Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine, nor are the characters. Sigh.

"You don't wanna do that, Quinn," I warn, her gun trained directly onto me. "We used to be friends."

Quinn's laugh echoes into the barren air around us. "Used to be, yeah." She flicks the hammer on her revolver, the cylinder clicking round to another bullet. "Any last words, San?"

"Don't do this," I sigh and wave my own gun in the air to emphasise my words. "What," I lick my dry lips, cracked slightly from the beating sun, daring myself to utter the words of such a sensitive subject, "What would Rachel say?"

"Don't you dare fucking say her name, Santana!" Quinn stomps on the ground, dust flying up around her feet. "Don't fucking say it."

"If she were here, she'd talk some sense into you, Quinn," I push her, knowing that she'll break one way or the other, knowing that she'll crack. "She would tell you right now to drop that gun, and to forget all about this."

"You don't know shit, Santana. Rachel's shot more filthy bastards like you than I have. What makes you think she'd save you?" Quinn's glare is hard, almost as piercing as the sun.

"We were friends, Quinn! We all were! I implore you to think rationally about this."

"You implore me? You implore me?" Quinn lets out a raucous laugh, stubbing the dry ground with her boot. "I fucking imploreyou to have a nice afterlife, Santana."

"Go to hell, Quinn." I spit on the floor near her feet, noticing the almost insane glint in her eye that dashes my hopes, and she chuckles, the last sound I hear before the shot of the gun, and the world fades black around me.


"…found her at the side of the road there, Mr Hummel. Left for dead, I tell ya, had to scare the coyotes away an' everythin'."

"Wounds pretty bad, Miss. But she's lucky that it missed all her internal organs." There was a pause, and the same voice continued again. "Whoever did this to the poor bastard either meant to keep her alive or is a shit shot."

"Either way, I'm prayin' for her," a third voice joined the conversation.

"Reverend Jones, with the utmost respect, I don't think prayer is gonna help this situation." There was a tired sigh, "I think all this girl needs is rest, and some damn good medicine."

"Are you going against God, Mr Hummel?" The voice had attitude, and even through my foggy haze I recognised the challenge in it. "You'll see the path of righteousness one day, I'll be damned."

"Miss Jones, we'll all be damned if you think one day I'll see things your way. But I really think we should go now, let the medicine work."

There was a sigh, and an exaggerated hmph, and the click of the door closing behind them. The small flicker of sunlight against my closed eyelids danced, the rhythm sending me into another deep sleep.


The next time I wake I feel a dip in the hard bed I'm lying on, and I crack a single eye open. The person's sitting by my feet, studying something in their hands. I try to lean my neck up again and grunt slightly at the pain.

The person whips around to face me, and all I see is a flash of blue before I pass out again, the pain, or the medicine, taking over.


When my eyes open again it's night, and the room's empty. I struggle into a sitting position, leaning back on my elbows, and take in my surroundings.

The surface I'm lying on is a hard bed of straw with a patchwork quilt thrown over the top. The dip near my feet is still there, with my hat resting in its place. I quirk a smile at something familiar to me, but don't stretch to pick it up. The pain in my side is already an intense fire, and I don't think I could take any more of it.

Next to the bed is a small wooden chest, securely locked and with no sign of the keys. On the other side of the door is a stand with a few coats hung neatly on them, and some kind of dresser next to it. It wasn't a big room at all, and I was starting to feel claustrophobic.

Just as I start to reach for my Stetson, the pain intensifies and white dots cloud my vision, and I hit the bed as I pass out.


"…Cactus plants are blooming, sage brush everywhere, granite spires are standing all around." I wake to a soft, sweet voice, the words something familiar. "I tell you folks it's heaven to go riding down the trail…" I wake fully as the voice continues, the singer unaware of my consciousness and she continues with her melody. "When the desert sun comes down."

I sigh, recognising the words, my memory taking me back to when my abuela used to sing me to sleep. I used to dream of riding down the canyon after her song. Years ago, back when life was simple and innocent.

The person is focused again on something in their hands, and I look round and notice fingers gliding along the rim of my hat, tracing the hard material. In my mind I question the gesture, but don't have the effort in me to voice it.

When I finally drag my eyes up the body to the singer's face, I'm met with the same blue I was before. I couldn't tell how long I'd been here, drifting in and out of consciousness, but the sun was shining through the windows again and reflecting off the metal of the lock on the chest.

The eyes light up slightly, and a curve graces the girl's face before she lowers her eyes again, almost as if she daren't look at me.

I grunt with the pain again as I push myself into a sitting position, and the girl is instantly at my side, a supportive hand on the small of my back, easing me up.

"You," my voice cracks and I realise I haven't had a drink for days. The girl obviously notices my discomfort and is at my side with a tumbler of water in seconds. I bow my head to her in thanks, taking a long drink before clearing my throat and attempting the sentence again. "You got a fine voice there, Miss." She returns the small smile I offer her. "Couldn't have been a better way to wake me, honestly."

"I had no intent in waking you, Miss. I apologise." Her cheeks redden as she lowers her eyes again. "Father says I should quit with the singin' anyway, it never does me any good. It's just somethin' I do to pass the time."

"I think you're mighty fine at it, Miss…" I trail off, realising I didn't know her name yet.

"Pierce. Brittany Pierce." She smiles again and I can't help but return it.

"Well, Miss Pierce, if I might be so forward, I think you shouldn't listen to your father, your voice is the stuff of angels. If I may be so bold," I add. I didn't want to seem too forward, I'd only been talking to this girl for mere minutes.

She blushes again before replying. "I think we can keep that one between ourselves." Her eyes rise to meet mine through her lashes as she smiles at me.

I'd been rescued by an angel.

I've been playing a lot of cowboy games and this happened...
The lyrics Brittany sings aren't mine, I got them off lonehand.