Red Expectations

Summary: When Brittany gets slushied it's everything she expected and yet not. Brittana one-shot.

It is everything she expected and yet not.

She expected the cold slap of the melting ice, the small shards she knew would burn at her eyes. Her eyes that were too slow to shut and when they finally did they smothered the freezing slush further into her pale eyelashes. She expected the slushie to rain down the front of her shirt, for once she didn't wear her Cheerios uniform, instead her white tank top and olive jacket soaked up the staining red liquid and blobs of ice dripped down the front of her jeans.

She expected the slushie. Sure she was on the Cheerios and one of the best dancers at that. She was hot. Blonde. Friendly to everyone. But she was also a part of Glee club. So she expected the eventual slap of cold ice and red dye – it was a given – Santana told her to watch out for anyone holding a large red cup, told her how it felt and explained the stinging and brain freeze that would follow. And Brittany listened.

So she expected it, even if the jock had come out of nowhere. Even if she had been nothing but nice to him and all his other football friends. She had smiled at him, a second before he threw the slushie, and strangely he had smiled back. Not with malic or hate. But genuinely smiled – the hierarchy of the school was vicious – Brittany knew that. So she didn't take much offense to the slushie. He was only doing what was expected of him.

So even though he had come out of nowhere like a lost leprechaun after a shoe buckle, she had expected it.

What she didn't expect was the way her body reacted. The slushie was cold. It felt like she had just jumped into a pile of snow, naked. She gasped, and her breath burned all the way down her throat, bits of ice went with the air she had robotically sucked in. Like little razor blades they tore at her throat and a choking sound hitched half way out her mouth. It sounded like a sob. A sigh. A pained or maybe an annoyed cry.

It didn't sound like her – but it was.

She didn't expect to lose her breath to the point her chest cramped, or that the ice shards would feel like she had just face planted a block of cement, and repeated the action multiple times. She came to a complete stop. Her hands flew to her face, wiping, rubbing, and ripping the clumpy slush from her skin and hair and clothes. Her pink lips mashed together, her nostrils flared and somewhere between losing her breath and slapping the ice from her face, she heard the faint beginnings of laughter.

She expected that, she did. But it still hurt to hear. She still felt embarrassed and small and beyond uncomfortable.

She was popular, but not exempt from the laughing students of McKinley.

It is everything she expected and yet not.

She expected the laughs, but didn't expect how horrible they'd make her feel. She expected a few of the glee kids to witness her slushie attack, but didn't expect the soft yet hurried hands of Santana grabbing her shoulders, wiping stained hair out of her face and yelling all 'Lima heights like' at the laughing students. She probably should have expected that. But she didn't.

And when she heard Rachel's shocked gasp and Mercedes 'hell no' she didn't expect it. It took her off guard. The anger in Santana's voice, yet the indulgent touches from her hands, Rachel's annoyed and worried ramblings and eventually Quinn's palm upon her back. It all took her off guard. But it shouldn't have. She just didn't expect it. Yet at the same time she did.

xx

"No me gusta, no me gusta, if you're gunna stare you better not complain when my fist is shoved down that tiny, chicken neck of yours!" Santana's words are loud and Brittany blinks against the slush sticking to her eyelashes. Santana's fingers swipe gently at her cold cheeks, gathering the red ice and flicking it to the ground. She yells at what Brittany assumes is staring students and from behind her, Brittany hears Quinn making a 'shushing' noise.

"Club soda, club soda will get the red dye from her clothes. Are you listening to me? I have some in my locker, for a situation such as this. Would you like me to go get it? Santana?" Rachel's voice is beyond loud, and Brittany thinks Quinn might have been shushing her instead of Santana.

"Whatever," Santana snaps, her fingers push back Brittany's hair repeatedly. "Who did this? Was it Dave?" She sounds mad and her question is directed at no one in particular. Brittany blinks again, and her vision is blurred from the sting of the ice.

"I was unable to see who it was, they were simply too quick. I presume this was premeditated. I honestly expected to be the one on the receiving end." Rachel says frantically, Brittany can just imagine her opened mouth and horrified expression.

Quinn's hand leaves her back, "calm down, your voice is exhausting…, just, go get the club soda or something." She instructs firmly, and Brittany sees a blurry Rachel scurrying down the hallway.

