Chapter 26
It's a Terrifying Thing
Warnings: Mild language. Mentions of catfights. Actual catfights. Minor calamity.
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"I do not care how unwilling the Rolex's and Brunello Cucinelli jackets that ass tries to load you down with are Sam," Kurt was saying, his hands moving in rapid waves that some (Blaine) would consider emphatically poised gesturing, that Sam couldn't really see as anything other than annoyed flapping. Very annoyed flapping. "The fact of the matter is you are wearing them, and if you are willing to receive fashion assistance from Sebastian-" Flap. Flap. Flap. "Then it is not only reasonable, but fundamentally understood on even the most basic levels that my advice, as delivered from both a friend and roommate-"
Finn, from his spot front and center on the risers, made a small noise of objection. "Last I checked, that was me-"
"So you will," Kurt continued, irresolute and still as freakishly intimidating as he had been five minutes ago when he had confronted Sam at the entrance of the choir room, if a little more red in the face. "-take my gift of sunglasses, and you. Will. Use. Them."
With that being said- and with Sam still thoroughly confused as to how this conversation had started in the first place- the other teen deftly hooked his fifty-esque sunglasses onto the front of Sam's sweater (that he had not been wearing at the start of the day but, surprise of all surprises, guess what had spontaneously appeared in place of his t-shirt in his locker after working out?) and retreated back to his equally-confused boyfriend sitting next to Finn.
Sam figured in the grand scheme of things Kurt could have possibly sneak-attacked him for, insisting fashionable eyewear of his own selection was probably the least of his offered evils. Even if the 'I know where you live, so BEWARE' looks kind of put Sam passed unnerving and straight into 'paranoid concern' territory.
But hell, if sunglasses made Kurt happy, then sunglasses Sam could handle. At least then he would have one person definitely pleased with him.
Yeah, he couldn't even include Sebastian in that category since their 'love-hate' relationship seemed to land more often on the side of 'hate', with only brief visits into 'tormented-amusement'. And Sam- it wasn't like he was exactly complaining about it, because he had known what he was getting into, but it would be nice to just pull a Mike and be an unnoticed-but-apathetically-accepted guy for a bit. Get a few lazy nods of approval, a little quiet acceptance as he pulled a dancing-in-the-back-oh-don't-mind-me thing, and got to just be part of the crowd.
Sam missed his friends.
And on that depressing note, Sam moved to his new usual seat on the back riser, leaving plenty of room for Sebastian's ego and his "Quarantine area of higher talent". Luckily, that little nugget of charm had only been recently introduced, after everyone had gotten used to Sebastian's usual levels of douchebaggery, and only resulted in some half-hearted glaring. Or, from Rachel, Silent promises of death.
Okay, so not everyone was accustomed to the regular flavor of Sebastian. In Sam's opinion, they were all the better for it.
Now if only he could get Sugar to delete her 'Shit Sebastian Says' Twitter handle, all would be well.
Speak of the devil…
"Ten more days! Ten more days!" Sugar cheered, dancing into the room in platform heels and a horribly bright mishmash of patterns. "Ten more days until prom!"
"As thrilling as your countdown was when it started two weeks ago," Santana began, slinking into the room with Brittany on her heels, eyeing Sugar's uncoordinated celebration with a mild look of disdain. "You really don't need to keep doing it Sugar-fly; we all have calendars."
"But aren't you excited?" Sugar didn't bother to stop spinning as she asked it, too busy dancing around in dizzying circles to properly celebrate prom's imminent arrival. Probably had something to do with the 'sparkly pink radiance of magnificence' she had been going on and on about. According to Rory, this was referring to her dress, but Sam was beginning to think it was a secret codeword for drugs or something, because she was wigging out. "In ten days we get to the high school equivalent of the Oscars-"
"Not even close," Kurt murmured, flicking through a binder of sheet music, Blain's chin resting on his shoulder.
"Where we get to wear sparkly-"
"Finish that sentence," Quinn warned, striding into the room with the quiet authority of one who would not be ignored. "And there will be no prom for you." She paused, being generous enough to deign Sugar with a bored look of warning, before she added, "And stop spinning. We have dance rehearsal today, you'll wear yourself out."
