Summary: After a prank gone wrong, the last person Sam wants to see is Santana. Too bad she's freaking everywhere, even in his dreams. Well, more like nightmares. Now Sam is struggling to stay sane and end his bad dreams

Pairings: Puckleberry, Brittany/OC. Hints of Samtana. Past Brittana and Klaine. Puck/Rachel/Santana/Sam/Blaine/Brittany friendship,

Warnings: No real spoilers involved in this. I haven't really been watching Season 3. But from what I've seen, I can guarantee that this story is not likely to spoil the show. I'm warning you now that there is violence in this chapter. Let's just say some dreams are finally coming true.

Disclaimer: I don't own this show or anything related to this show. If I did there would be many more songs featuring Santana, Puck and Artie. There would also be a lot more Mike and his wondrous abs. There would also be a lot less Finn and Kurt. Clearly I don't own the show. So my vision will just have to live on through my stories. *sniff*

Author's Note: Hello, my shiny friends. So sorry for the delay. We're in audit mode at my job and I've been a little pressed for writing time. Not to mention I finally managed to get my copy of The Sims 3 Pets working and I got an iPhone. So needless to say I've got nothing but distractions all around. So hope you're not too disappointed. Here is the final chapter!

Nocens Somnium (Bad Dreams)

It was getting worse. Sam thought that if he stayed awake at night, he wouldn't have to deal with the dreams anymore. He still held the somewhat childlike belief of 'out of sight, out of mind'. If he didn't have the dreams anymore, then he wouldn't have to suffer anymore. Perfect. Except for the fact that apparently his subconscious and his body were not in agreement with that idea at all. The lack of a proper night's sleep was starting to catch up to him. He found himself dozing during the daytime and waking up to very concerned friends, the need to vomit and a strong sense of self loathing and disgust.

As the dreams continued to invade his life, Sam tried to isolate himself from his friends. He wanted to keep them away because he was slowly becoming some sort of psychotic monster. He struggled to look at Rachel. When he looked at her, all he saw was her lifeless, tear stained face lying on the ground. Anytime Santana brushed against him, he remembered the shudder of pleasure he felt when he saw her crying. He also found himself trying to avoid Puck. He was finding it increasingly harder to deal with his friend. But Puck was naturally very concerned and very persistent on checking in on his best friend. Sam wondered if Puck would still feel the same way if he knew that Sam was dreaming about murdering his girlfriend and potentially torturing the woman he considered his sister… and enjoying it. Well in his dreams. In his daily life, Sam was fucking miserable.

The days of no sleep and horrible nightmares that were slowly creeping into the day hours were not conducive to helping Sam function. He felt like he was going to snap. This of course meant that his friends were closing ranks around him. He hadn't had a moment alone since he was released from the hospital. He was almost always with at least one or two of them. While he was grateful for their presence because they helped keep him sane, he was also terrified that he was one step closer to acting out his nightmares in real life.

Currently, he was lounging on one of the sofas of the Berry's entertainment room. His head was resting on Brittany's pillowed lap. Her fingers were carding through his hair softly. Rachel was on the other sofa, singing quietly along with the radio with her Nook resting on her upraised legs. Puck, Blaine, and Santana were sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a very convoluted game of Uno that seemed to be function on the principle of making up the rules as you went along. Naturally, this was not going to end well. Still, their bickering was comforting.

The whole scene was comforting. His friends were all in one place and not actively trying to kill one another (yet, he saw the telltale signs of impending UNO induced violence). It was warm, peaceful almost. But still not enough to stop those goddamn dreams. Thankfully, he woke before he followed through on the sadistic urge to hurt Santana. He lurched upright, shaking and grateful for the garbage can Puck placed wordlessly on his lap. He would later wonder why garbage cans just seemed to appear around him lately. First, however, he was focused on throwing up the bit of breakfast he managed to choke down that morning. He felt a hand on his back that was too small to be Puck and too hesitant for Santana or Blaine. And Rachel was just stepping back in the room with a cold washcloth in her hands. So Brittany… great.

"Sam? Are you ok?"

