Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Hi guys, this has been a while in the making, but I had to buckle-down, and finish out my degree program. As always love and hugs to the best beta ever JBB.

Escape Plan by Frank Featherstiff

Chapter Eight - Jailbreak

Puck liked to think of himself as an expert at getting in and out of places he shouldn't be - mainly the bedrooms of married women - but that was beside the point. The point was that for Puck, getting in and out of Dalton undetected would be a breeze in comparison.

Sliding his truck into an empty space in the student parking lot, a good distance from the school building so as not to attract any unwanted attention; Puck looked up at the building. The only lights on seemed to be coming from the north side so that had to be where the dorms were located.

Puck slung his rucksack of supplies over his shoulder as he planned his next move. Most of the doors probably had alarms on them to let the teachers know if kids were sneaking out at night, but everyone gets lazy. So, if the jocks at Dalton were anything like Puckzilla then a few of 'um had to get up early to work out.

And seeing as there was like, no way that a teacher would wake up every morning to let them out, it stood to reason that they'd have an alternative means of leaving without being detected. Looking around the parking lot and satisfying himself that there were no cameras watching him, Puck headed over to the closest door to the gym.

'Jackpot...'

The lock had already been taped over.

Puck held his breath as he pulled on the door, half-expecting a secret alarm to start blaring. All that happened however was that the door opened wide with nothing more than a small hiss. Slipping into the darkened hallways, the jock attuned his ears to the silence, his senses on full alert. He was alone, for now.

Puck made his way stealthily through the shadows of the darkened school, peering into each room as he went out of simple curiosity. The jock stopped momentarily and peered through the glass into what must have been Dalton's music room. Either that or their common room came with a bitching Baby Grand in it.

'For fuck's sake focus Puckerman... you're still breaking and entering remember...'

Shaking himself, Puck refocused and crept farther down the hallway, pausing as he could hear voices coming from somewhere above him; thankfully they were disappearing into the distance however. Reaching the bottom of what the jock assumed had to be the main staircase, Puck remembered the directions Kurt had text to him.

'Up two flights, second left, two intersections and then right and third door on the right...'

Following the instructions to the letter, Puck was pleased to find that really, it was too easy to find Hummel's room. Once the jock had found the dorm, partly from using the directions given to him and partly by following the the smell of unwashed teen boy, Puck had just wandered around until he found the right room marked "K. Hummel and B. Krasner"

"Fuck my life...", mumbled Puck as he rolled his eyes.

Reaching out, the half-back knocked softly on the door so as not to alert anyone other than the occupants as to his unauthorised presence in the building.

'Actually, someone should really speak to them about their security...'

Puck's knuckles had barely grazed the surface of the door before it swung open quickly to reveal Kurt standing there in his pyjamas. The jock shook his head.

"You have no idea how much you owe me, Hummel...", said the jock roughly pushing his way past the soprano and dumping his heavy bag onto the only free bed in the room, "... like, think of a figure, double it and then add on infinity and you're still not even close..."

"Well, if it is that much of an inconvenience..." started Kurt as he closed the dorm room door again.

The soprano was intending to continue his tirade but was cut off at the knees when he realised what Puck was about to do.

"Puck...no!"

But it was too late.

Puck had taken the glass of water off of Kurt's bedside table and had emptied it in the sleeping Buckley's face.

Like a creature from an old b-movie, the formerly slumbering boy sat up sputtering and cussing.

Squinting, as he was not wearing his contacts, Buckley looked up into Puck's face before a look of recognition crossed his face,

"Shmendrik, what are you doing here?"

"Puck!..", cried Kurt as he ran over and began to scold the half-back, "..be nice to Buckley! You'll send him into an asthma attack."

The mohawked teen raised a single eyebrow at the brunette before smirking in the direction of the suddenly pallid Buckley,

"Asthma? Asthma you say? Why Buckwheat here...", said Puck ruffling the boy's hair vigorously, "... doesn't have asthma, he just does that for sympathy.. Don't you Buckwheat? "

"What do you want, Noah?", replied Buckley in a weary tone that spoke of his imminent capitulation and not even mentioning the obviously disliked nickname.