"Actually Quinn, Sugar's prom enthusiasm could be considered perfectly appropriate as we are reviewing our song order and selection for the event today," Rachel announced. She strode into the room the same way she attacked a song, with determined purpose and a bit of pizzazz, demanding attention and catering to it appropriately as she made her way to Finn's side. "Thankfully, it is the one time of the year where we are allotted enough time to indulge in all the solos a group of out combined talents would demand."
"Finally," Mercedes scoffed, sharing an exasperated look with Tina as they took their seats on the middle row. Mike followed in behind them, completely focused on what looked like a rather epic game of Fruit Ninja on his phone.
At some point, Joe and Rory had wizarded themselves into the room and launched into a passionate discussion with Blaine over dance moves (which didn't seem to be something either of them would be concerned about, and was thoroughly explained by the frequent glanced to Quinn and Sugar respectively).
Oh- and there was Artie. Which meant there was-
"You're welcome, by the way," Sebastian drawled, entering the room with an obnoxious swagger. It was something he did on a regular basis. The welcoming. The swaggering was also fairly common, but it was like breathing, and really didn't need to be acknowledged. "Though I will, regrettably, have to deprive you of my solo skills as Sam and I have prepared a variety of duets with which to entertain your uncultured peers."
Sam sunk down in his chair, ignoring the annoyed looks of Mercedes and Quinn, and took a new fascination in his shoes. Bad choice – they were the electric blue ones with another incomprehensible name that made Sam feel like a clown. He turned his eyes to the ceiling, pretending that he was very much a part and not a part of Sebastian's declaration. Pretending to be to make Dave jealous. Pretending not to because he had a limit of angry eyes per day and Kurt had just used his all up, and really, Sam hadn't gotten a say in their song selection. There had been a lot of glaring and prodding and vocal sniping until he had finally given in to Sebastian's 'superior' choices just so he could have like, five seconds of peace.
Dating Sebastian was exhausting.
"Somehow," Quinn drawled, drawing out the word with a weird kind of grace that somehow managed to remain both snooty and mocking. "I'm sure we'll live."
"Yes," Sebastian agreed wearily, his eyes taunting in a way that said 'I know this game and I play it better'. "Though it will be a life less fulfilled."
"Did they just get started, or is this thing winding up?" Zizes rummaged through her backpack as she entered the room, looking, no doubt, for her camera. She had a weekly webseries called Diva Fights that had solidly established her on Youtube. They would have put up more of a protest for basically providing a hundred percent of her content, but the Glee club was drama central and it wasn't like they could begrudge someone for actually trying to profit from this nonsense.
Last week's episode had featured a Mercedes/Santana tag team against Sebastian and 'the great shoe debate'. They probably would have won, but Coach Sylvester had literally swooped in (literally-literally, like she had a fly system rigged or something) from out of nowhere to argue the inadequacies of both sides of the debate, and it had pretty much ended then and there.
(The audience loved Coach Sylvester).
"Quick Rachel," Zizes continued, a 3 Musketeers bar shoved under her chin she had retrieved from the backpack's depths. "Say something obnoxious."
Rachel opened her mouth to protest, and there was a chance Finn was kind of shrinking back in his chair, as though he could stay out of it if he just folded his giant body small enough, but Sugar beat her to the punch.
"Oh, or Dave-" the brunette began, dance-skipping to the door where, surprise, Dave appeared in his remarkably stupid Bully Whips ensemble, clipboard clutched in one hand. "Talk about your prom king status!" With that, she turned to Zizes, who had finally discovered her camera, and was messing with the settings. "Sebastian's rants are always the best anyway."
"Hey, why don't we not-do that instead?" Sam offered. Pitifully, he offered, like a dying man wandering the waste, begging the heavens above for a glass of water if it wasn't like, too much to ask. "Not-doing that sounds better."
Because then he would have to deal with Pissy-Sebastian for the rest of the day, and Sam just- he couldn't, okay? He couldn't do that. The only thing he wanted was a giant bowl of ice-cream, his giant fluffy rainbow blanket Brittany had given him for his birthday (about five months too early, but whatever), and a marathon session of Avatar, Avatar extended cut, and every behind the scene featurette he could possibly get his hands on, followed by every Lord of the rings ever. He could really use some badass Rohirrim right now, smashing into giant orc armies with passionate shouting and their hair flying majestically in the wind. He needed it the same way he needed to finish working out the kinks in their Nationals' choreography, or the same way he needed to get through a day without an onset of overwhelming anxieties, and he needed it like, yesterday.