There were two rules when it came to dealing with Brittany: never be mean to her and never, ever, try to lie to her. Both made you feel like an asshole after it was all said and done. And both ended with you getting your ass handed to you by either Puck or Santana. Occasionally Blaine and Sam liked to volunteer for this duty too because, well Brittany was theirs too. At the moment, Sam was all too aware that he was still on thin ice with Brittany for his earlier transgressions against Santana. He was not about to add lying to that.

"I'll be fine," he tried to assure her in a steady voice. He handed the garbage can to a disgusted Puck and accepted the wet washcloth that appeared in his face with a grateful nod. He forced a smile on his face that fooled no one.

"Really?" Brittany asked, skeptically. "If you're fine, why can I see your ribs? You've been throwing up every day since you got out of the hospital. You're not sleeping. You're really grumpy and totally emo. So you're not fine. What's really going on with you?"

Whoever thought that Brittany Pierce was stupid was clearly lacking brain cells themselves. Brittany missed nothing even when you thought she did. He sighed.

"Really, it's nothing to worry about. Just crazy dreams," he finally admitted. He just prayed that they wouldn't push it. As usual with this crew, his prayers were not answered. He saw Rachel open her mouth but Puck cut her off.

"You know what you need, bro?"

"What?"

"To get out of here. You've been cooped up in the House of Berry for a week. That's enough to drive anyone nuts."

"Noah!"

Puck grinned. "Sorry, babe. But it's true."

"Puck has a point," Blaine added. "Let's go out."

Rachel frowned. "Right, because mixing alcohol with a concussion is really conducive to Sam's healing."

"It's not always about alcohol," Puck chided. "You're such a lush, babe."

His girlfriend glowered but Sam noted that there was still a thoughtful look in her eye. Finally, she exchanged looks with the equally concerned Santana, who shrugged in non verbal response. Rachel chewed on her lip before sighing heavily.

"Fine," she said, narrowing her eyes. "But you both have to promise to take it easy."

"I get why One Arm McGee over here has to take it easy," Puck started with a frown. "But why me?"

"Ask me that when you can make it through a sentence without wheezing," Rachel countered. Puck's frown deepened. Sam rolled his eyes. Of course the idiot didn't even know he was wheezing. He could almost see Puck trying to listen to his own breathing. He couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped his lips. Puck glanced in his direction and smirked.

"So where are we going?" Sam asked, still smiling at his best friend's idiocy (which was most likely the intention).

"Flynn's, where else?" Santana replied, already standing up to change. "We get booze and pool and Britt gets to mack with her boy. Win all around."

"You know I really hate that name," Puck commented absently. "Sounds too much like Finn."

"Yeah but they serve us alcohol," Blaine pointed out like they didn't have this conversation every time they went to Flynn's. "Just remember, the Flynn's are hot Irish dudes that are more likely to reenact Boondock Saints than sing lame ass Kermit songs about being green while Finn is a hypocritical douche bag still stuck in Lima, Ohio with no hope or intentions of ever leaving."

"Don't hold back, Blaine," Rachel grinned, with a teasing smile. "Tell us all how you really feel."

"All that 'Kick the Warbler' stuff he did senior year really fucked with your head, huh?" Santana asked, with a grin. Blaine glared daggers at them all before finally shooing the girls away to get ready. They weren't even out the door completely before the two boys were on Sam asking questions in rapid-fire succession.

"I can't answer all your questions at once! So one at a damn time."

Puck took a deep (wheezing) breath and started again. "There's only one question to ask. Are you still having the same dreams?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. He watched as Puck and Blaine exchanged concerned looks. "Don't tell me you guys think I'm going to go crazy and actually act out my dreams."

Puck's eyes flashed for a second before he reached out and punched Sam on his good shoulder. "Don't be a dumbass. We know you would rather poke your own eyes out with a rusty spoon before you hurt San. We're both just worried about the effect it's having on you."

"You're not sleeping. You're barely eating. And whatever you do manage to eat, you throw up as soon as you wake up from those crazy ass nightmares," Blaine summarized. "Maybe it's time we took this to another level."

