A/N: Just a short mini!Brittana ficlet that's been in my documents folder for a while.

Enjoy! :)

When Santana met Brittany, she was running away. Running away from her Daddy's angry fists, and her Mama's frightened half-broken Spanish. All because she had been chasing her bright blue bouncy ball in the creaking hallways and she had gotten in the middle of what ever they had been arguing about this time. Cradling her darkened eye, she ran out the back door with her bouncy ball in tow, because her brother, Damon had told her to run if he ever hit her. And he would find her among the debris of their junkyard, where they had been playing since Santana could ever remember.

She couldn't think though while she was running. The only thing going through her mind were run run run he's gonna catch you, he's gonna catch you and the sounds of her sneaker-clad feet on the pavement. She thought her feet knew the direction to the junkyard, but suddenly the air didn't smell like dog shit, (as Damon would say, she didn't know what it meant), and instead vaguely smelled like morning grass. Fresh, maybe a hint of flowers. Stopping for breath, she looked up and wondered if she had run all the way to heaven.

There was no graffiti in sight, no stacked up apartments like sardines. The houses were all separated and clean and filled with the greenest grass she'd ever seen. It was the kind of place her brother promised to take her when he made enough money. She stood in awe for a moment, letting the sun hit her skin, and light breeze brush her curly hair forward.

The peace ended as suddenly as it began when the world was kicked from under her feet and she felt her glasses slip from her nose as she fell. Her Daddy was gonna kill her for breaking her glasses. They were brand new. She didn't even ponder what force had hit her, as she began to search for the relentlessly on the concrete.

"Are these yours?"

Santana blinked up again as she realized that force was in fact human. And even though everything was blurry and mixed she could tell it was a young girl, maybe her age. A girl with blond hair and her hand outstretched. She reached out to touch the other girl's fingers for a reason that would never know, even though she pondered it for years afterwords. Instead of smooth flesh, however her fingers touch the plastic material of her glasses. She scrambled to put them on, and as everything around her began to be crisp and sharp again, she swore again that she was in heaven. Because the girl who had inexplicably crashed into her had to be an angel. The sun hit her hair so it shone golden, and her small face poised in a smile that could only be worn by someone who's parents didn't cause you to run, and who had a big backyard with a swing.

She found she couldn't speak.

The girls face changed as it became scrunched up.

"I'm real sorry I hit you. I promise! Mommy said I always ride my scooter way too fast. But my duck arm pads were suppose to help me not crash anymore. I'm Brittany! I'm 6! Who're you?"

Santana shook herself off a bit more and stood up to realize that she only came up to Brittany's shoulder. Her face scrunched up. She was never taller than people.

"I'm Santana."

"I like that name! Why were you standing on the street? Did you lose your Mommy?"

All Santana could think was that her Mama lost her, lost her trust. Because weren't Mama's supposed to protect you when you got hurt? That's what other kids at the school building said. That's what her Kindergarten teacher said.

"No. I was just taking a walk."

"But my Mommy says you should never walk alone, because then the bad guys can get you." Brittany cocked her head to the side, and crossed her duck covered arms. Santana wanted to tell her that the bad guys wouldn't get her, because her brother taught her how to punch guys in the balls.

"Well, my Mommy's not your Mommy. So go away."

Brittany's eyes softened. She impulsively grabbed onto Santana's hand, and Santana marveled at well their hands seem to fit together.

"I'm sorry, Santana! Honest! I didn't mean to. Can you come play with me? Because I'm still awful sorry about hitting you with my scooter."

And for reasons Santana couldn't figure out, and that was completely against her brother's warnings, Santana said yes.


Two days later Santana and Brittany were waiting in the junkyard. The cold wind made goosepimples on their flesh, so they huddled together for warmth.

"Are you sure your brother's going to be here?" Brittany asked, brushing away a strand of hair that hit her face.

"He will." Santana promised, fervently. "He promised.

But as the hours passed into darkness, so did Santana's hope her brother would save her from her father's fist and mother's failure. So she let her new friend take her by the hand and smile and wipe away her tears; and be her new savior. Whom she would always be the rest of their life.