Except yesterday had been three days after the thing with Sebastian, and had been promptly wasted on other such trifles that revolved around not thinking what the fuck?
So yeah, let's not do that.
"Of course," Sebastian said, his grin transforming into this Cheshire thing that was nine-tenths predatory and one-tenth murder, so sickeningly sweet and charming that Sam would have fallen for its lurking evils had he not known the real Sebastian. "Let's talk about Prom King."
Dave – who, to his credit, had made a habit of remaining unaffected by most of the crap Sebastian did – barely looked up from the clipboard he was furiously scrawling across. "What about Prom King?" he asked.
It was asked in a polite way that any person with human decency would present at bare minimum. Sebastian either saw this and hated it monumentally, or he saw this and decided rather promptly that he gave no damns. Sam was willing to bet money on the first one. In that he liked money. A lot.
"I think we should shut the door for this," Sebastian said, nodding over to Sugar who was, to her credit, positively beaming at the oncoming cat fight. "If you would?"
"Hey, you know what's cool?" Sam said, trying to ignore the way Sugar leapt to do Sebastian's bidding because no, just no. "Song selections. Do we have a list? We should make a list. Cover all our bases."
"The polls are taken by a third party," Sebastian said, interrupting Sam's desperate attempt to derail the approaching catastrophe with an insincere look of sympathy. The smirk didn't help. "And as I have monitored Mr. Israel's progress, I can honestly say that the data he collects is entirely accurate."
"I'm pretty sure I was the one doing the monitoring," Artie grumbled.
Sebastian waved him off with a thoughtless gesture and deftly moved on. "So it cannot be said that you are, how do they say, 'fudging' the results."
Dave's hand stopped on the clipboard, and the teen looked up, meeting Sebastian with a steady gaze. "I am not cheating."
Dave wouldn't have known, because Dave wasn't fluent in Sebastian-ese, but there was kind of this small tell the brunette had that never boded for anything good. It was a combination smirk and finger twitch, the right index finger, almost like he was pulling the trigger to a gun. Which seemed appropriate, considering it was the combination smirk-finger-twitch that means you had said something Sebastian had been eagerly waiting for, and now he was going to verbally eviscerate you until that 'self-confidence' thing of yours was just a fond memory of the past.
Sam had suffered that fate before. It would probably happen again, he wasn't that smart a dude.
But Dave-
"I would like to propose a hypothetical situation," Sebastian declared suddenly, gesturing to the room at large. He was using his stunning politician voice, the same one he used when he greeted the clusters of socially-awkward girls at lunch that had them fawning over him easily; despite the fact they all knew he was gay. "For the purposes of this demonstration, I'm going to use the glee club and…Zizes, if it pleases you, madam."
The camera was trained on Sebastian's face with practiced ease. Zizes didn't even bother to look up from her view screen to nod in approval. "Sure, go for it Slick."
Sebastian smiled, nodding in was Sam supposed was gratitude. "As always, much obliged."
He turned back towards the rest of the room, taking pains to make eye contact with each individual as he proposed his hypothetical (verbal) situation (trap). "Let's suppose that Zizes is friends with everyone in glee club."
"You might be stretching the limits of our imagination," Artie grumbled, wheeling over to join Mike.
"And then let's assume," Sebastian continued, pointedly speaking over his glorified– if strangely compliant – henchman brightly. "That she has been friends with you since you were, I dunno, say kindergartners."
"But Sam didn't move here until last year," Sugar pointed out, helpfully, Sam guessed, though how the hell she had known that (being the reigning queen of self-absorption) was beyond him.
"Long distance relationship," Sebastian muttered wryly, not bothering to look up from her loud game of Angry Birds.
"She wasn't even friends with us for five months," someone – it was Artie, because Artie was the only one who could actually nag at Sebastian right now and make it sound like friendly banter.