"You want me to tell San?"

"Oh, hell no. We actually want to solve the problem not make stuff worse," Blaine scoffed. "I was thinking your doctor or something. This can't be normal, dude. You can't keep going on like this. You're wasting away, bro."

Sam hated to say it, but they were right. He was beyond exhausted. He knew he resembled a mental patient but he didn't know any other to handle this. Maybe Blaine and Puck had a point. Maybe it was time to take this to another level.

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll make an appointment for later this week."

Puck and Blaine exchanged glances once again. Sam frowned as they continued to silently communicate with one another. He didn't realize how damned annoying that was until they used it against him for the first time. Normally, he was included in their silent conversations but today they apparently decided that they needed to talk about him without using actual words. Perfect.

"I'll call Dr. Smith," Blaine paused at the blank look on Sam's face. "He was the doctor that treated you, asshole. Nice job remembering that."

"I've been a little busy for the past few days," Sam reminded him sharply. "So sorry that I'm not on top of that!"

Puck coughed before patting Sam on the head lightly. "And there's our little Sammy. I was starting to miss you."

"Shut up!" Sam smiling reluctantly, smacking his hand away. "Thanks."

"No problem," they shrugged in unison. "Come on, you know it takes you two just as long to get ready as the girls. It would be nice if we could get out of here sometime before the evening is completely over."

"Look, Puck, just because our hygiene and grooming patterns involve more than just sniff testing a shirt and running a comb in some half assed attempt at grooming our hair, doesn't give you the right to mock us."

Puck pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Actually it does."

"Jerk."

"But you love me," Puck beamed. Blaine rolled his eyes, punched their friend on the arm and headed upstairs in the wake of the girls. Puck then turned on Sam. "So Sammy, you plan on telling me what's actually wrong with you any time soon or we going to do the usual song and dance?"

"Why change a tried and true formula so late in the game?"

Puck narrowed his eyes. "So you admit that there's more to this than you're still having the dreams?"

Sam sighed. "Dude, I really, really don't want to talk about this."

"With me," Puck finished for him. "You don't want to talk about this with me. So that means it's like super bad."

"Pretty much."

Puck nodded slowly. "Sam, I know we joke around and tease each other a lot, but you're my bro. And you know if you need to tell me something you can."

Sam closed his eyes. "I know that but… I promise I will tell you everything. I just need… to figure it out first."

Puck stared at him for several long moments. For the first time since he met his best friend, the other teen was serious. There was no hint of the normal sarcasm or humor in the hazel depths. It was somewhat heart warming to know that he inspired that. Of course the moment was ruined a second later when that persistent cough became a full blown hacking fit. Sam rose to sit beside his hunched over friend, rubbing circles on his back to help ease the tension in his body. He winced at the harsh almost barking sounds and what definitely sounded like rattling coming from his chest.

"If I have to go to the doctor for my thing, you definitely need to go for yours," Sam pointed out. "You're not getting any better, bro."

"Fine," Puck conceded. "I'll go when you go."

Sam snorted softly and shook his head at Puck's continuous efforts to take care of everyone but himself. "Ok, we go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

Flynn's, not to be confused with Finn, was a bar that was located in what the locals called the "bad side of town". Sam never really understood this as the so called bad side was pretty much three blocks away from their high school and still a mile away from Lima Heights (also the bad side of town). Whenever he questioned it, he usually got a look of fond exasperation and an eye roll from Santana. Tonight he was too tired to bother questioning it. Instead he passed by the familiar alleyways and followed his friends into the semi populated bar.

Sam idly took in the few other patrons in the bar before his gaze landed on a tall young man leaning against the bar chatting with a younger man that was virtually his double. They had the same vibrant red hair and dark emerald eyes. The reclining young man slowly became aware of the newcomers in the bar and met Sam's gaze. A smile lit up his face. Though Sam was pretty sure that had everything to do with the blonde standing beside Sam. He also didn't need to look to know that Brittany was smiling just as brightly.