Puck's playful smile disappeared and a hard edge appeared in his tone of voice,

"Disappear. Now. And maybe, I won't tell Nana that you're conning everyone at your school."

Rolling his eyes, the wet teen grabbed a blanket and stumbling to his feet, shuffled meekly out of the room.

The dorm room door clicked shut a few seconds later, leaving the room in silence as Puck turned back to the bed beside him and started to unpack the contents of his rucksack.

"Wait... you're related?", asked Kurt seemingly unable to process the swift turn of events.

"Yup...", replied the jock as he withdrew a huge bottle of Tequila, "... So just how the Hell did you end up rooming with my idiot cousin?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Puck chuckled seeing Kurt's jaw moving but no sound coming out.

"Shake it off Kurt. So, we doing shots or do you have a mixer?"

Giving up on even trying to comprehend what was going on, Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand as he motioned to the closet with the other.

"There are some cokes in the mini fridge in there."

After Puck had poured the drinks, he pulled a DVD out of his bag and tossed it across to Kurt who had taken a seat at the foot of Buckley's abandoned bed.

"You own Newsies?..", asked Kurt raising an eyebrow and looking at Puck quizzically.

"God, no...", the jock answered quickly - too quickly in all likelihood - but Puck was unwilling to admit that Newsies was one of his favorite movies from his childhood - even water-boarding wouldn't get the half-back to give up that information, "...It's my sister's."

Kurt moved and sat primly at the edge of his bed as he watched Puck move swiftly around the room rearranging furniture. The jock effortlessly shifted beds and cabinets and tossed around bedding, while somehow also managing to avoid all of Kurt's things for damage and targeting only Buckley's. It was actually quite impressive.

Once the room was arranged how Puck wanted it, the half-back carelessly tossed himself onto Kurt's bed behind the smaller boy. Pressing his abs against the soprano's back, Puck reached around Kurt for the cup sitting on the side-table before he took a long drink.

"You don't have personal space issues do you?", asked Kurt wryly and rolling his eyes.

Puck shrugged with one shoulder as he repeated the action with the intent of returning his cup to the side-table.

"You owe me for like, forever, Hummel, so get used to me doing whatever I want; whenever I want to do it."

Kurt rolled his eyes once again as he reached forward and picked up his own cup and sniffed it experimentally, wrinkling his nose.

"Fine... just as long as I give you permission first."

Puck just rolled his eyes and chuckled low in his throat - let Hummel think he'd won - it wouldn't do any harm,

"Whatever, you say dude."

Puck felt the smaller boy tense in front of him the moment he had finished speaking. It didn't take long for the expected retort to come,

"I am not a..."

Puck shook his head and ruffled Kurt's hair with his arm as he reached again for his cup,

"Stow it Kurt...", said the jock taking another sip from his cup, "... You might wear fancy clothes and sing like a girl and shit, but like it or not, you are a dude, and my boy. So just get used to it already."

The jock could see Kurt's reflection in the TV screen and knew that the brunette wasn't pleased but wasn't going to argue anymore,

"I'll see what I can do."

"So...", said Puck gesturing to the brunette to try his drink which remained clasped and forgotten in Kurt's hand, "... you wanna tell me why we're staging a middle of the night booze fest - not that I mind or anything, any excuse y'know?"

"I'm sure you aren't truly interested...", said Kurt keeping his head ducked and staring at the liquid in his cup.

Puck growled as he pinched Kurt on the arm - hard.

"Ow...", moaned Kurt rubbing at his bicep, "... what the Hell was that for?"

Puck took another drink from his cup before he replied - the jock realised he was getting through this first cup awfully quickly - even for him - especially since each cup held a triple shot of tequila.

"I told you already Hummel - y'know for a smart guy you can be a real idiot sometimes...", Puck ignored Kurt's muttered protest but let it go, "... you have Puckzilla on your side now, 24/7. Just get used to it already and spill..."

Kurt paused and seemed to be considering something before he sighed and spoke,

"Well, if you must know I had my fourth kiss today, but I thought that it would be my first real one..."

Puck whooped and made mini-crowd cheering noises from behind the soprano as he asked,

"So... are we celebrating? This is a good thing right?"