"And let us suppose," Sebastian raised his voice above the comments, pacing a lazy line across the front of the first riser, arms folded behind his back like some kind of pondering giant. "That over the course of this life-long friendship, Zizes had accumulated a decent backlog of videos highlighting your antics." He turned his head towards Lauren, dipping his chin thoughtfully, referring to the very thing she was doing right that second.
Sebastian turned on his heel in a way that was an art form, precise and demanding, a kind of thing that exuded strength the same way a sergeant did before inspecting the ranks, control with no need for accountability. It was a movement Sam had seen on Quinn, on Rachel when she was rallying the musical troops and on Artie (though subdued) when he was directing. It was authority expected, refusing to yield.
And Sam would have wasted some more time being captivated by it, because distractions were pretty awesome for him right now, were it not for the fact that he always had a line on Dave.
Whether he wanted to or not, whether he was trying to focus on school, or glee, or not looking anywhere in the other teen's general direction, Sam knew the moment anything out of the ordinary occurred for Dave, because he was that kind of creepy stalker.
From time-to-time, Sam wished that Sebastian's schemes weren't so farfetched and convoluted, but then he was always automatically overwhelmed with exactly how hypocritical that was and went back to pretending he was a sane person with sane person ideas. It was a nice few minutes of his day.
"This is a waste of time," Quinn declared suddenly, rising to her feet in one graceful moment. "Sam's right, we have more important things to work on than entertaining this poser."
"Ah, but Quinn," Sebastian began, falling into the cliché of predictable bad guy as a way to cater to their lower intellects. Sam knew this, intimately. "I haven't gotten to the best part."
"Does the best part include creating our performance schedule?" Blaine asked. "Because if we want to stay on top of things-"
"Dude, why are you stalling?" Finn asked. It was something Sam had been kind of wondering about too, but hadn't planned on mentioning it because Dave's attempts to squash his panicked-face were kind of distracting.
"Stalling?" Blaine echoed just as Quinn murmured, "Shut up, Finn," and then it sort of became painfully obvious to everyone involved that Sebastian was actually getting to them. The fact that Dave's right-hand-man/woman were being got to, combined with Dave's concerned face, meant that Sebastian's was actually alluding to something that probably wasn't good at all.
Sam was torn between derailing Sebastian himself, and egging the brunette on. It was very conflicting. He wanted to protect Dave but that ass wasn't telling him anything, and even though there were better ways - more accurate ways - to learn things other than going through Sebastian, he was the only one talking so…
"And, in the hypothetical world," Sebastian continued with a flourish, recapturing their attention with a twirl of his hands. "That the glee club began committing some less than…becoming transgressions. Perhaps, being 'out of line', so to speak."
"We wouldn't do that," Rachel objected, looking as though she was about to rise to her feet to fight for this truth, but Sebastian was already waving her off, expecting this.
"All hypothetically speaking, of course." The brunette smiled, one of his dashing fakers that looked so close to the truth. "And if we continue down this hypothetical road, let's say that Zizes, in her infinite generosity, decided to use her catalogue of videos containing potentially less-than-legal activities to pressure the glee club to get in line." He paused, considering each individual of the glee club with a slick smile. "To adjust their behavior, so to speak."
"Question," Sugar jumped to her feet, waving one hand urgently. "What does this have to do with Prom King?"
Artie took this one, like a pro. "I believe what Sebastian is trying to say is that if Zizes had the ability to keep the glee club in line, it wouldn't be farfetched to assume she would also be able to get us to vote for her for Prom Queen." He turned to Sebastian, one eyebrow cocked. "Am I right?"
Sam wasn't going to pretend the grin that spread across Sebastian's features expressed anything close to genuine happiness, but there was a kind of victory in it that was, frankly, worrying.
"Exactly, Mr. Abrams," Sebastian murmured, strolling over to his new sidekick. Not to Sam. You know, his fake boyfriend.
"Hold up there Stringbean," Santana snapped her fingers, tucking her iPhone away into the pocket of her Bully Whips' windbreaker with a flick of her wrist. "Are you saying Dave's blackmailing people into voting for him?"
"Not at all," Sebastian replied with a smirk, crossing his arms with an arrogant swagger. "I'm saying that he's blackmailing his old cohorts into following the anti-bully message, and they've taken it upon themselves to vote for him as Prom King, lest they face his wrath."