"Ah, if it's not my favorite losers!" Ian Flynn shouted as the six friends made their way to their usual table. "Come to sing again? Or maybe a rerun of the Coyote Ugly show? Never had as many tips as when you danced on the bar, Rachel."

"I don't think anyone is getting that drunk tonight," Rachel said, somewhat sheepishly. Sam grinned. That was a damn good night. "Sam is nursing a head injury and Noah is being a stubborn ass."

Puck's brow furrowed. "How come it's 'oh, poor Sammy' but when it's me, I'm a stubborn ass."

"Because you generally are," was the chorused answer. Puck pouted, slouching lower in his seat. Santana flicked his bottom lip playfully before whispering something in his ear that had him grinning. Sam didn't need to know what it was. He already knew based off the almost evil light in their eyes. Not to mention he'd spotted the group as soon as they walked in. Santana and Puck took almost sinful delight in conning stupid preppy kids out of their parents' hard earned money playing pool. And Ian, and his brother, Patrick, also worked at their family bar during the summers, were similarly amused by their shenanigans.

"Pool time! Later!"

With that the pair was off to their latest victims. Sam swore he heard Puck giggling. Man, they were like small children some days. He shook his head in amusement.

"Since I'm supposed to be good," Sam started once he saw he had Ian's attention. "Let me get two Pepsi's. One for me and one for the moron over there."

"Sure thing, Sammy," Ian replied with a crooked smile. His green eyes flickered in the direction of Santana and Puck who were now chatting with the out of place yuppies. Santana was absently twirling a piece of hair between her fingers with a vacant expression in her eyes. Puck was talking loudly and with his hands. It was all so over the top that he never understood how anyone actually fell for it. But they almost always did.

"I know I say this every time," Patrick Flynn said, joining them at the table, also watching Puck and Santana. "But I sincerely hope that they clean house with those assholes."

"They giving you a hard time?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Just flaunting daddy's money," Ian rolled his eyes. "I swear though, all the money in the world won't help them if they call us leprechauns one more time."

"Yeah," Patrick grinned, "everyone knows Rachel is the only leprechaun around these parts."

"I'm not a leprechaun!" Rachel squealed.

"Damn straight," Blaine laughed. "I'm still waiting for me pot of gold."

"Why do I continue to associate with you idiots?"

"Because we're better than Kurt," Brittany replied, with a nod as if that was the end of that. And it surprisingly was. One day Sam would get her to teach him how she managed that. It would definitely come in handy during the endless laundry day bitch fights between Puck and Blaine.

Patrick left them a few moments later to fill the drink order leaving Ian to slide into the booth beside Brittany. Sam smiled at the soft grin playing Brittany's lips as she leaned into Ian's side. What initially started as a rebound after she and Santana fizzled out for the final time was slowly becoming something more. Ian was another Lima transplant at the University of New York. He and his year younger brother had dreams of spreading the Flynn's bar to NYC. And Sam believed they could do it too. He was in a few of Ian's business classes and the guy was smart as hell. And from what he'd seen of Patrick, he was even better without the classes (though he would be starting in the fall). Sam knew they'd succeed. And if that belief stemmed from the brothers' promise that the former gleeks would have free drinks for life, well no one needed to know that.

Sam sat back in his seat, utterly content. Puck was right. He did need this. He was starting to feel better already. More human…. So of course, that's when it all had to go wrong.

"Hey!"

Living with Puck and Blaine (and occasionally Santana) gave Sam the benefit of knowing when something was not right. He recognized the barely concealed anger and signs of an imminent explosion in that one yell. He didn't need to look at Puck to know that he was snarling. He just knew. He was out of his seat and by Puck's side before Ian or Blaine could follow.

"Problem?" Sam asked, casually stepping into place beside Puck. His arm brushed against Puck's and he could feel the tension there. Yeah, he was about to explode all over the Abercrombie and Fitch rejects. Sam eyed the four very obnoxious looking men before him. He was willing to bet none of them worked a day in their lives and probably never would. They were trust fund babies who thought that the world revolved around them. Sam hated guys like that.

