Author's note: A bit AU, Rachel/Santana friendship. Brittany/Santana
After seeing her cry in Funk I couldn't get the image of a heartbroken Santana out of my head, and as a huge Brittana shipper, I had to write something.
I've read a lot of fics with Rachel/Santana friendships too, so I added that in. I think their dynamic is great.

Tuesday

It was a Tuesday when Santana fell. She was late that day as well. Her Chemistry class had run over but she hadn't hurried to practice, she had gone the longer way through the school, past Brittany's English classroom. Brittany was always out late, she stayed behind to put the books away or to help the others in her "retard" class put their things away. Santana didn't like it being called the retard class, she felt bad to Brittany, but that's just what it was.

Britt didn't mind if she was late to Cheerios, because everyone in the school knew she was the best. She didn't even need to turn up to practice and she'd still be able to dance, lift, jump, do everything better than the rest of them. Maybe that's why she didn't mind being in the retard class either.
Santana thought she could catch up with Brittany and they could be late together, then it wouldn't matter. They would just stand close together and wait, and Santana would look at Brittany and see her concentrating on keeping a disinterested glare on her face. Just like she'd taught her.
Brittany wasn't anywhere down the corridor, and when Santana looked around the classroom door the room was empty, just the teacher. Brittany must have gone already. She was late now, and she wasn't going to find Brittany, so Santana didn't bother rushing.

She'd been struggling holding the smile, too. Fifteen Cheerios were stacked, in various lifts and formations, on top of each other, Santana at the very top. Others were stretching nearby, or running through routines. She often thought how ironic it was that Coach Sylvester spent most of their practices telling them to smile, whilst she had the cruellest sneer her face could manage.

There wasn't anything she could blame it on in particular, much to her dismay. Lack of practice, maybe. It hadn't been long since she'd taken over from Quinn - that's what she'd tell people who dared ask her, but she knew it was a crap excuse. The Head Cheerleader doesn't just fall from the top of a formation for no reason. There was no wind, it wasn't raining, and the girls underneath her were steady. Coach Sylvester wasn't even yelling.

She hadn't really thought about any of these things until afterwards. The first thing she did was scream, because she'd landed badly on her ankle and heard a crunch, and shit, it hurt. She screamed, and the rest of the squad had scrambled down, shouting at Coach to do something. Sylvester did nothing, of course, just stalked away; shouting something Santana wasn't listening to. A few of the newest recruits scurried behind her, but most of them stayed, swarming around the crumpled mess on the ground. Others were running in from across the field, and there were a few girls she knew (though not the names of) trying to sit her up, but she didn't want to. Her back hurt, but to sit up she'd have to twist her body and move her ankle, which was throbbing so hard she could hear the blood rushing through her. She was about to scream at everyone to leave her alone, but stopped – looking up instead, turning her neck as far as she could, and scanning the swarm of uniforms. She didn't see what she was looking for, but she couldn't be bothered with screaming and she knew she couldn't get up, so she turned her head into the crook of her elbow and the cool grass, and relinquished to the pulling hands.

Brittany wasn't in school today, then. Santana thought she could have missed her at practice, what with all the commotion, but she probably just had a stomach bug or something. She was off sick, that's why she didn't run over to Santana's side and why she wasn't waiting at the gate this morning. Santana was sure of it. She didn't turn up at the hospital either.
Rachel was there, dancing around the doctors and nurses as they wheeled Santana in, shouting things about correct drug dosages and the risks associated with the—she wasn't listening.
"Rachel, shut it."
Rachel was quiet then, or maybe she had been restrained.

It wasn't broken, they told her, just bruised, possibly with a small fracture. "We don't fit casts to ankles or feet", the doctor said. Apparently they heal themselves; you just have to limp around like an idiot for weeks. Definitely no cheerleading.
"So, what happened?"
Santana was beginning to regret letting Rachel in, but she didn't have much choice. She wasn't in a room; just sat on a bed with a faded, strangely patterned curtain all the way around her, it wouldn't have taken much for Rachel to find her.
"I thought Mercedes and Kurt told you already?"
"Well, if you're not going to talk about it and you don't the notes from Glee I might as well go."
"Fine," She dragged out the vowels and whined, but she was laughing at Rachel's mock-fluster as she pretended to gather her things together. "I can't stand this place. I'm not sitting here by myself. Freaks me out."
Rachel grinned, she knew how to get her way. Santana was a push-over once you stopped being intimidated by her.
"Quinn was surprised, she said she only quivered once, and that was when she was 3 months pregnant... Are you... okay?"
They both spluttered. Partly at Quinn's expense, but mainly at the idea of Santana letting any boy impregnate her. Santana stopped laughing first, and she couldn't look at Rachel anymore.
"I guess I just, sort of, let go. I just stopped."
"Brittany wasn't in today."
"I know."