Puck knew the answer to the question before Kurt had put voice to it. It was obvious by the sudden slump in the brunette's shoulders and the dead tone to his voice only confirmed it,

"No. No it's definitely not a celebration..."

Puck watched as Kurt took a large gulp from his cup, swallowing thickly as the liquid burned a trail down his throat and made his eyes water,

"What happened man?...", asked Puck, surprising himself at the ferocity of the sudden urge within him to go break some faces for the soprano.

The smaller boy coughed and wiped at his streaming eyes as he finally allowed himself to settle back against Puck properly as he replied. The alcohol might taste absolutely awful, but the soprano couldn't argue with the warm fuzzy feeling and the lack of clarity - clearly the drink had gone straight to his head.

"I realised in the end, that I was better then what was being offered to me...", said Kurt staring at the wall ahead of him before he sighed once again. Nothing had worked out the way the soprano had intended and it made him depressed.

"Cool, I'm all for you finding a dude...", said Puck patting the soprano on the shoulder in commiseration, "... just make sure it's the right dude - and also not Buckley...wait, it wasn't Mensch was it?"

"Who?...", asked Kurt glancing up from his drink, his eyes meeting the surprisingly sympathetic ones of the half-back.

"Buckwheat - Buckley...", said Puck suddenly very afraid that Kurt was perhaps crushing on his cousin - that just introduced a variety of mental images that the half-back could do without.

'Oh God - naked Buckley... that's just disgusting...'

Thankfully though, Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust,

"Gross, Puck! No I'd like to think I'm better than that...", Puck gave a sigh of relief which drew a small smile from Kurt before it disappeared once again under his melancholy, "... It...it was my friend - Blaine."

Puck could feel the slight shaking of Kurt's body against his chest and realised that though he was silent, the brunette was clearly upset; possibly even crying. Carefully balancing his cup in his hand, so as not to slosh any on Kurt's pyjamas - a death sentence that even the jock respected as it was clear they were expensive - Puck wrapped his arms around the smaller boy in an attempt to offer comfort.

"He doesn't know what he is missing...", muttered the jock into Kurt's ear feeling the smaller boy shiver, "... wait, you don't think that I was a real kiss?"

Kurt's eyes tracked up to meet Puck's as the jock pouted.

"You are straight Puck. Probably the straightest straight guy I've ever met. It isn't exactly the same thing."

"So that's how you decided to take that."

"Take what?.."

"Never mind."

"Whatever."

Blaine walked slowly down the hall the next morning as he made his way to Kurt's room. His palms were clammy, and he wiped them on his pants as he nodded at one of his classmates heading in the direction of the bathroom at the end of the hall.

'This is Kurt, Blaine - nothing to be worried about. Of course he will forgive you for your momentary trip into straight boy ethics. He's a sweet guy -'

"...plus he's hot as hell."

Reaching Kurt's door, the Warbler raised his hand to knock only to stop and turn in shock when a strong arm - a very strong, very muscular arm - clamped onto his shoulder.

"You had better be talking about Buckley, cause if you are messing with Hummel we are gonna have issues."

Blaine cocked an eyebrow as he adjusted his gaze to stare up at the source of the threatening voice - and make no mistake the voice was definitely threatening - there wasn't a hint of civility in the tone whatsoever.

The boy standing there was, Blaine realised, obviously one of Kurt's McKinley friends. Raking his eyes over the muscular form, Blaine immediately dismissed the boy out of hand. Blaine liked to be intellectually stimulated and judging by the mohawk...

'Which is just so eighties by the way... he looks like a white Mr T...'

... and the cocky way the taller boy stood there dripping wet in nothing but a small towel it was clear that even if he were gay that he'd be a complete meathead and so not Blaine's type.

Still, the past week hadn't been the best in Blaine's life and the last 24 hours had sort of screwed up his sense of self and had sent the boy off the deep end; it wasn't easy having to face rejection.

Blaine affected his most charming smile as he looked up and met the meathead's gaze; if there was one thing that the Warbler was skilled at it was diplomacy - a few words here and there and the meathead would be eating out of the palm of his hand.

'And then he can leave and I can speak to Kurt...'

