So this is the very end. And to be honest, I'm glad I wrote this because I realized I wasn't quite ready to let this story go either. But you never know – maybe I'll write a sequel… eventually. Warning: More F bombs than usual... I think.
Epilogue
"…by that little gay elf dentist. Love, Santana."
He expected this. Requested it, even. So all Sam can do when Santana's done with her tirade is smile and say, "I missed you too, Santana."
Because he did. He really, really did. His school in Kentucky didn't have slushies, but it also didn't have his best friend. The one who - by everything Finn's told him - was forced out of the closet not too long ago. But she seems like she's doing alright. She's got this goofy little smirk on her face when he hugs her and she doesn't seem all that embarrassed by him like she did at the start of the summer.
Yeah, it's good to be back at McKinley.
"Hello – Earth to Sam," she says, struggling to get out of his tight grip. "Either let go of me or I'll bring out the big guns: my entire notebook devoted to insulting a little movie known as Avatar."
"So Finn said that you two, along with Mercedes, just up and left New Directions," Sam says through a mouthful of pasta. The buffet at Stallionz was terrible compared to Breadstix. And he hates Breadstix. But he'll eat just about anything if it means spending time with his favorite couple.
Santana, right arm looped through Brittany's, snorts. "That little fucking fucker! He would tell you the SparkNotes version," she says.
"I love SparkNotes," Brittany comments. "My Language Arts teacher does too. He copy/pastes the quizzes. It's totally why I have an A in that class. Or maybe a B+."
"First stop Student Council President, next stop White House," Santana says, nudging her playfully.
Brittany blushes. "There's a few things I wanna do before we move to Pennsylvania Avenue."
Santana grins. "Anyway," she tells Sam, "we didn't just 'up and leave' as that grody cunt bitch Finn put it. Schue kicked me out like the first week! I practically begged to come back."
"Overdramatic," Brittany teases. "You did not have to beg."
"So then this whiny, bossy chick –"
"Sugar," Brittany interjects.
"Sugar Motta," Santana says, rolling her eyes, "got her daddy to pay for this second group and now we're the shit because me and Britt are the stars."
"What about Mercedes?" Sam asks.
Brittany says, "She's the one who recruited us. Hey! You should join, too."
"Part of the reason I came back was to help New Directions," Sam tells her.
"That's a lost cause. The Troubletones are going to rip you to shreds," Santana replies. "Besides, Mercedes is all about the TTs and I bet she'd let you in. Granted, you'd be the only member without a vagina, but that's one less distraction for me."
Seeing the look on Sam's face, Brittany adds, "She's kidding about the last part."
"I know," Sam assures her. "Santana still has a way of catching me off-guard sometimes."
"Like it's hard, Big Mouth Billy Bass," Santana taunts.
"Maybe I'd be more in the loop if you hadn't defriended me on Facebook," Sam counters. He'd pretty much stalked her profile so he wouldn't miss any relationship status changes until one day it had disappeared. "I barely heard from you at all, now that I think about it, except for a few texts here and there."
It's then he realizes something is wrong. That there's something major Finn hasn't told him. Brittany's refusing to make eye contact with either of them. She's got her nose scrunched up like she's mere seconds away from crying. Santana's just as visibly saddened all of a sudden.
"I deactivated my account as a precaution when the… when the commercial outing me aired," she explains slowly, as though the words would take the breath right out of her if she spoke too quickly.
"Santana –" he begins.
She cuts him off. "I didn't want friend requests from every lesbian in Ohio or guys like Josh Douchebag to add me. And it's because of Finn. I know a lot of people think he's some hero, but in my eyes, he's kind of the evil villain everyone makes me out to be."
She begins to cry and Sam feels guilty for ever leaving – even if he didn't have a choice in the matter.
"Finn sucks," Brittany adds while rubbing Santana's back. "So does Rachel, but that's because she totally gypped me when I made her clothing style popular. That wasn't enough money to feed my uncle's goat at all."
"Well, I'm here if you need me," Sam says. "I'll even chauffeur you around for old time's sake. Whatever you want."
Santana sniffles. "Mind taking care of the check?"
"Cheapskate," Sam jokes.
"Said the stripper to the heiress," she fires back.
She hasn't lost her quick wit, that's for sure. It's normally her defense mechanism, but it's all in good fun among friends. He's tempted to tell her that all she'll inherit is a house in the middle of Lima and a nanny with a penchant for blackmail, but he thinks better of it.