"Apparently, Preppy can't keep his hands to himself!" Puck hissed through clenched teeth. "A girl says no, it means no, asshole."

Sam's eyes flickered to Santana who was standing slightly behind Puck. He knew this was most likely because Puck pushed her there. But Sam also noticed that she was rubbing her arm absently. The skin on her arm was slightly red. He could only imagine the amount of force needed to leave a mark on Santana's fairly darker skin. And now he knew why Puck was so pissed and he was feeling that way too.

"I was just having fun," Preppy slurred. He was clearly the ringleader in this as the others were exchanging hesitant looks. That was the appropriate response when faced with a snarling Noah Puckerman. Preppy clearly missed out on self-preservation lessons.

"Have your fun elsewhere," Ian stepped in. "It's time for you to go."

"Oh, really, Lucky Charms?"

"Yes, really," Patrick's voice reached them from where he stood against the bar. His hand was resting on the Winchester rifle that was usually kept behind the bar for moments just like this. It was on the counter now and Patrick looked as if he was only waiting for an invitation to use it. Sam didn't know if it was loaded but he was reasonably sure that he was probably better off not knowing. "I suggest you gents leave or else I'll be introducing you to our pot of gold."

"Maybe we should just leave," one of Preppy's friends whispered.

"No!" Preppy yelled. "I'm not done here. I'm not getting chased out of here like I'm trash. Do you know who my father is?"

"Better question," Santana started, pushing Puck to the side somewhat, "is who really gives a shit who your father is, puta. Never mess with an Irish guy and a gun. Doesn't end well."

"For you," Ian added with a smirk. "I wonder if your daddy's name will help you with a few bullet holes in you."

"Probably not," Sam grinned.

Preppy's face darkened with anger. But his friends apparently had enough by this point. They started tugging on him and whispering with increasing panic. "Fine! But you haven't seen the last of me. Wait until my father hears about this."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I'm practically peeing myself in fear over here."

"Oh, wait, before you go," Santana called out as they started to go. She pulled her arm back and punched Preppy in the face. Hard. "You ever put your filthy fucking hands on me again and you'll wish Irish over there shot you."

Sam pulled Santana back so that she was standing loosely in his arms. His eyes narrowed as if he was daring Preppy or his friends to make a move. Thankfully, his friends appeared to have learned how to save their own skin and were pulling the still bitching Preppy out the door. There was a sigh of relief once they were finally gone.

"Why is it that you two can't stay out of trouble?" Sam chided, halfheartedly. Santana smiled widely. "Oh, right because your middle names are Trouble."

"There is a better question here, Sammy," she replied, looking over her shoulder. "You guys actually named the gun Pot of Gold?"

Patrick laughed. "Yeah, you hear the Lucky Charms thing one time too many and it just sticks. It was actually our uncle Sean that came up with it. He's a bit twisted."

Sam welcomed the release of tension. That is until he realized that he hadn't heard a word out of Puck in far too long to say that it was Puck. He glanced out the corner of his eye and found the reason why. He didn't know whether he should roll his eyes, smack the idiot or both. Because only Noah Puckerman would stand next to a group of people he called friends struggling to breathe and decide to stay silent.

"Noah!" Rachel cried as Sam steered the wheezing moron back to their booth. "Where's your inhaler?"

Puck patted his pocket before his eyes widened. "Seriously, dude?" Blaine asked, incredulously. "You left it in the car?"

"Didn't… think… I'd need… it."

"I swear I'm in love with a complete and total idiot!" Rachel hissed, reaching forward to steal his car keys. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try not to asphyxiate while I'm gone." Santana giggled and volunteered along with Blaine to walk with her to the car.

"Think... she's mad."

"Yeah, buddy," Brittany patted his hand sympathetically.

Sam sat down beside Puck. He tried to focus on the wheezy breathing beside him but his attention kept slipping. He tried to focus. He always had the paranoid belief that if he didn't focus on Puck during these moments, his friend would stop breathing. Despite that he found himself drifting.

"Just kill me and get it over with!"

