A/N: I've had this idea in my head for awhile now. When I couldn't find a fanfic of these two in a straight camp. I was like, "Wait, what? Why tf not?!" And now I'm writing one. Hopefully, one of you guys like the idea and write a better one of them in this situation. I'm not going to lie, I know I'm not that good of a writer. Ik I should be working on my other fanfics, but they're really heavy right now and I needed something a little less depressing to get me out of this writer's block.

Disclaimer: Glee's not mine and neither are its characters.

It's Not a Sinn; Santuinn

Chapter 1: Pack Your Bags

"Mamí, you cannot be serious!" Santana exclaimed. Fists curled tightly, the fiery Latina literally shook with rage. Santana's feet were rooted in place as she helplessly watched her abuela briskly walk about the house, throwing whatever she deemed necessary into a suitcase she gifted Santana in a ploy to trick her into going.

"I'm sorry Maji, but your abuela is stubborn. If you don't go, she'll cut us from her life. Now, do you want that?" the girl's mother urged.

Mrs. Lopez was not helping. The woman stood by her daughter, trying to reason with her. She seriously just stood there, allowing her mother to kick her only daughter out.

"This is bullshit! Don't you think that if this was fixable, I'd have fixed myself by now?" Santana hissed bitterly. She couldn't help but think that if her father was here, this wouldn't be happening, but of course her abuela decided to show up unannounced at the exact moment her father was stuck at work. Her mother didn't meet her glare. Instead, she turned to watch her mother pack Santana's things.

"You think this is my fault, don't you?" Santana mumbled, her voice full of hurt.

Mrs. Lopez's face stiffened for a moment. She refused to meet her daughter's eyes, afraid her own would give away her thoughts. Instead, she kept her head pointed downward as she took up Santana's trembling hand in her own. "I'm sorry."

"No," she refused, hurt and confusion coating both her expression and voice. Santana shook her head, lip trembling and brow furrowed. Taking a step back, she ripped her hand from her mother's grip. "No, no, no."

"Maji," her mother coaxed.

"No! If you were sorry, you'd at least try to stop her. You wouldn't just let her do this to me. You'd do something, anything, instead of stand there watching!" Santana shouted, waving her hands in frustration, the intense feeling of betrayal cracking through her voice.

"I'm sorry," the older woman repeated solemnly. She'd given up. She'd given up on her only daughter without even trying.

Santana bit her lip and looked away, tears threatening to spill from her dark eyes. This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. This could not be happening to her.

"Papí, you lier..."


"I can't believe you!" Mr. Lopez exclaimed, obviously very angry. "You sent Santana to a Straight Camp? Do you have any idea how scared she must be right now? If I had known you'd react like this, I would have never convinced her to come out!" His rage made his booming voice shake as he paced frantically back and forth.

"What was I suppose to do? You know how her abuela is," his wife argued weakly. She was seated comfortably on her living room couch, arms and legs crossed.

"Yes, she's stubborn, but couldn't you have at least stalled her until I got home?" the man grumbled.

"What could you have done?" Mrs. Lopez countered.

"I don't know. I don't know what I would have done, but I sure as hell wouldn't have let our Santana get taken away from us! I would have held her and made sure she stayed and she'd still be here." His voice crumbled as his eyes began to water.

"You wouldn't have been able to!" his wife shouted at him.

The man opened his mouth to argue, but a loud beep interrupted him. Glaring bitterly at the small device attached to his hip, he heaved an irate sigh.

"I have to go to work," he announced slowly, punctuating his last word as he crammed his arms through his jacket sleeves.

"Of course you do," she let out tiredly.

"Don't you dare turn this on me. We'll finish this discussion when I get back," the old Latino stated with finality as he made his way toward the door.

He rested his hand on the knob, shaking his head. The man knew not to look back. He sighed and spoke softly, "And Maria? We will get her back." If he did, he'd see his wife quietly crying to herself; hand over mouth, eyes screwed shut; and he wouldn't make it to work.

"I'll hurry home," he said lovingly when he realized his wife was too focused on stopping the tears to be able to tell him her usual, "Hurry home!" whenever she noticed him leaving.