She coughs and swallows, finally doing something other than standing statue still, and suddenly Santana is pulling her forward. Forcing her into a fast walk.

"Uhm…, where are you going?" Quinn calls almost cautiously, Brittany thinks Mercedes says something as well but Santana's voice cuts over her.

"Bathroom, she's got a bunch of ice in her eyes!"

Santana's hand wraps around her wrist almost painfully, and Brittany stumbles wordlessly behind. The soles of her shoes have slush on them and every step is a gamble on how good her balance is. She feels like she's ice skating. Santana slows and drags them both into the girls' bathroom, the door thumps closed behind them and again Santana's hands are on her face. Smearing the slushie in her attempts to help.

Brittany shakes her head, steps back, and Santana's hands follow – refusing to stop.

"Just hold still…," She says and Brittany blinks back the dryness from her eyes.

She shakes her head a second time, "I'm fine, and I'm good." She expected this after all.

Santana's fingers pull out a clump of ice from her hair swiftly, "Bullshit, you can't even open your eyes Britt." She states, Brittany squints in response and Santana's hands finally stop smearing the ice as she walks around Brittany to the sink.

Brittany can hear paper towel being ripped and the tap spurting out water and then Santana's pressing a handful of soggy paper against her forehead gently. It's cold. Wet. But expected. And slowly Santana dabs the paper towel over her eyes, she's careful, Brittany can almost feel her girlfriend's body tense in concentration. She stays still and allows Santana to wipe away the sticky and drying liquid.

"It hurts more than I thought it would." She says quietly, Santana stops her movements in response and Brittany tryingly opens her eyes. "My eyes feel dry." She adds.

"It's the salt that's in the slushie," Santana explains and her brown eyes look so concerned and so angry, "Your clothes are stained."

"I have my Cheerios uniform in my locker," Brittany states and Santana shakes her head, her lips are thin.

"I can't believe someone would do this, when I find out…, when I, I should have…, god, no one touches you! No one!"

"I'm totally fine though…"

Santana's teeth lock together in a pained scowl and she steps back, "You're covered in red shit, that's not fine…you just got slushied, Britt!" Her words are forced over her teeth and Brittany glances to her soaked tank top, it looks almost pink.

"It'll wash out," She states simply, "You told me to expect this, remember?" Santana just stares and Brittany tries for a smile, she understands Santana's anger, but doesn't feel it herself. "You said to watch out, that I needed to be ready and – "

"I know what I said!" Santana yells, her tone isn't harsh though, just loud and her face softens straight after the words leave her mouth. "I know, I remember. But I didn't think it'd actually happen, Britt, not to you. Quinn, yeah… wouldn't surprise me." She shrugs, "But not you."

Brittany nods and runs a hand over her hair, it feels sticky and like she has a bunch of knots, she probably does. For some reason that notion takes her by surprise in a bad way and she pouts, it's silly, to be upset about her hair knotting and not the actually slushie attack. But she can't help it. She pulls at the icy strands and bits of slush stick to her fingers.

"Yuck," She states and her voice wavers, Santana's hands are grabbing her own instantly, and she squeezes tightly.

Brown eyes search blue, desperately and so warmly.

"I'm driving you to your house,"

Brittany shakes her head, "We have class, San…"

"So, who cares. I'll drive you and you can have a shower, before the syrup gets mushy and dries." Santana states, her eyes search every part of Brittany's face before she pulls her into a tight hug.

Brittany doesn't expect it, but responds immediately. Her arms snake around Santana's waist and she breathes out.

"I'm getting you all sticky," Brittany says softly, her shirt and jacket press against Santana's chest tightly.

Santana just holds her closer, "I don't care, Britt."

xx

It is everything she expected and yet not.

Her first slushie was horrible and cold, but she had been told to expect that, so she did. It stung her eyes and melted down the front of her shirt, and she gasped at the shock. But she had expected it. Getting slushied was bullying and Brittany hated bullies, but that was how McKinley worked. There was a social standing. Joining Glee had weakened her position at the top of the food chain, she was still popular, still a Cheerio, and still classed as the typical blonde cheerleader.

Only now she was covered in the sticky remains of a cherry slushie.

That was just how it worked and it made no sense.

So it is everything she expected…

…and yet not.