She was begging. It was delicious. He knew he would have the bitch begging before the end of the night. It was unfortunate about the other one. He could've probably had fun with her too. He glanced dismissively at the forgotten girl crumpled at her best friend's feet. This time he saw the thing that slipped out of her hand. He recognized the red and white shape in a vague way before turning his attention back to his prey. She was beautiful and she was his. He was going to have fun with her.

The bar slammed back into focus as he forced himself to wake up. The thing Rachel dropped was Puck's inhaler. The inhaler that she, Santana and Blaine just left to get. He didn't know where Blaine was in this equation but he finally understood what was going on.

"They're not dreams, dude! They're fucking warnings!"

"What?" Puck asked.

"Britt," Sam said, continuing on as if he never Puck. "Stay here with Puck. I'll be back."

"Oh, yeah right," Brittany snapped. "You're having weird dreams and you say they're a warning and you expect us to sit here?"

"What… she said!"

Sam shook his head. He didn't have time for this. "Fine, but if you die on the way there I'm so not taking responsibility for that."

"Fair… enough…"

Santana had a bad feeling in her stomach. She usually felt comfortable walking the streets of Lima. After all, it was Lima, Ohio not New York. It was supposed to be safe. But she couldn't shake the feeling of dread as she and Rachel started back to the bar. Along the way there, Blaine got a phone call from Kurt. The two had only recently started talking again. She told him to take the call and meet up with them on the way back. He reluctantly agreed. Now, she was wishing she wasn't so hasty in telling him to go. She felt like they could've used the extra protection. Not that Blaine would've been much in the way of protection. Mostly, she wished Sam was here.

"Well, look what we have here."

Santana stopped abruptly at the too familiar voice. Preppy was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with that same possessive leer in his eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth lift at the sight of the bruise forming on his cheek. Puckerman Self Defense 101 did come in handy.

"What? You want Round Two?" Santana asked, congratulating herself on not sounding as shaky as she felt.

"I wonder what your screams would sound like," Preppy murmured thoughtfully. Santana felt her stomach twist. Still, she swallowed and grabbed onto Rachel.

"Too bad you'll never find out," she retorted, taking a few hesitant steps forward, pulling a petrified Rachel along with her. Her erstwhile potentially psychopathic admirer also took a step forward. "Look, you're wearing a shade of desperation that's just not attractive in a guy. So back off and get the hint. I'm not interested."

"And I don't care," Preppy countered. He pulled back his no doubt overly expensive jacket to reveal a gun. Santana felt the world drop out from beneath her feet. Seriously? This was fucking Lima! This kind of stuff didn't happen outside of the Heights. But here it was. She and Rachel were in some serious shit. She really, really wished Sam were here.

"Just let us go," Santana pleaded. She wasn't worried about herself. She was worried about Rachel who was shaking like a leaf beside her. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to Rachel. She was going to be on Broadway. She was going to be a star. She wasn't supposed to be staring down the barrel of a gun in some alley way in Lima because her best friend gave off slut vibes. "Please."

"No," Preppy laughed and pulled the trigger.

Santana suppressed the urge to scream as she felt the bullet slam into her shoulder. Oh, shit that hurt. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She heard Rachel gasping quietly beside her. She wanted to comfort her but she did mention that she just got shot, right?

"Oh, you're strong," Preppy whispered, stepping closer to her. Santana pushed Rachel back. "So beautiful."

"Please… just let us go."

Preppy's eyes drifted towards Rachel and Santana wanted nothing more than to have him looking at her again. She didn't want him to even acknowledge Rachel existed. Her heart lurched into her throat at pointed the gun at Rachel. His finger tightened minutely over the trigger. Santana closed her eyes unable to watch. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended. She heard Rachel let out another startled breath and then the shot was fired. She choked on a sob.

"San?"

"Rachel?"

She opened her eyes, confused as to how Rachel could still be alive. But sure enough there she was. Rachel's already big doe eyes were full blown with terror and she was paler than normal but she was alive. She was staring at Santana with concern evident in her eyes.

"San, it's ok. It's over."