Instead he takes the bill up to the counter, but not without hearing Brittany whisper not-so-subtly to Santana, "When you said TTs it sounded like titties, which reminded me of something on my to-do list for today… you."
The next few days are a blur – he's got songs and choreography to memorize, Quinn tries to convince him to have her next baby, and he can't look at Finn or Blaine without wanting to punch either of them, but for entirely different reasons. He finally tracks Mercedes down in the hallway and she looks just as beautiful as ever, if not more so. She shoots him down, but it's a half-hearted effort at best, so he knows he's still got a chance.
The day of the competition he catches a ride with Rachel who drills him on every step and lyric so that by the time they reach the high school, he's ready to make a break for it.
Luckily the first people he sees are none other than Brittany and Santana. Rachel doesn't seem to mind that he barrels out of her car faster than The Flash, but he's out of breath by the time he makes it across the parking lot. It's times like this that he really misses football conditioning.
"You're sweating," Santana says with disdain. She takes a step back.
"That's too bad because I came over here for a hug," he jokes. "Anyway, I wanted to wish you luck. I know there's some hostility between our groups, but y'all are my best friends. You're gonna kill it."
"Thanks, Sam. Break a leg out there," Santana tells him sincerely as the three begin to walk toward the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion.
"Sam?" Brittany says as she threads her fingers through Santana's. "You should sneak backstage during our performance. That way you're the first person Cedes sees when we're done."
Brittany's advice pays off; surely enough, Mercedes has never looked more excited to see him and doesn't protest one bit when he sweeps her into a hug. But the Troubletones don't win and it's the most bittersweet moment Sam can recall in his lifetime – besides that day in August when he left Lima. He's a little too caught up in New Directions' victory to see just how disappointed Brittany and Santana are, but he does notice that Mercedes is frozen in place. But now's not the time to console her, as much as he wants to. It'd come off as gloating and he knows winning her back will take time.
It's not until after Brittany and Santana rejoin glee club that he speaks to them again. It's not like the summer where he spent almost every waking moment with one or both of them. It's a weird feeling.
Santana's the first to find him. Oddly enough, it's the exact spot where she also approached him with a job opportunity.
"There's one thing that's been bothering me," Santana says in that authoritative tone Sam knows so well. "You said you were going back to Tennessee, but Finn the Flying Fucktard picked you up in Methlab, Kentucky."
Sam slams his locker shut. "My dad's company had already filled the position by the time we got there. They didn't bother telling us. The boss's son needed a job worse than my family did, I guess. Or at least that's the only explanation I've been able to come up with."
"You could probably sue," Santana replies.
Sam shrugs. "Can't afford a lawyer."
"Pisses you off, doesn't it?"
He nods.
"Wanna go wreck some exercise equipment? Lima Fitness Center recently lifted my ban."
He laughs because it's so Santana. "You're only saying that because you're still upset about the Troubletones losing," he says.
She smiles. "Brittany says that glee club is like a family. And yeah, I've pretty much always been the problem child in that family, but I'm glad to be a part of it again. Even if it means I won't be in the spotlight as much. Besides, now that my best guy friend is back, we have some serious catching up to do. Starting with your hair…"
Luckily, he's spared.
"Santana," Brittany calls, "there you are! Oh, hey Sam! I wanted to talk to you, too. My car won't start. Jacob offered to jump me, but I said no because that's weird and I don't allow people other than Santana to do that."
"My license is still revoked," Santana adds. "Although I may have illegally driven to school today. Old habits die hard, you know."
"Let me get this straight," Sam says. "So even though Brittany could totally drive your car, Santana, you both want me to do it? I don't know, I think that might cost you."
"How about," Brittany says slyly, "we help you with Mercedes? Like, returning the favor and stuff."
"Yeah, plus we're totally better at this whole romance thing than you ever were, so it'll be a piece of cake," Santana claims.
"Something tells me you two planned this," Sam says, suddenly suspicious of their true intentions. He sighs. "Alright, fork over the keys."
But Brittany's too quick for him – she snatches the keys out of Santana's hand and holds them high above her head. "Last one there is a rotten egg!" she squeals.
"No Justin Bieber," Santana stipulates as they race out to the car.
"Whoever's first gets to choose!" Brittany says, but only because she's winning by a longshot.
It's like summer all over again - and that's not a feeling he ever wants to forget.
Maybe it's true what they say; everything comes full circle, Sam thinks as he turns the ignition and Santana settles into the backseat with her girlfriend in tow.