Focusing on the meathead's words, Blaine bristled internally, though his smile never wavered. Just who the Hell was this lizard brained public school jock talk to him like that?

'Have to play nice though...', Blaine reminded himself. It wouldn't do to get on the wrong side of Kurt's friends before he'd had the chance to get his claws into Kurt himself.

"You must be Finn...", said Blaine trying to but the other teen off his game. The mohawk could only mean one person, and it wasn't Kurt's cute but extremely dopey new brother, "... I'm Blaine, Kurt's good friend here at Dalton."

Blaine's smile widened imperceptibly as he watched the muscular boy's face twitched at the mild insult. Just for good measure; well out of spite really; he added a wink as an afterthought.

"I'm not Finn...", replied Puck sharply and with no small amount of malice , "... I'm Puck - and you need to stay the Hell away from Kurt."

'So not catching anything with sugar then...'

"I'm so sorry; are you one of Kurt's friend's from his old school? Only he's never mentioned you before...", said Blaine adopting as apologetic a tone as he could and revelling in the flash of offence that crossed the taller jock's face at the subtle barb, "... Like I said, we're close and I was coming by to ask him a very important question. So if you'll excuse me?"

Blaine paused and his smile slipped slightly as the muscular jock invaded his personal space to loom over him. The Warbler was well aware in that moment of the physical threat the larger boy posed were he to resort to Neanderthal tactics. "Shut the fuck up..."

Puck was just spoiling for a fight,. The half-back had been in a foul mood ever since the conversation with Kurt the previous night and the thought of turning this smug private school-dick into a mushy paste was extremely appealing. However the jock realised as he watched a bead of sweat appear on this 'Bluto' or whatever's forehead as he silently loomed over him, that he may have another weapon in his arsenal.

'Damn homo's checking me out...'

And he was. Puck smirked as he Blaine's eyes dropped momentarily to his muscular chest, tracing the path of a single water droplet down over his collarbone and onwards, until it disappeared beneath his towel. Puck wasn't sure what to make of all of these guys suddenly checking him out left right and center, but he could certainly work with it he guessed.

The jock flexed his pecs, and watched as Blaine's gaze tracked the movement and then he gulped noticeably.

'This could actually be fun...'

Leaning closer still, Puck let his towel drop a fraction lower, leaning in so close to the smaller boy so as to allow his chest to lightly brush the front of Blaine's school blazer. Moving to allow his lips to brush the shell of Blaine's ear, Puck went in for the kill,

"Kurt is mine. I fucked him all last night, and I'm going to go back in there right now and let him wrap his lips around my dick again before I leave. Kurt is my boy and only my boy and if anything gets in my way then I will get very very upset. Do we understand each other?"

Puck didn't bother to wait for the other boy's reaction, just stepped around him and into the dorm room; dropping his towel just a split second before the door closed completely.

Red faced and spluttering, Blaine quickly retreated before he could hear any noises coming out of the room. He so didn't need to hear that - plus that meathead was just plain intimidating.

Kurt smacked his lips together and rolled over as he cuddled into the pillow being held against his chest in a death grip. Groaning at the fact that the sun was determined to wake him up at whatever ungodly hour it currently was, Kurt cracked open a single eye and blinked away sleep,

"Morning sunshine!...", said Puck as he loomed over the smaller boy from his standing position beside the bed.

"Aaarghhh", screamed Kurt as he jerked away in terror before raising a hand to his head and wincing.

'Oh my head... I hope someone got the licence plate of that truck...'

Kurt groaned and flopped back down onto the soft pillow closing his eyes against the pounding of the blood in his ears. The soprano had drunk far too much alcohol the night before and now paying the price for it. Why did he think that was a good idea again? Oh that was right - Blaine... stupid Warbler and his stupid come-on...

"Sorry I fell asleep during the movie last night..."

Kurt jumped at the voice so close to his ear and with all the coordination of a newborn fawn, managed to pull himself back upright and look around the room. The brunette took in the sight of Puck leaning against the window sill sporting a laconic grin. The half-back it seemed, had already showered and changed clothes and his overnight bag was sitting out on the small table under the window which Kurt used as a hybrid study station and vanity table.

