A/N: Sorry for the super long wait guys! I'm hoping to start updating regularly again, so here's the next installment to Just Across The Tracks!

Oh, and I know there might seem like there's more Brettberry than Brettana, but trust me, yeah? It'll all be worth it! Sorry for the shortness, I know you've all waited so long for this chapter and I promise the next few I'll aim for over 3,000 a chapter!

Chapter Six

"Jesus, I'm fine!"

Brett watched as Rachel flitted around his hospital room, straightening out the curtains and sprucing up the flowers she had brought in earlier.

He was a guy, he didn't even like flowers.

But when the tiny diva came thundering in as soon as she heard of his crash, he couldn't say no to those hopeful eyes as they carried in a large variety of daffodils.

He sighed inwardly.

There goes his man card.

"Being laid up in a hospital bed is not fine, Brett!" Rachel nearly screeched, finally plopping down in the chair across from his bed. "I can't believe Santana and Quinn just left you there! Those vile, no good-"

"Hey, hey," Brett cut in gently, honestly fearing Rachel was going into a panic attack. "I'm fine, okay? I just bumped my head pretty hard. They say I'm getting out of here in an hour or two, they just need to wait for the results of the MRI."

Rachel stared at him blankly, but he swore he could see the beginnings of new tears building in the corner of doe eyes.

No, no, no, no!

Girls tears were his kryptonite!

"Come here, firecracker." He waved her over, scooting his sore body over so she could have room to lay with him.

Rachel's eyes widened in surprise before standing up hesitantly, climbing into the bed with the softest movements she could manage. She pressed her ear into his warm chest, listening to his steady breathing.

She couldn't imagine what she would have done without this guy she had barely known for a month or so.

Brett was thinking hard as well, but not about Rachel. About how his future wife and that douchebag Quinn had sped off, even though he was sure they had seen him wreck his bike. Hard.

He had barely managed to get himself untangled from the mess, and thankful that none of his bones seemed broken, he wandered to the road at the same time a car was passing by, luckily a nice one who stopped at the sight of the dirty and disoriented eighteen year old.

He probably would have passed out on the road if they hadn't drove by, and it made him even more mad at Santana.

Maybe she wasn't who he thought she was.

Granted, he didn't know much other than she had a killer ass and the sweetest eyes.

But still.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Speak of the angel, and the angel shall appear.

Both sets of eyes immediately snapped over to the doorway, Santana standing in it with her features twisted in a sneer. She was still in the same cheerleading outfit as earlier, but it was clear she had just gotten through with after school Cheerios practice.

Her forehead shined with sweat, and her normal ponytail was messy and puffy.

Still, Brett thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Rachel clearly didn't share the same sentiment.

"You horrid, you-you...you foul little-" The tiny diva cut herself off, standing up abruptly, causing Brett to wince at movement. Rachel winced sympathetically but was too caught up in her anger to fuss.

"I'd shut the hell up before I have to make you, big bird." Santana threatened, her chin lifted in defiance. She crossed through the threshold and started toward Rachel, causing the smaller girl to take a step backwards.

Brett knew he shouldn't, but he found the answering smirk of his girl to be pretty damn sexy.

Though her facial expression faltered for a moment, Rachel continued on bravely. "Oh, real mature, Santana. How dare you show up here when you basically left Brett for dead!"

Okay, maybe Rachel was over-exaggerating a bit but she did have a good point. For all Santana could have know, he could actually be dead and she still would have driven away.

Well, technically it would have been Quinn who...wait, where was that bag of douche anyways?

"Where's Quinn?" Brett blurted out, startling the two tense girls, and he could have sworn he saw Santana's eyes soften when they landed on him.

Granted, he also had a concussion so she could basically be doing the fucking samba in a bikini and he wouldn't know any better.

"Oh, he's uh-he's parking the car-"

"And you brought your partner in crime?" Rachel cut in, yelling louder than humanly possible.

People would probably think someone was getting murdered.

Which was true, if you counted his ears.

Brett sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching out to grab Rachel's small hand in his own. "Rach, as much as I just love going deaf, I think I can handle this one on my own. I'm a big boy, I've even been tying my own shoes for a whole month now!" He teased, feeling satisfied when Rachel finally giggled, her eyes still trained on Santana's seething form.

"If you say so, Brett. Call me if you need anything, okay?" She offered softly. Brett nodded, and laid back down once again, closing his baby blues.

The quiet click of the door signified that he was now alone with his dream girl, the room eerily quiet around him.

Or Rachel was still in here and a fucking ghost had shut the door and they were all going to die and they'd become the next big horror film.

And oh my god he needed to stop thinking.

"Did it hurt?"

The raspy, gentle voice made him jump slightly, but he leveled her with his famous 100 watt grin. "What? When I fell from heaven? Nah, that was actually pretty soothing."

He didn't get the expected response.

Not. At. All.

"What the hell is wrong with you! We almost killed you, Brett! Are you listening to me? Killed! And to make it worse, we left you! And you're saying pick up lines?" Santana screeched, and for once her anger wasn't attractive, but actually kinda scary.

Okay, it was still attractive. But scary nonetheless.

Brett continued to stare at her with a goofy smile, adding to Santana's growing confusion and frustration. "What could you possibly be smiling about right now?"

"You called me Brett." He stated simply, shrugging his shoulder, the dopey smile never leaving his face.

Santana paused in confusion before throwing her hands up in frustration and collapsing into the plastic chair beside his bed.

"Why aren't you mad at me?" The brunette asked irritatedly, scowling at the boy who had gotten under her skin so much lately.

"Why are you here?" Brett countered quietly, his crisp irises never leaving the beautiful girl beside him.

"What?"

"And I thought I was the one with the head injury," The blonde jested lightly, "Why are you here?"

"Well..I...you...and I-ugh! I needed to make sure you were okay, alright?" Santana spit out, her voice growing softer as she continued.

"And that's why I'm not upset. Am Ipissed that my head feels like a hundred hammers had a field day on my skull? Hell yeah! But you wouldn't be here if you didn't care, Santana." Brett finished, his eyes softer than they had ever been in years.

The brunette sat staring, her head tilted sideways and her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

It reminded him of the small blonde at home, the way he-

Oh, shit!

"What time is it, Angel Eyes?" Brett asked loudly, panic shooting up his already aching spine.

Santana's eyes widened at the outburst but she quickly checked her phone, not bothering to protest the nickname. "It's a quarter past five, why?"

Brett's eyes slammed shut in relief, he still had time to pick up the small boy from his neighbor's house.

"No reason, just curious."