"It's preposterous," Quinn murmured, rolling her eyes.
"It's also accurate," Sebastian replied, jutting out his hip just a little bit more to be especially irritating. "How else do you explain the glee club's sudden rise into apathy just days after they were the most hated group of individuals in the school? That's not the kind of thing that happens overnight, that was driven. Honestly," his gaze drifted over towards Dave, half-lidded with a look of almost approval. "I'm impressed Mr. Karofsky. It is a fascinating game you have woven."
"It's not a game," Dave murmured. His eyes were hard, but he wasn't denying it, he wasn't-
Holy hell, Dave was actually blackmailing people?
"Holy crap," Finn voiced Sam's internal monologue with a dazed murmur, staring off into the distance as the weight of Sebastian's accusations dawned on him. "Dude, seriously?"
"Doing bad to do good," Sebastian summarized it in a catchy enough way that it would stick with the rest of the glee club, his fingers folded together like a king surveying his prized treasures. "Remarkable, Mr. Karofsky. And yet, I feel like you may need a few pointers to solidify your grasp over your past cohorts."
"None of this matters," Quinn declared, emphasizing the words with a lazy tilt of her head. "So what, Dave's using some old videos to keep the rest of the school off our backs. The way I see it, that makes him a hero."
"No, that makes him stupid," Kurt interrupted, his face turning an unpleasant shad of red. "Honestly Dave, what the hell were you thinking? This makes you no better than them."
There was a chance Dave was going to defend himself, but Sam wouldn't know, because despite the battle strategy of 'keep it cool, keep it distant, keep spaz-free', the blond found himself lurching forward to come to Dave's defense. "That's not true," he urged, ignoring the annoyed glare Sebastian shot him in favor of staring down Kurt. "He's like, our guy on the inside."
Kurt, to his credit, shot Sam a patient look before turning his attention back to Dave and Quinn. "The ends don't justify the means Sam," he murmured, glancing over, finally, to Blaine. "Nor does selective-lying."
"I never lied Kurt-" Blaine began to protest, but Finn interrupted them, rising to his full colossal height in one swoop.
"Is this going to be a problem?" he asked, addressing the guilty trio of sneaky schemers with concerned eyes. Near the doorway, Zizes kept her camera trained on them, a satisfied smirk on her face indicating great joy at her own cache of blackmail material falling into her hands.
"It's fine Finn," Quinn assured, her voice as cool as ever. "We've got it under control."
"That's great and all Q," Santana began, her eyes hard and narrowed. "But why didn't you tell us? We're supposed to be a team."
Quinn didn't look even remotely apologetic when she replied. "The less who knew, the better. It was in everyone's best interest."
"To keep us safe, right?"
Based on the surprised and somewhat critical looks that earned him, Sam supposed he didn't manage to keep his voice as bitter-free as he had hoped. Which was fine, it was fine, but simultaneously it was very much not-fine because he was sick of this being the story of his life. He was sick of people – Dave – stepping in and making choices to protect him because he didn't know better, or wasn't smart enough, or wouldn't realize the consequences. He was sick of being treated with kiddie gloves, and he was sick of Dave pulling Dave-shenanigans, running off to play super hero, risking his neck with bigger and better things to do while Sam made an ass out of himself over something as stupid as prom. He didn't even really like prom. Like, it was cool, and nice to have that one time of year where the school actually wanted to listen to them instead of throw water bottles, but it wasn't the be-all, end-all of his high school career. There were other things.
Why the hell did he even waste his time? Dave clearly didn't give two craps about any of the stuff he was doing, so maybe Sam really was just-
But Kurt and Quinn and Rachel's sad-puppy-eyes-
Why couldn't Sam just be attracted to a nice lady-friend who liked his abs and marathoning Batman movies? Sam could handle that kind of relationship, he wasn't built for this kind of internal angst, he had limits.
Limits Dave seemed to be mapping out in his mind, pondering them with this stoic inspection of Dave-is-so-stupid, Sam honestly had no other adjectives for the guy at this point, this was all he had.
"Sam-" Dave began.
It was the first time he had specifically addressed him since Sam had gone to hang up Prom King posters the first time.