Kurt rubbed his eyes and shook off the last vestiges of sleep as he asked,

"What, wait...", the brunette rubbed his eyes in disbelief as Puck turned to the dresser and began opening drawers and stuffing the contents into his holdall, "... are you stealing my stuff?"

Puck stopped midway through unceremoniously stuffing a very expensive Donna Karen shirt into the bag on the table causing Kurt to wince in sympathy - that crease would likely never come out,

"Yep, I'm stealing your sfuff and I'm stealing you too...", said the larger boy aiming a grin at the soprano, "... I got Buckbeak to file some paperwork on your behalf this morning - you are officially getting a three day weekend dude. I'm taking you home today."

Kurt blinked slowly as his brain, still struggling against his hangover, tried to process what the jock had just said. A few seconds passed before the soprano reached an explanation - that it made no sense.

He had to be dreaming right? After all, there was just no way that Puck would do that for him. It wasn't right anyway, Kurt was supposed to be able to take care of himself; he wasn't a child anymore.

"Puck, you don't have to..."

"...Toss you over my shoulder and carry you out because you are coming of your own free will?...", cut in the jock as he smirked at the pile of Kurt's underwear in his hand before he stuffed them into the holdall - who'd have thought the soprano liked lace, "... Thanks dude, I appreciate it."

Puck grinned as Kurt paused, his jaw flapping in the wind for a second before he regained his wits and tried again to reason with the all too not hung-over jock. Puck was annoying when he was chipper,

"But, I have classes...", whined the brunette while imagining the Hell that awaited him later that day - Dr Dimples and another couple of hours of staring at the chalkboard in confusion.

"That you have been excused from...", replied Puck smoothly zipping the bag up with a flourish.

"And not to mention my Dad will be upset...", argued Kurt, scrambling out of bed to stand with his hands on his hips.

Kurt desperately wanted to go with Puck...

'Oh God that's just weird...', thought the soprano,

... but he at least had to go through the motions.

"Hummel...", said Puck scowling and throwing the bag over his shoulder with ease, "... why are you talking like you have a choice?"

Kurt huffed and grumbled as he padded over to the small vanity table in the corner and began to carefully pack up his cosmetics,

"...Fine, but remember - this is only happening because I am giving you permission...", said the brunette as he tried to hide the look of happiness on his face at the thought of a day away from Dalton.

"Whatever you say milady...", quipped the jock bowing to the smaller boy with an exaggerated flourish.

Kurt scowled as he quickly dressed, Puck had refused to allow him the luxury of showering claiming that there wasn't time. Judging from the damp towel left discarded on the floor, the half-back had no qualms about ensuring he showered though.

Brushing his fringe into place, Kurt slipped on his hat to complete his outfit - a rather fetching red and black ensemble that he was rather proud of - and before they finally left the dorm room Puck asked,

"So, will any of these Dalton guys know about me?"

Kurt took up a position walking alongside the taller boy as the headed towards the stairs at the end of the corridor,

"Oh, well, some of the Warblers might I guess and I suppose I've mentioned you to Blaine, but I think we can sneak out without too much trouble."

"Cool..." said Puck smirking as the pair descended the deserted staircase and headed towards the main entrance.

As the heavy oak door swung shut behind them, both boys breathed deeply of the crisp early morning air. Making sure the bag on his shoulder was secure, Puck swung an arm over Kurt's shoulder as the pair walked out. Neither was aware of the figure of Blaine standing in a first floor window watching in silence.

'Some people just had no respect for what she was trying to do for them.'

Santana stalked down the hallway towards the Choir Room unseeing of how her annoyed scowl was causing the crowds to part in front of her like the Red Sea. Here she was, trying hard to make them all lifelong friends - a nobler action the Latina could not imagine - and Boy Asian had to go and burst out crying halfway through Algebra third period. It was infuriating.

'Abs of a Greek God, emotional control of a toddler...'

Sometimes it was hard for Santana to remember why she wanted to keep these losers around. As the Latina strode into the music room through the open doorway, she knew that she was going to have to bring her A game if she wanted to rescue the plan. There had been something in the air recently; an unresolved tension that did not bode well for the future - and Santana did not like surprises, well unless they involved Brittany and chocolate spread anyway.

