Breaking Character

So this was pretty much a distraction from writing my SoN story because I'm getting seriously frustrated with myself. This is kind of a crack fic in that it's definitely never going to happen, but I thought it would be funny.

AU in that the Cheerios are still Cheerios. No real pairings or couples mentioned accept a line of Asian Fusion and some Klaine, cause I couldn't think of a better reason for Blaine to be in Kurt's basement. Also, I live in Ohio. In Westerville actually (and no, Dalton isn't real, sorry) and I know how long it takes to get from Westerville to Lima and no one is making that journey twice a day for school, so Kurt lives at Dalton for school because that makes sense to me.

Rated for language.

Mostly it's just some Unholy Trinity love, because, well, I can (try). Remember folks, this is just for giggles, and I'd like to know if you enjoyed it.

Now back to Spashley. After my nap and my job.

"She's going to snap."

Santana looked up from her spot on the couch in the basement of the Hummel/Hudson home to find the grinning brown eyes of her on-again/off-again best friend Quinn Fabray. "No she won't," she argued on instinct, shifting slightly so that the blonde could fit more comfortably next to her.

"She totally will, look at her," Quinn gestured with the Diet Coke in her hand towards the scene that Santana had been watching before she had wondered over. It had become somewhat of a tradition to get together whenever Kurt would be home for more than a couple of days and hang out, catch up and just be together. On this particular visit home Kurt had brought his shiny new boyfriend, Blaine, and it had been going well for a time. The two Dalton boys had been talking with Brittany, Finn, Puck and Lauren about whatever randomness the six of them could come up with until Rachel Berry had joined the conversation.

Apparently she had not appreciated the verbal ADD and thread-jumping so when a topic came up, surely by accident, that she was able to relate to she'd latched on and directed everyone's attention.

Across the room Santana and Quinn had commandeered the couch and the spots around them had been filled in by Artie, Sam, Tina, Mike and Mercedes and they had all paused in their own conversations to watch the heated debate.

Okay, so 'heated debate' may have been a stretch, but Rachel and Blaine had found their match in one another so the discussion was rather fast-paced and intricate. Kurt, loyalty clear, backed up his boyfriend whenever the opportunity presented itself while Finn and Puck, bless their hearts, had started out behind Rachel. But as the arguments became more complex their expressions began to glaze over and they started to spare longing looks at the game system at the far end of the room.

Brittany was leaning back on her hands, staring at the ceiling and looking more than bored with the turn in the conversation. Lauren, on the other hand, was sitting cross legged and munching on a tub of popcorn, eyes bouncing back and forth like at a ping-pong tournament.

"Whatever, Q, she's been going strong for two and a half years, this isn't going to break her," Santana stole the can out of the other cheerleader's hand and took a sip.

Quinn just laughed, "They're moving onto Romantics, S, and you know how she gets about Keats."

"Uh," Tina leant across her boyfriend, "What are you guys talking about?"

"None of your damn business," the Latina sneered, slipping back into her best bitch face even as Quinn laughed again and snagged back her drink.

"You'll see," she grinned as Rachel started to compare Emily Dickenson's work to Blaine's example of Keats' Romanticism and Brittany snickered, "Soon."

Rachel was rolling her eyes at Brittany's childish response, even though Finn and Puck had similar reactions, "Yes, Brittany, Dickinson. Though, I assure the semi-phallic properties of her name are not nearly as humorous as you seem to think it is."

"What's funny is you confusing Romanticism with romantic poetry, Rach," the blonde offered without bothering to tilt her head down.

"I'm…sorry?" the diva responded blankly.

Brittany mistook it for confusion and gave her a hollow look and a faint smirk, "Little r and big R, hun, Mary Shelley would have been a better-" she finally noticed the more than confused looks from ninety percent of the room. "Aw, fuck," she turned to Quinn's laughing expression, "Unicorns?"

"Too late!" Santana jumped up from her seat and was mid-happy dance when she stopped suddenly and pointed her fingers at the two blondes, "Pay up, bitches!"

"Son of a-" Brittany twisted so that she could pull a thin money clip from her back pocket.

At the same time, Quinn was reaching for her purse, "I know, right?"

They both pulled out bills to make a hundred dollars each and Santana snatched it out of their hands with a laugh, "Woo-hoo! I can't believe I won that!"