"Don't you 'Sam' me," the blond snapped, because apparently being hurt and annoyed turned him into a machine for clichés. "Why don't you- you know what?" Sam stopped himself, taking in a deep breath and screwing his lips together in what was probably a very unflattering expression for Zizes to capture on film, but he officially gave no damns. "Nope. I don't care. Do what you want, I don't care."
"Sam," Dave tried again. He looked kind of sad now. Just a little. Over his shoulder, Quinn looked kind of glare-y. Awesome.
"Nope." Sam forced himself to shrug. It was a very awkward, stiff motion that made Kurt wince. "I don't care. You don't owe me anymore of an explanation than the rest of the club."
"In the interest of cutting the dramatics," Artie began. "The rest of us actually would like to know what happened. If, you know, you don't mind." He aimed the last part at Sam.
The blond very maturely responded with a crinkled up glaring face. He was pretty sure Zizes snickered at it.
"Yes David," Sebastian cooed, because he hadn't spoken in a while and that just would not do. "Why don't you tell us your dastardly plan?"
It was a particularly poignant moment for the glee club as a whole.
It did not surprise Sam when Puck ruined it all of two-point-five seconds later.
"Hey, fun fact-" Puck burst into the room with the dramatic elegance of a limping water buffalo, not that his aloof expression would ever show any distress at this. "Whatever you losers are talking about is not going to be nearly as interesting as the dirt I have."
"Give it to me Puckerman," Zizes murmured, adjusting her shot to accommodate the room's newest occupant. "Give it to me hard."
Puck spared her a cocky wink. "As you wish."
"We're kind of in the middle of something here," Quinn huffed, and Sam would suspect she was both annoyed and kind of partially endeared by Puck's unsophisticated swagger.
"Yeah, and it's way lamer than what I've got," Puck replied, waving his hand distractedly as he held up a plain manila folder. "So sit up and listen well kiddos, Puckzilla's got the scoop."
"If this is about Dave's secret blackmailing scheme, we already figured that out," Tina said blandly, trying to be helpful.
"First of all, what the hell," Puck said, pointing one finger at his girlfriend. "And second of all; yep, mine is still better than that."
"In what way?" Rachel asked. Sam was honestly surprised she hadn't spoken more since this conversation had begun; there had either been some major restraint or shock going on over there to keep her silent for this long.
It was a mean thought. Sam didn't care, he was entitled to meanness.
"In a way that proves good ole' Sebastian's a bigger dick than should be humanly possible," Puck replied with a grin. Were Sebastian a lesser man, he would have fidgeted under the weight of the self-satisfied stare.
But Sam could only hope for so much.
"No, really," Puck continued, as though this were a crowd that needed to be won over, like they didn't have their own Sebastian-related fiery hatreds tucked away that they pretended to ignore. "I'm impressed."
"Hey," Sugar chirped – and really, what was with this chick, Sam had barely seen any of her for weeks now and suddenly she was a chatterbox extraordinaire, weird – clapping her hands together. "Sebastian was just impressed, we've come full circle."
"Amazing," Santana drawled. She considered Sugar with a sidelong glare, a glittery purple nail file clutched in her hands with threats of less-conventional uses for the item. "Now let the adults talk, I needs me some gossip."
"Did you find something interesting in my school files?" Sebastian asked, the perfect expression of endless amusement on his face. "My AP coursework, while daunting to the likes of you, I'm sure, is no reason to-"
"This is actually just a prop." Puck waved the manila folder in question thoughtlessly, cutting the brunette off with a few broad waves. "Suggested, of course, by my super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot girlfriend."
With all the modesty of a preening Rachel Berry, Tina waved a dramatic hand, and bowed. Beside her, Mike applauded. He was sickening like that.
"No dude," Puck continued, dumping the now-useless folder into the trashcan before folding his arms across his admittedly impressive chest. "See, I didn't need to look in your school records or anything, I just had a nice little chat with your Warbler buddies."
If Sam wasn't familiar with the feeling of unease, the way Sebastian's smile unpleasantly froze on his face was enough to make the blond educated. The brunette was doing that thing now, where outside he was all lax and loose and totally in charge, but his eyes were hard and- almost panicky, yeah, panicking- and Sam had a handful of concerns about that, because what the hell?