Exactly as Santana had hoped, the jocks at the school were starting to feel the pain of being denied access to their girlfriends. Given enough time, the Latina could imagine their cocks turning black and falling off from lack of use. It would only be a matter of time before Santana had opportunity to put the final step of her plan into motion.

The cheerio sent a conspiratorial smirk Tina's way, before she sat down in her usual seat on the upper level. Santana watched with interest as Mercedes sat beside Mike, with her hand on the Asian boy's knee as they spoke in hushed tones, presumably about they songs for the next day. Also it was clear from Mike's body language that he was still upset and that the black girl was doing what she could to offer the boy silent comfort. The whole Finchel thing might have been an abject disaster, but at least Mikecedes looked like it was going to be a big check in the win column.

Santana turned her attention back to her unwanted partner in crime, as she saw Asian Vampire Princess was already sitting beside Artie and telling him all about why she couldn't stay with Mike any longer. The Latina had to give the girl props; she was almost as good at manipulation as Santana was herself - of course, Santana considered Tina's weakness to be her conscience; caring about others just held you back.

Santana studied the expression on his Artie's face, searching for clues on his emotional state. From what she could see, Wheels was eating up everything Tina was spoon feeding him. It wouldn't be long before they were back together again. Check and Mate.

Some things are like signs from God though. Mr Schue walked into the classroom sans sweater vest. This was not going to bode well. The four horsemen must be somewhere close by.

Santana tuned the teacher out when he started talking about that week's assignment and so she was too busy buffing her nails to notice what had caused Finn and Rachel to suddenly start yelling at each other - again. This was not a part of the plan and was really getting kinda old.

"Finn, I'm sorry...", said Rachel, her voice breaking slightly with emotion just bubbling under the surface.

"Rachel I have a song for you OK?...", replied the Quarterback, something in his tone of voice causing the Latina to look up and pay attention, "... Just listen. This is from that big folder of music you made me read and stuff, so remember that."

Santana watched implacably as Finn crossed to stand in front of the piano and with a nod to Brad and the band the music started.

"I don't wanna hurt you
'Cause I don't think it's a virtue
But you and I have come to our end
Believe me when I tell you that
I never wanna see you again"

All eyes were wide with shock as people started to realise what exactly the quarterback was singing. Mercedes leaned forward to put a hand on Rachel's shoulder as the girl started to shrink in on herself and leant forward so that her hair would hide her face.

"And please can you stop calling
'Cause it's getting really boring
And I've told you I don't want to be friends
Believe me when I tell you that
I never wanna see you again

How on earth could I be any more obvious?
It never really did and now it's never
Gonna happen with the two of us"

Tina gasped and threw up her hand over her mouth as she watched, her heart aching for the girl sitting a couple of seats down from her. Sam meanwhile grimaced before he hid his face in his hands and scrubbed at his eyes. Quinn simply watched on in horrified fascination, like a rubbernecker at a car wreck unable to tear their eyes away.

"I don't understand what it is that you're chasing after
But it makes me really sad to hear
You sound so desperate, it just makes it harder
I can see how it's confusing
It could be considered using

When I call you up straight out of the blue
But I don't understand what else
A guy in my position's to d-..."

"Finn!"

The music continued for a few seconds before Brad caught on that Finn had stopped singing and the notes became disjointed before dying away.

Mr Schue stood beside the piano, an angry expression on his face as he stared down the teen,

"This song is in no way appropriate. Apologise right now to Rachel. We are a team and you do not treat your teammates like that."

'Oh it's on Frankenteen...'

Santana scowled as the last strains of music died away. She was going to go for his balls now - Finn Hudson would soon be the Glee Club's resident Castrato. Screw Tina's warnings about blowing the plan - the Latina was intent on causing some serious bodily harm.

Santana didn't have the chance though to put her murderous thoughts into action however as Rachel stood calmly and approached the Quarterback. The Latina watched in rapt fascination as Finn's eyes widened momentarily before Rachel's hand connected solidly with the left side of his face, sending the larger boy stumbling backwards. In a move that the Latina was actually envious of, Rachel then turned without a word and sat herself down again to wait for Mr Schue to take up the lesson. The girl was a damn good actress, that was for sure. Though Santana could see deep within Rachel's eyes, the pain that Finn had callously inflicted, to look at the girl you would have thought she was completely unaffected.