Santana blinked in the direction Rachel was now looking in. She briefly registered Preppy was now on the ground. She didn't know if he was unconscious, or dead (she really hoped), but he was down at the feet of Sam Evans. He was flexing his shoulder and Santana could see that there were cracks in his cast covered arm. Brittany, Puck and Blaine were crowded around him staring down at Preppy. She recognized Ian who was mumbling into the phone in the background.

"Oh, Noah!" Rachel snapped out of her 'almost murdered' shock quicker than Santana thought possible at the sight of Puck still having trouble breathing. She was by his side, forcing the inhaler on him.

"Damn crazy midget," Puck murmured, pulling her into his arms. "You ok?"

"Yes," she nodded, leaning against him. "He shot Santana though."

Santana glanced down at her arm. Yes, she was shot. That was a problem wasn't it? She didn't feel it anymore, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

"San?"

She felt a hand on her chin. It was warm. Why was she so cold all of a sudden? When did Sam get so close? She looked into his eyes and saw that there was some emotion swirling there. He looked… worried. She remembered that his cast was broken.

"Your arm ok?"

He let out a surprised laugh. There was a smile on his face. She really did like his smile. "Yeah, San, my arm is fine."

"Oh."

"Hey, I need you to focus. You're scaring me."

"I am? Sorry."

"Yeah," he whispered, pulling her close. "You're safe, San. It's ok."

Safe? She was safe? She was almost… she didn't want to think about it right now. She got shot. She was supposed to be safe. She was in Lima, Ohio. She was literally two blocks away from the bar owned by her friends. She was supposed to be safe. But she wasn't. She wasn't safe. But now she was? She was confused. She decided not to think about it anymore. Instead she leaned into the warmth that Sam's body gave off.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I'm getting blood on your shirt."

"I know. It's ok."

"It's a nice shirt."

"You're worth the shirt," he chuckled and she felt the rumble in his chest. His arms held her tighter. She barely noticed that he was taking more and more of her weight. His lips brushed lightly against her forehead leaving a scorching trail in their wake. She was so damn cold. But the strong arms wrapped around her were slowly warming her again, from the inside out. Maybe she was safe after all.

She barely noticed as she and Sam sank down to the ground. She ignored the way that he cradled her body mindful of his injured arm. She only rested her head on Sam's shoulder and closed her eyes. Sam was there. Sam had her. She was safe. Everything else could just go to hell for the moment.

Sam paced back and forth anxiously. It had been two hours since the police arrived on the scene. One hour and forty five minutes since paramedics pried the too pale, too still and too cold Santana from his grip. One hour since he was finally allowed to wait in the waiting area with the others instead of the treatment cubicle with the annoying nurse that felt the need to lecture him on properly caring for his cast. Seriously, in a toss up between Santana and his fucking cast, San won every time. But now that he was free, he was trapped in this helpless loop where time seemed to crawl by slowly. One damn hour and no word on Santana.

"What's taking so damn long?" he snapped, continuing to stalk the room like a crazed caged tiger.

"Sam, you need to calm down," Puck ordered. His voice was a quiet rasp now thanks to the breathing tube he forced on him as soon as they all arrived at the hospital. Though he complained about it, Sam knew Puck was relieved that the wheezing was gone for good. "Bro, I get that you're worried but you need to calm down."

"I can't calm down!" Sam said, whirling around to face his best friend. The heat in his words died out as he took in the sight of Rachel lying on Puck's lap. The doctors initially wanted to keep her and treat her for shock but she refused in true Rachel fashion. She pointed out that she would be waiting in the hospital any way for information on Santana so any observation they needed to do could happen in the waiting room as well as in any hospital. The staff reluctantly agreed. Twenty minutes into their waiting, Rachel curled up next to Puck and was dead to the world thanks to the sedative Brittany slipped in her water. Let it never be said that they didn't look out for each other.

"The bullet went through her shoulder. So what's the problem?"

"It's still a bullet wound, Sammy," Puck replied, way too calmly for Sam's liking. "Don't worry, this is San. She's going to be fine."

"I know... I just… I should've been there."

"Dude, you were there."