"Yeah, Sebass," Puck drew out this stupid little nickname with a cocky grin. "It's amazing the stuff you can learn by just directly asking someone and shit."
It was a brief hesitation, but Sebastian was already on damage control, his mask thrown into place with charismatic nonchalance. "I'm sure you misunderstood," Sebastian said, his voice at a pretentious lilt. "It would take no stretch of the imagination for an intellectually-challenged individual such as yourself to misconstrue-"
"Dude, there really isn't anything complicated about, 'He was a jerk to you guys, so he has to play nice'," Puck interrupted. He turned to the rest of the glee club, ignoring Sebastian's possible retort. "Turns out, the rest of the Warblers weren't so hot on that 'attempted assault' thing he pulled with the rock salt slushie. To prove he is 'worthy of the coat'," the finger quotes were implied, but Puck did them anyway, because Mike found it adorable when he was purposefully obnoxious and Sam was kind of sad he knew that. "He was to offer his services to us in whatever capacity we chose."
It was at that point the pieces started sliding together.
"Wait," Sam began, blinking rapidly. "What do you mean-"
"Yeah dude," Puck shrugged, and there was so much of this that could not be satisfied with a freaking shrug, but that was Puck for you. "You just happened to approach him before he could drag his sorry hide to us. So the Warblers are happy, because they think he's doing his job, and he's happy, because, well-" Puck frowned in Sebastian's general direction with a roll of his eyes. "He still gets to keep being an asshole."
"Which, if you think about it," Artie piped up from Sam's side and hell, the blond had almost forgotten about him there. "Explains his impressive restraint in rehearsals. At least, for him."
Sebastian, who had traded in the entertained air for one of haughty omnipotence, crossed his arms with a subdued huff. "Either way, I'm helping your ragtag cause. Does it really matter if there was some kind of hypothetical pressure for…goodwill involved?" He spat out the word with the same distaste he approached most of Sam's song suggestions and the majority of his original wardrobe, with the unhindered relief that the vile thing was finally gone.
"Um, it does to Sam, who had to put up with your obnoxious ass," Puck replied with the quick of one eyebrow.
And that was kind of when the rest of it fell into place for Sam.
It had seemed unreal at first, like it was happening too fast for the blond to be able to actually apply what was happening to himself, but-yeah, if this was Sebastian's punishment then-
"We have an arrangement," Sebastian was saying. "He receives benefits as well."
"I stuck my neck out for you," Sam murmured, still in a slight daze. Did a daze feel like there was cotton shoved in your ears? It was a lot like that. "You made me feel indebted for something…" The rest of it came together; the anxieties, the random attacks of self-consciousness, feeling like he was barely keeping his head above water in the whirlwind of Sebastian and his wit and his style and his battle plans that Sam had to dutifully follow along with because Sebastian knew better. He put his trust in this thing that was laughing at him the whole time, and while it wasn't exactly a surprise, that didn't mean he felt any-
"You son of a bitch!" Sam shouted, jumping to his feet in a fury so fine only Karofsky had been privileged to see it. He was vaguely aware of Mike and Rory grabbing onto him, holding him back, because he was too busy working the tunnel vision that narrowed steadily on Sebastian. "You made it out like I owed you; like this was some huge debt for doing something you were supposed to do!"
"Our deal-" Sebastian began, eyebrows raised.
"Help 'in whatever capacity we chose'," Sam snapped. "I'm pretty sure that would involve prom dates, you ass-"
"Sam, calm down." Mike was doing his best to make some soothing sounds, but it really kind of sounded like annoyed hooing and owls did nothing to subdue Sam's rage.
"No," Sam grunted, trying to struggle out of the hold as Joe joined in the fray. Across the room, Zizes was making a goldmine. "I need to punch him. His face must be punched and my fist must be the one to do the punching."
"Hey, hey, hey," Mike said, finally abandoning the owl noises. "Remember when I wanted to punch Puck and you stopped me?"
"You wanted to punch me?" Puck unhelpfully asked while Sam, very appropriately, growled.