Finn had the gall to look shocked as he raised a hand to his reddening cheek. The Quarterback's eyes scanned the gleeks seeking some kind of affirmation and finding none, before he turned and stalked angrily out of the room. The door slammed shut behind the jock leaving behind an echoing silence broken only by the sound of a bewildered Brad softly closing the lid on the piano and beating a hasty retreat. Just as the group took a sharp intake of breath and sound returned, Quinn stood and made to go after Finn, leaving Sam sitting all alone.

Fuck it, figured Santana. If Finn insisted on being a complete asshole and fucking things up, then the plan didn't need him and couldn't afford to carry him. Santana would just have to think of something else. Getting to her feet, the Latina used the group's explosion of outrage on behalf of the now quietly sobbing Rachel to slip quietly from the room.

It was time to move the plan forward.

Santana checked her cell out of habit as she stopped by her locker. In times gone by she'd have had at least one, maybe more messages from Brittany, sent to her during Glee. Things like, 'What is that sweater Mr Schue is wearing and where can I find one for my cat?' or 'Why does Mike wear baggy shirts when he has those abs?' to 'If I eat a tub of ice cream and get brain freeze, will I stop thinking?'

Now. There was nothing.

Santana sighed as she slipped her cell back into her jacket pocket. Nowadays the Latina was lucky if she received a text a day from Brittany. It was just wrong. Britt was supposed to be with her, not Artie. But then she'd been so happy lately. Maybe what she was doing was wrong. Maybe Britt was better off -

No.

Brittany was so much better than Artie. She deserved to be with Santana.

'I deserve to be with her...'

Santana opened her locker and grabbed the DVD that she had conned the AV geeks into making using the film clips that Finn had gotten her - before Finn became public asshole number one of course. The Latina fixed her hair in the mirror on the inside of her locker door, before she turned to head toward Coach Beiste's office. The Cheerio only had time to glare at a couple of Freshmen before she turned the corner to be confronted by half of the starters of the football team blocking her way.

"Lopez,"

Santana stopped in the hallway and crossed her arms defensively over her chest as she stared down the owner of the voice,

"Black..."

Thom Black, a running back that Santana had blown a few times in the janitor's closet detached from the group and stepped forward clearly having been nominated as spokesman.

"We want to talk to you...", said the jock gesturing to the group behind him who were all nodding in agreement - to a man, not one of them looked pleased.

'Gee I wonder why...', thought Santana viciously.

"... we want to know, what the hell is up with this blue ball ban? And we want to know what it is you want us to do so we can get laid in this town again."

Santana smirked as Thom's voice cracked towards the end of his demand, a clear indication of how pent up the jock must have been. Thom Black was dating one of the prettier Cheerios the Latina recalled, one of the looser, prettier Cheerios - it was no wonder that he was stressing out.

Santana let her crimson lips expose a little teeth as she knew she was still in the position of power despite the group of agitated teens in front of her. Plus that was how Thom liked it, with a little teeth.

"Well?", prompted the jock impatiently before a warning glare from Santana had him averting his eyes and looking for all the world like a scolded puppy.

"Lady Face...", said the Latina before noting the puzzled looks on the assembled faces, "... Porcelain. Jazz hands, y'know Dorothy's friend?..."

Santana rolled her eyes at the jocks who were clearly straining the solitary braincell that they had to timeshare between them,

"Oh for the love of...", grumbled the Cheerio throwing her hands into the air, "... Kurt "I-love-cock-long-time" Hummel."

Several seconds passed as the jocks attempted to absorb the statement before Thom spoke up,

"Wait...", the jock scratched his jaw as he shook his head in disbelief, "... you're... you want us to find someone willing to get his dick wet in Hummel before we get laid? What's wrong Satan - was Rentboys-R-Us out of stock or something?"

The jock turned to the group behind him and exchanged a couple of high fives as the guffawing reverberated against the walls.