Maria Lopez nodded as he walked through the threshold. After the door was carefully shut, she let the word, "Please," slip from her lips.

Outside, Mr. Lopez whispered an, "I love you," into the cool night air. He never left without saying it, even when he was beyond pissed.


Santana was in a taxi with her abuela. The silence was deafening and the the tension was thick. Santana focused on her breathing, slow and steady. If she didn't, she was sure she'd either sob uncontrollably or go crazy and commit murder.

"You can still talk to me, you know. You're not going to catch it," she muttered monotone.

Her eyes, rimmed with red from her salty faucets that had now gone dry, gazed unfocused to the scenery, marred only from the precipitation, just outside the window. The skies were gray and grasses damp. Looks like she wasn't the only one upset. Maybe God was crying for her, she thought for a second before chuckling quietly to herself. Yeah, right.

She turned warily to face forward, eyes flickering every now and then to the stone-like woman beside her. She sighed and resigned back into her seat sloppily. Might as well get comfy.


A quiet knock sounded from the room's entrance, grabbing the attention of the only person occupying its space.

"Come in," an angel-like girl called from her desk, keeping her eyes on the book before her.

"Quinnie?" a caring, soft voice spoke as its owner entered the room.

"Yes, mom?" the girl answered, raising to hazel eyes to meet her mother's.

"Sweetie," the older woman started, "dinner will be ready soon so put your books away and wash up."

She smiled when her perfect daughter sighed, but did just as she was told. She raised her hand to tuck her daughter's fallen blonde hair behind the girl's ear. "Thank you."

When her daughter left the room, she straightened her bed when something caught her eye. It was a notebook hidden beneath a pillow.

The older woman hesitantly took it into her hands before prying the heavy book open.


"Mom, dad?" Quinn questioned, a puzzled look on her face.

She entered the dining room to find it empty. When she peeked into the living room, her father and mother were sitting on separate couches. Her father with an angry look on his face and her mother with a look of guilt.

"Did something happen?" she asked, concern lacing her words as she stepped fully into the room.

An awful feeling immediately settled in her stomach and a weight fell to her shoulders.

Mr. Fabray, her father, didn't move an inch. He stayed seated; legs apart, feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulders stiff, hands together as if he were praying, with his forehead resting on his bulky knuckles. His breathing was hard and deep. She could tell by the way his chest rose and fell with each breath that something big was bothering him.

Mrs. Fabray reluctantly turned her head to meet her daughter's eyes before forcefully tearing them away as if she'd been burned. With her brow furrowed in thought and anxiety, her eyes awkwardly bore into the ground beside her husband's feet. The woman kept her hands together, tightly pressed onto her bent knees, as she sat cross legged. Her breathing was quick and shallow, frantic even.

There was something deeply wrong here. That much she could tell, but she had no clue to what was the matter. Everything seemed fine a mere few minutes prior to now. What could have possibly happened in the short moments it took for her to come down here?

"Mom?" the blonde questioned, frightful. When she was met by more silence, she turned to fully face her father. "Daddy?"

The man rose from his seat as soon as she addressed him and walked briskly out of the room. He never turned back to see his daughter, who was close to tears in fear. He didn't even turn to his wife. But he spoke one last time before leaving Quinn's range of sight.

"Judy," he said. His voice was firm, unmovable, and full of warning.

The blonde woman looked at her daughter. Her eyes told so much, yet so little. Why did she look so sorry. Why did she look so afraid? What in the world happened?

"Sweetie, get in the car," Mrs. Fabray quietly begged. She stood from her place on the couch and grabbed her keys and jacket.

"Mom? What's going on? Where are we going?" Quinn asked and it took all of Judy not to cry and pull her daughter into her arms right there.

"Quinnie, just get in the car... Please."

Quinn did as she was told, ignoring the endless warnings her brain sent her and the bad feeling radiating from her stomach. She ignored the suitcases packed in the car. She ignored her mother's silent tears. All she could do was ignore and pretend that this was a bad dream. She couldn't even ask what this was about anymore because if this was about what she thought it was about, it'd only make everything more real and all the more frightening.


"Welcome to Camp Good Health!"

Thanks for reading.

X's & O's Yuzu