"I should've realized it was a warning."

Puck gave him a skeptical look. "You should've realized that your horrible vomit inducing nightmares were actually somehow warnings that a preppy douchebag psychopath was going to target our girls and try to murder rape them? Yeah, that totally makes sense. You're right. You should've figured that out early since it was so easy."

Sam glared at him but silently conceded that he had a point. But that didn't help the tight feeling of panic in his chest. He wondered if this is what Puck's asthma attacks felt like. He couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to breathe… didn't think he would be able to breathe until he knew she was ok.

And then a doctor entered the room. Sam smiled slightly when he recognized him as Dr. Smith, the same man who treated him not a week ago.

"You guys again," the older man shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

"How is she?" Blaine asked, once he noticed that the others were struck speechless."

"She's lucky. The bullet went clean through and missed all the vital parts of her shoulder. She's going to be sore for awhile but she'll be fine."

"Can we see her?"

"Ordinarily I'd say no but she's conscious and she's been asking for someone. The paramedic who brought her in said it's her boyfriend."

Sam felt a momentary pang of irrational jealously. He knew Santana didn't have a boyfriend but that didn't mean he couldn't hate the idea of her having one.

"Her boyfriend?" Puck asked, skeptically. Sam noticed that his eyes were lingering on Sam thoughtfully. "You sure about that, doc?"

"Yes, the paramedic said it was the one with the broken arm that saved her."

Sam was stunned. "Uh, yeah. That's me."

Dr. Smith gave him a calculating look. "Yeah, I figured. Ok, follow me. You have about twenty minutes."

Sam nodded gratefully before remembering the others. Surely Brittany and Puck should be allowed to see her first. He turned to Puck. "Dude, shouldn't…."

"I swear if you even as if any of us should go I will sic Britt on you for a month." Brittany, currently snuggled into Ian's side, nodded in agreement. Sam's mouth opened and closed before he smiled.

"Ok, then. I'll tell you said hello."

San followed the doctor's directions until he was standing outside her door. She was still awake, staring thoughtfully at a spot on the opposite side of the room. Someone changed her into a thin t-shirt but he could just make out her heavily bandaged shoulder underneath the fabric. Her arm was wrapped tightly in a sling to keep her from moving the arm too much. The good doctor really did know them a little too well.

"We match," he said softly as he stepped into the room. A slow smile curved her lips though she didn't turn to look at him.

"You're a dork."

"And apparently, I'm your boyfriend."

Santana finally tore her gaze away from the spot on the wall to look at Sam. "That's not entirely untrue, is it?"

He grinned. "No, I guess it's not." He sat on the edge of the bed gently. He was all too aware of just how fragile she really was underneath all the things that made her Santana. "You ok?"

"Besides the whole near murder rape thing? I'm awesome."

The similarities between Puck and Santana were astounding. It also made it very easy to look beneath the layers of sarcasm and bullshit to the vulnerabilities below. He could see the tension in her body. He could read the fear in her eyes.

"I won't leave if you want me to stay tonight."

"You're only supposed to get twenty minutes." Sam rolled his eyes, pushing her lightly to the side. He then eased himself on the bed, letting her mold herself against his body. Her head rested on his chest and he could feel her smile against his skin. "Look at Sammy, breaking the rules."

"Eh, you're worth it." Santana didn't reply, instead snuggling deeper into his embrace. He rested his cheek against her hair.

He wasn't lying. She was worth it all. The ruined shirt. The potential chewing out from pissed off nurses in the morning. The nights of no sleep. All of it. Because it meant that she was alive and with him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Those dreams you've been having… it was about this wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was."

She nodded her head but didn't say anything more. There really wasn't anything else to say. He somehow was having dreams about something that hadn't happened yet and they weren't his own. He didn't know what it meant and he didn't really care. It helped him save them both and that was all that mattered. Somewhere out there, someone really loved him.

*The end! Whew, this one was a killer to write. No pun intended there. LOL. And I'm off to the million other story ideas I have floating around in my head competing for attention. Man, I can't wait for my vacation.