"You forget I know you Thom - I know about your preferences... though this is a strange way to come out...", said Santana watching with amusement as the other jocks turned concerned stares in the direction of their friend who turned red and ducked his head.

"I'm not a homo...", insisted Thom clearing his throat before levelling an ineffectual glare at the crowing Santana, "... really guys - I'm not..."

Santana smirked and quirked an eyebrow enjoying watching the Running Back squirm,

"Sure Thom, keep telling yourself that, hey try on some ruby slippers and maybe if you wish hard enough...", said Santana burying the hatchet even deeper into Thom's back, "... But anyway getting back on track - all we girls want is for it to be safe enough for Kurt to come back to McKinley. As long as Hummel is safe then you can get all of the pussy - or whatever floats your individual boats - that you want. Now, do we have a deal?"

"So what do we actually have to do?...", asked one of the other jocks speaking up when it was clear Thom was too tongue tied to do so.

"Nothing major. I'm not asking you to be friends with him... just, if you see or hear anyone talking shit about him, or about to slushie him, or to even fire a spitball at him in class, you tell them to stop - or you make them stop. Clear?"

The jocks all gathered into a huddle as they discussed the proposal in hushed tones, Santana meanwhile fished out a nail file and began to buff her cuticles.

A clearing throat drew the girls attention as the same jock who had spoken up previously stepped forward, replacing Thom who the group had clearly lost faith in.

"Deal."

"Good..." replied Santana as she pushed through the group and walked away "... one down and one to go."

Shannon Beiste looked up slightly surprised when Santana Lopez walked into her office without knocking. She was one of Will's kids, but the girl usually brought trouble to her own players when she put her mind to it.

The Coach set down her just delivered copy of Bodybuilders Monthly and took a sip from her protein shake as she waited for the girl to say something. When Santana made no move to speak, Coach Beiste sighed and asked,

"What can I do for you, Miss Lopez?"

"I want you to give the Cheerios their funding back."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. You cheer for us Miss Lopez, not the other way round...", pointed out the Coach with a sigh - she'd been through the same argument countless times with Coach Sylvester.

"No!..", spat Santana, confused by the growing strength of emotion inside her as she railed at the Coach, "... we are competition athletes that have won more championships then any other sport at this school. We train harder then you. We achieve more than you. And we would never turn on one of our own. Cheerios protect their own."

"My boys get along fine Miss Lopez...", said the Coach as she stood and crossed to her office door intent upon showing the girl out, "... but thank you for your concern."

"Oh please...", scoffed Santana rolling her eyes as she stalked over to the small TV in the office and popped the DVD into the player. The Latina hit the play button before turning to face the Coach, her hands on her hips in challenge to the larger woman.

The screen flashed into life as an image resolved of the stadium, clearly mid-game with the bleachers packed to bursting with spectators as Santana took up a commentary.

"That right there is Kurt Hummel...", said Santana pointing to the short and slender figure standing amongst the comparative giants of the football team, "... he was responsible, thanks to his kicking, for the only damn game the Titans won last year, and the team still kicked his ass afterwards."

Santana was pleased to see a fire of outrage ignite in the Coach's eyes - yes the incident had been prior to her tenure as Coach and so she technically had no control over the team's actions. However she was still an educator and her first instinct was to protect her students - all of her students.

"Go on...", said the Coach tightly the cup of protein shake in her hand creaking ominously.

"Do you want to know why he was singled out? For daring to be different. For being gay Coach," she continued wiping tears out of her eyes. The outrage on Kurt's behalf was getting out of control, but Santana found she just couldn't reign it in.

Collecting herself, the Latina pressed on,

"... And - and you didn't even talk to him. Didn't ask why the best athlete on the team last year was gone. That's why the Cheerios should get their funding back. We would never do that to anyone on our team regardless of personal feelings... ", she spat with venom, "... so give the Cheerios our damn money back, or step up and be a team."

Santana paused in her rant, her breathing heavy, her eyes wild and passionate before her implacable mask fell back into place.

"I'm so done with this."

The Cheerio flipped her ponytail over her should and stalked from the room leaving behind a stunned teacher and a pool of protein shake on the floor.

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW