of my underwear and slid it off my body.

She took my hand and helped me into the shower and pulled the curtain shut behind me. I sighed as the warm water hit my body. At first the water pressure agitated the bruises on my skin, but the pain quickly faded as my body acclimated to the pressure. Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander as the water cascaded over my naked body. When a quiet shuffling disturbed my thoughts, I tore the curtain back on one side and poked my head out. Santana was nearly out the door.

"Wait, Santana..." I called.

"Huh?" She turned around to face me.

"Could you stay here?"

Although I had had some unexpected, unwanted company that night, I had been all alone. While I was walking in the park looking for the ducks—I had been alone. While I walked to Santana's house—I had been alone. While I whimpered and cried and fought against that evil man—I was utterly, completely, and absolutely—alone. I had been alone all night. All I wanted now was to be near someone.

"Oh, sure. Anything you want, B." Her voice was soft and sounded a bit surprised.

"Thanks." I said, and stuck my head back inside.

I let the warm water rush over me again, but after a few minutes I just wasn't satisfied. I still felt dirty. Reaching for the knob that controlled the temperature, I yanked it to one side. The temperature of the water immediately rose. At first, the heat of it scorched my skin and I forced my eyes and mouth shut to prevent myself from gasping. But, I stood there and took it. After a few minutes, my skin adjusted. It no longer burned my now bright red skin. Instead it just felt really hot. But it felt right. The water wasn't just washing away the dirt anymore—it was washing him off.

Suddenly, Santana's voice filled the room. She wasn't just talking, though. She was singing.

Let me tell you, Santana's voice is like angels. Literally. When she opens her mouth, celestial beings come out. It's beautiful and breathtaking, especially the way she was singing then. The song was an R&B tune and it was fairly slow, but not painfully so. She just sounded so incredibly passionate and truthful that it blew me away. My hands froze at my sides as I listened to the lyrics as she sang them.

The lyrics weren't just any lyrics though. It was about me. And her. And us.

I wanted to break into tears again—which would be okay in the shower because you know what they say: in the shower no one can tell you're crying. But this time, I didn't want to cry because I was sad. I mean, hell, I was pretty much miserable. But in that one moment, I was genuinely, without a doubt...happy. I wanted to cry little happy tears of joy. Not because I had forgotten everything that happened. Fuck, that was far from the case. Rather, I was happy because I had Santana. I was so lucky to have such an amazing person and friend in my life; to have someone that cared so honestly and deeply for me. There were no words for the amount of love that radiated from her. And this love, it was absolutely unconditional. No matter what happened, I knew she would be there. And to have someone like that in my life—it was a really good feeling.

After my shower, Santana gave me some sweatpants and one of her oversized t-shirts to wear. She also made me some warm food that I ate while she dried my hair. When everything was finally said and done, it was no longer night. Although it was still semi-dark outside, it was early morning and we were both pretty damn exhausted. Physically and mentally it had been a tough night for me and I knew it hadn't been much easier for San.

Although the shower had helped relax my muscles, nothing could interfere with the fact that after so many hours, I would be sore. So when I clamored up onto Santana's bed, my legs feeling weak and bruised, I squinted my eyes shut in pain. Earlier in the night, I would have complained or made some sort of noise depicting how uncomfortable it felt. But at that point, I was just too tired to care or to try.

Once I was on the bed, I laid down beneath the sheets and comforter and Santana tucked me in. I was no stranger to her bed and eagerly made myself comfortable on that familiar half. My eyes were already starting to droop shut as Santana walked around the bed and got in on the other side. She flicked the light off next to her and I felt her rearrange her body underneath the covers to get comfortable.

Seeking the warmth and comfort of my best friend—even in my state of near unconsciousness—I slide myself over to her. Her arm softly draped itself over me and around my torso as she aligned our bodies to fit closely against one another. Exhaling gently, I nuzzled into her.

"I love you, San." I whispered through the oncoming sleep. "Thank you for everything. You always make things better."

I felt her nod. "Of course. And I love you too—so incredibly much."

She pressed her lips softly to my forehead before we both drifted off into the much-needed abyss of sleep.

I hope you enjoyed it and hopefully it was as satisfying for you as it was for me to write it. I really wanted to write the whole thing from Brittany's POV, but Brittany is an interesting character and very tough to write for. We don't really know just how sane she is or what (if anything) is going on up there. So I hoped I did her justice in terms of depicting her in this situation.

Like I mentioned above, if you enjoyed this be sure to check out My Brittany. It's the original that I based this off of and is written from Santana's POV.

Please review! Constructive criticism, praise, questions, etc are always welcomed!