Chapter Twenty-Seven

Santana's eyes snapped open with a gasp and Quinn immediately pulled back, pretending not to notice as Santana desperately tried to wipe away the tears still on her face and regain control over her breathing. While Santana continued to try and collect herself, Quinn idly wondered if this was how Rachel had felt all those times she'd been responsible for waking her up from her nightmares- mildly annoyed, but mostly concerned and wanting so badly to help, but not knowing how. Or, worse, knowing that there was actually nothing she could do to help but watch Santana suffer.

Once Santana had stopped shaking and looking like she was about to be sick all over her bedspread, Quinn moved closer again and reached for one of her hands. "Are you good now?" she knew that Santana was not, by any means, ok- but she had to make sure her friend was at least grounded. That she knows where she is. Safe.

Surprisingly, and with a strength and speed Quinn had never herself possessed so shortly after having an episode, Santana pulled away and then jumped of the bed without answering first. "I have to go see Brittany," she explained frantically, "before it's too late."

Quinn's dread was quickly replaced with confusions when she looked at the clock as she scrambled to follow Santana off the bed, her sleep limbs hardly cooperating. "Not that I'm not thrilled that you've finally come to your senses about talking to Brittany or anything," she said loud enough for Santana fumbling through the dark on the other side of the room to hear, but not too loud, in case her mother had returned some time while they were sleeping, "but it's 4 n the morning. Brittany is still asleep. Just like we should be."

"I don't care," Santana responded immediately, distracted, squinting in search for her jacket or left sneaker, "I'll wait outside her house until she wakes up."

Quinn shook her head, "you're insane."

Santana, however, wasn't listening. Not really. She made a thoughtful noise of acknowledgement, but Quinn could tell she didn't really hear her. "It's freezing out," she tried to reason again, "just because it's stopped snowing-"

"I'll climb through her window then," Santana snapped, blinking rapidly against the light from the lamp Quinn just flicked on, "it's not like I haven't done it before. She always leaves it unlocked for me." Secretly, Santana hoped that would still remain true. That her standing invitation was still open- it'd only ever been locked on two occasions when she tried to go through before, once when Santana accidentally let Lord Tubbington out and he was lost for three days, and the other time was when she forgot Brittany was spending the weekend at her cousin's house.

"You're being completely ridiculous," Quinn insisted, reaching out and taking the sneaker from Santana's hand.

"No," Santana pushed at Quinn's arm and snatched the shoe back, "you're being ridiculous, Quinn. I haveto go. I have to talk to Brittany!"

"Don't be stupid, Santana," Quinn took the sneaker back again and swatted Santana's hand away when she went to try and grab it back again, "it's the middle of the night. You can't go over there now, everyone in her house will be asleep. You're being ridiculous," she repeated, hoping that Santana would understand. Unfortunately, she did, but it didn't seem like she cared.

"Then when Quinn?" Santana shouted suddenly, making Quinn jump and only then realize they'd been talking in loud whispers up until that point, "if not now, when? You don't understand, I need to see her. I need to explain- I have to let her know how sorry I am!"

"Santana stop," Quinn dropped the shoe and grabbed Santana's frantically waving hands, forcing them to her sides and holding them there. "Look," she waited until Santana actually looked her in the eye before continuing, "I'll take you to her house before school tomorrow, ok?" Santana looked at her skeptically, pulling at the hands still pinning her wrists down, but not pulling away. "First thing in the morning, ok? I won't even shower first. But it's 4 am- Brittany won't be awake for at least another hour, right?" Santana shrugged reluctantly. She didn't want to admit Quinn was right.

Santana pulled at Quinn's hands again, testing her hold a little more, but Quinn squeezed tighter. "Ok," she mumbled finally, rolling her eyes, "but first thing."

"First thing," Quinn agreed, finally releasing her hold. "Reset the alarm and let's go back to sleep."

"5:30?" Santana asked uncertainly as Quinn laid back down. Quinn grunted in response and yanked the blanket over her head, immediately closing her eyes. The mattress shifted under Santana's added weight when she sat down, and a second later the lights turned off again. Quinn hummed happily and let her body relax.

Just as she started to feel the lull of sleep carrying her gently away into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness again, Santana mumbled her name, causing her to jolt back awake. "Quinn," Santana repeated a little louder, rolling over to face Quinn. Quinn could feel Santana's eyes on her through the blanket, watching for any sort of reaction. She tried to keep her breathing even and body relaxed, but Santana continued anyway, "I-I almost left her."

That got Quinn's full attention and she sat upright, throwing the covers off of herself and turning to look down at Santana.

Santana's dark eyes were hazy and unfocused, trained on the same ceiling that still sometimes gave Quinn nightmares when it morphed into bare wooden planks in her head. Santana was looking towards the ceiling, but Quinn knew she was seeing something else entirely. Something else that those people watching on television that night, and ever since, were never going to understand.

Quinn had given her fair share of interviews since her release from the hospital, and she knew Santana had had a few of her own too, not that she'd watched any of them herself- her own or Santana's. People across the country probably tuned in to both of their stories whenever they were featured, but this, this pain and suffering in the middle of the night, this was only their pain to share. Nobody else could have this.

"That's what I- I did, Quinn. That's what I can't tell Britt," Santana's voice quivered, but she kept going, never looking away from the ceiling or chancing even a glance at Quinn for fear of losing her resolve to finally get it out. "I tried to leave her. And Emily and Mr. Rich. There was a second-" she squeezed her eyes shut at the memory and against the tears threatening to start again, "Sanders turned around and- and I just ran," she let out a single choked sob before completely dissolving into tears that shook her whole body, "I ran and would've left her. I would've left Brittany."

Santana rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, and, just like that, she was lost. Lost in that night like Quinn had been afraid she'd be lost in the Sander's basement for the rest of her light. Trapped in a memory that was worse than any nightmare, and no one but a friend to hold on to.