A/N: Santana's outing bothered me immensely. Kurt gets a season-long arc. Dave gets attempted suicide and a Very Special Episode. Santana gets outed – first to the school and then to the entire state, and it's solved within one episode about Lady Music – by the guy responsible for her outing in the first place? No, thank you, sir.

EVERYONE'S GONNA KNOW NOW

"You tell her, too? Everyone's gonna know now – because of you!"

"The whole school already knows. And you know what, they don't care!"

"Not just the school, you idiot! EVERYONE!"

"What are you talking ab-"

The vicious slap echoed through the auditorium, and the bell rang, and then everyone knew.

QUINN FABRAY

Quinn had always known.

The Unholy Trinity may not have spent much time together of late, but they used to be inseparable. Quinn and Santana had always had a strange push-pull between them; a ferocious protective affection for each other that swung so quickly to a challenging power-play and back again that it would leave them both dizzy and exhausted in its wake. Quinn used to think of them like puppies in a pack, scrapping to see who was in charge. Quinn usually won, but she was no fool. The day Santana Lopez really decided to bare her teeth would be the day Quinn went down. Lucky for them both that they loved each other.

They were all together sometimes, Brittany draped across the bed with earphones in, her feet uncontrollably tapping a beat, and Quinn would be doing a simple task, like braiding Santana's hair, and be suddenly overcome with a stomach-jolting, throat-searing rush of pure love for this proud, stubborn, angry, smart, hilarious, violent, loving, gentle girl that sat before her.

Santana would feel that, and look up, and smile with the same love, and then poke her and call her a bitch, and Quinn would call her Whoretana or Taco Bell, and Brittany would pull an earphone out and say they were both more stupider than even her, and they would laugh and hug each other and then go about their day like they hadn't just felt the earth change a little bit with how much they all loved one other. Best friends can be like that.

Quinn missed that now, missed Santana, more than she would ever, ever admit. Because somewhere along the line, the push-pull became push-push, and instead of one of them winning, they both lost each other. Now Quinn didn't know what to say to the proud, stubborn, angry girl who looked so sad all of the time. It just felt … like it was too late now. Too late to get it right.

Santana and Brittany, however – that had always been just pull-pull. Quinn watched them constantly; that was the thing about being the top of the Trinity, you know – it's shaped like a pyramid. You might be on top, but you're alone up there. The two people below you have to work closely together to keep you there, and Santana and Brittany knew each other the way blood knows veins.

Quinn made sure neither of them ever knew how intensely jealous she was of their closeness, or the fact that both of them would choose each other in a heartbeat before they ever chose her. She was envious of their easy affection and covetous of the way Brittany could joke or hug Santana out of dark moods when Quinn couldn't, or that Santana knew exactly what to say when Brittany was feeling overwhelmed or confused. She made sure they never knew, because she was Quinn goddamn Fabray, and Quinn Fabray sure as hell didn't want things she couldn't have.

Quinn watched as they pulled further away from her and closer and closer to each other, and tried desperately not to show how scared and alone it made her feel. She pretended not to care about private jokes. She pretended not to see them whispering in corners.

And when the day came that she passed Brittany's slightly open bathroom door to see Brittany perched on the edge of the sink with her arms around Santana's neck, and legs around Santana's waist, and Santana's hands up the back of Brittany's shirt, their lips pressed fiercely together, Quinn slipped away silently with blood rushing in her ears and a wobbly, sick, hot-icy feeling in her stomach, and pretended not to have seen that, too.

So, maybe it wasn't long after not-seeing that kiss that the push-pull became push-push, and maybe Quinn knew why; because playing second fiddle to a friend was one thing, but playing second fiddle to that was another. Sometimes … sometimes Quinn wondered briefly why neither Santana nor Brittany had chosen her.

Quinn knew, but she didn't say anything. To anyone. Ever.

ARTIE ABRAMS

Sex isn't dating. If it were, Santana and I would be dating.

That phone call. If he hadn't heard that, he wouldn't have suspected. If he hadn't suspected, he wouldn't have asked. If he hadn't asked, he'd still have Brittany. That damned phone call.

Artie had always had a problem with Santana. He didn't understand how anyone could just … get through the world the way she did: fists up, all vicious words and prickly snaps, yet still somehow manage to have people both love and understand her, Brittany most of all. Artie knew that even if he didn't have the protection of his wheelchair – the thing that made people pity him, coddle him, maddeningly talk down to him – he wouldn't be able to get away with the stunts that Santana pulled every day.

Santana reminded Artie of a cat; changeable, volatile, unfathomable. Come here-fuck off-love me-get lost-pat me-I hate you-no, come back-you're awesome-you suck-I brought you a present-give me everything-I love you-go to hell.

When he had to watch, during the year that he was with Brittany, the two of them with pinkies linked and whispering in each other's ears, and Brittany's hands casually on Santana's legs, and putting notes in each other's lockers, and Santana jealously pulling Sam and Brittany apart at Rachel's party (Artie didn't think that had anything to do with Sam), and Brittany's face lighting up on Saturday nights at Breadstix when she got a come over later text from Santana…

Well. Let's just say Artie always had a feeling, and decided never, ever to ask Brittany about it, because he still couldn't believe that she was his, however nominally.

Sex isn't dating. It beat in his head like a drum.

Then Landslide happened, and Artie couldn't pretend any more. He saw Santana stripped bare, so bare that he couldn't believe the rest of the room wasn't staring at the huge, neon I'M IN LOVE WITH BRITTANY sign that was flashing above her head, and he saw the surprise and love in Brittany's eyes, and then the hurt when Santana denied the song was for her, and he eventually had to ask - had to.

If it were, Santana and I would be dating. Boom, boom, boom.

That damn phone call started everything.

When the others asked why he and Brittany had broken up, Artie took all the blame and said it was because he'd called Brittany stupid.

Artie knew, but the shame of losing his girl to Santana freakin' Lopez kept him quiet.

Next chapter: Kurt and Blaine