"Won what exactly?" Mercedes asked, looking between the three of them like she didn't recognize them.

The Latina folded the money and slipped it into her front pocket, sticking her tongue out at Brittany as the blonde walked passed her, taking a spot on the couch between the arm and Quinn. "She was the last to break character," the head Cheerio told the surrounding glee club members, "Which is seriously unfair because hers was the easiest to play."

"Don't blame me, Q," Santana sat back in her spot on the other side of the couch, forcing Quinn to lean into Brittany, "Brits was the one that decided who played who."

The taller blonde shrugged, "I didn't think it would be that easy for you to play a bitch, you were always so sweet."

"Sweet?" Artie snorted, "Anyone else confused?"

Everyone but the current cheerleaders raised their hands and the three laughed. Brittany plucked the Diet Coke from Quinn over her shoulder, "We wanted to see if we could establish identities based on isolated incidents and stereotypes rather than our actual personalities."

Quinn snapped her teeth at the other blonde and took back the drink, "So we figured out the most iconic cheerleader stereotypes, like," she gestured to herself, "the mind-ninja bitch on the moral high horse."

"The outright bitch with the attitude problem," Santana raised her hand.

Brittany grinned, "And the slutty airhead and we played our parts."

"To see if people would believe us," Quinn tagged on and Santana laughed.

"Even if the way we acted was a total 180 from the year before," the Latina laughed and with the smile on her face and the light in her eyes, she looked like a totally different person. "Like Brittany is one of the smartest people I know."

"Or the fact that Santana volunteers at homeless and animal shelters," Quinn pointed out.

"Or Quinn's obsession with puck rock or her tattoos," Brittany wiggled her eyebrows at the smaller blonde, "Some of which I haven't even seen."

The head cheerleader reached back to pull the other girl's arm over her own shoulder so they were cuddled closer on the couch and winked, "You just have to ask, sweet cheeks." Santana laughed at the surrounding shocked expressions and swung her feet up into Quinn's lap.

"So what you're saying," Sam tentatively put out there, inflection making it seem like a question, "Is that you all basically lied - to everyone - for two and a half years?"

Brittany frowned at the accusation, "We prefer to say we were conducting a social experiment." But then her eyes grew bright and she turned her suddenly animated expression onto the other two on the couch, "Oh my God! Do you guys realize what this means?"

"We get to go to Warped Tour this year?" Quinn posed excitedly at the same time the Latina asked, "I have to give Quinn back her band tees?"

"Not after you've stretched out the chests in all of them," the blonde pinched the toes in her lap to which Santana responded by sticking out her tongue.

"No," Brittany laughed, "Well, yes, but it also means that we can quit Cheerios."

Quinn pushed Santana's feet from her lap and turned to the other girl, "You mean, no more six a.m. practices?"

"Or four minute miles?" Santana leant in closer.

"Or weekly weigh-ins?"

"Or that nasty Master Cleanse?"

"Or death-defying stunts?"

"Or hours of running suicides?"

"Or Navy SEAL combat courses?"

"Oh my God," Santana waved her hand at her own face, "I think I'm going to cry."

"No," the three startled from their own little happy place at the sharp tone of Rachel's voice as she stood just outside their bubble, "I cannot accept this. You mean to tell me," she looked about at the other faces in the room, "To tell us," she gestured about, "That, that - what? That you are all actually nice? That Santana is charitable? That Brittany is intelligent? Or that Quinn is-" she faltered.

"Cool?" Puck offered unhelpfully.

Quinn flipped him off, but regarded the tiny diva with a pitying look, "Yeah, kind of. Although B can be pretty mean sometimes."

The blonde's jaw dropped in indignation, "When am I mean?"

"You called me sophomoric last week," Quinn pouted.

"You were drawing penises with my graphing calculator," she deadpanned and Santana snorted, "it's not funny San!"

"It's a little funny," she defended, earning a fist bump from Quinn.

Rachel huffed at them ignoring her and dropped dramatically into a seated position, "I give up."

"You were right," Blaine whispered to his boyfriend across the room, "You're friends are way more interesting than mine."

"Uh-huh," Kurt blinked dazedly. "I think I need something stronger than Evian."

Thoughts?