"Yes, but I don't like Sebastian. I tolerate Sebastian and now his face needs to become intimately acquainted with my-"
"Sam," Oh hey, it was Dave again, with big apologetic eyes and both hands offered up plaintively, in an attempt to calm, with an expression that said he had misread the situation and Sam was about to suffer for it because Dave-is-so-stupid. "All relationships-"
"Don't you start," Sam growled. "If you want to join in with your bullshit be prepared to also feel the wrath of my-"
"Many, many punches?" Sebastian offered, deadpan. Someone looked a little too comfortably cocky, considering he was entirely responsible for Sam's frothing rage.
Beside him, Dave gave the brunette a look of what could be considered mild despair, and Sam officially did not want to be a part of this anymore.
He had wanted Dave to see he was willing to date guys, not to think he was head over heels for Sebastian, that was why-
Why did Sam have to have epiphanies at the least-convenient moments? He swore, it was like life was out to get him.
In favor of ignoring his despair, Sam latched onto his anger, focusing back on Sebastian. "You're an asshole," he snarled. "I never would have-"
Wait. Nope, nope, that wasn't anything he was ever going to talk about ever again. Not here, not with a camera, or with Dave, or with Sebastian, because Sam hated the fact that he actually was as stupid as all of these people had led him to believe. He should have seen this. He should have suspected. He should have known.
But Sebastian played the game longer and he played it better and Sam was just a horny dumbass who actually couldn't fend for himself.
You know, he wouldn't want to date him either.
Sebastian quirked one eyebrow at him, daring Sam to continue, to illustrate the full extent of his humiliation.
"Wouldn't have what?" Kurt asked. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Sam replied automatically. He kept the desperation out of his tone and glared at the floor, ceasing his struggles from Mike's arms. "Nothing happened, so I did nothing."
Nothing worth thinking about anyway.
If ever there was a look of dissatisfaction that trumped Kurt's reaction to the answer, Sam would like to see it, because it would be a freakish impossibility of nature indeed.
"Sam-" Kurt started, frown set at a perfected tilt of displeasure, his eyes determined and ready to spill blood for answers Sam had no intention of giving him. Or anyone. But especially Kurt. That seemed like a really good plan there.
It was almost a relief when the door opened.
It would have actually stayed that way, if Mr. Schuester's inquisitive gaze wasn't followed by the appearance of Principal Figgins, who was hanging behind the choir director with what someone might politely call cautiousness, and Sam would definitely call 'horrible distaste'.
Somewhere off to the side, Mercedes muttered something that sounded a lot like "Finally", which Sam could actually get behind, because they really shouldn't have been able to have this long a conversation without adult supervision. Sam knew Mr. Schuester wasn't the greatest chaperone of all time, but geez, get someone to stand in for you, why don't you?
Of course, knowing Sam's luck, it only made sense when the teacher's eyes settled on him with a concerned and overly-heartfelt look of sympathy. "Sam," he began, with all the dramatics of a person responsible for managing overreacting teenagers on a daily basis. "Principal Figgins needs to see you in his office."
His gaze swept around the rest of the room, possibly in what Mr. Schuester assumed was inspirational and leaderly, but only came off as strangely unhinged. "The rest of you can take the night off," he said. "We'll double our efforts tomorrow."
There were protests, or course. Most of them were from Rachel, a few were from Mercedes, and, of course, the sorrowful declaration from Brittany that dance rehearsal was never to be ignored, but they all died behind Sam as he breezed out the door in a detached haze, following on the heels of the principal while Mr. Schuester calmed the small masses behind them.
If he thought about it- and he tried not to, for self-preservation purposes- there could have been a few gazes that followed after him, some inquisitive or sympathetic or worried. Sam shut down on those feelings and moved on, one foot in front of the other, and noted that everything considered a mess in his life right now was really of his own creation.
Maybe Dave had a point.
Maybe Sam really couldn't think for himself.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Endnotes:
I mean, of course he can, and he will eventually realize this, but for the moment it is all angst-city central, with a little bit of angst on the side.
Still not on the super-predictable chapter of predictability, but hey, how about a nice detour into wrapping up plot threads, shall we? So this is the result of Puck and Sebastian's little information hunt of two chapters ago.
For the moment, Sam's just going to do that thing where he pretends the last chapter doesn't exist. It's probably not going to go well for him, all things considered.
Until next time