( puck/sam verse: lima gig )

[lormenari]

They're playing a gig in Lima, their first since they left home, and Sam has mixed feelings about it. On one hand, they sound awesome. It's familiar, this dingy venue, one of the only spots for live music in town. They played here a lot when they were just starting out. It has memories. Sam fell off the stage once and sprained three fingers on his right hand, which drove him crazy because he couldn't play for weeks afterwards. Puck once stripped onstage and threw his pants into crowd, then played the encore in his Star Wars boxers (Puck claimed he didn't steal them from him, but Sam knows his underwear doesn't just disappear from his room). They'd gotten in trouble with the manager for that one, but it'd been totally worth it.

On the other hand, it's almost surreal being back where they started. It feels like an entire lifetime ago, a lifetime Sam doesn't particularly want to go back to. He still recognizes some of the faces in the crowd, people they went to high school with who are still stuck here. There are new faces as well, the younger crowd - McKinley students with fake IDs. Sam used to be one of them, along with Puck; they came here all the time to see whatever band was nice enough to make a stop in Bumfuck, Ohio. There's one face that stands out to him, dancing in the crowd near the front of the stage. Quinn. Puck told her she could hang out in the wings during the gig, but when the show started, she said she wanted to experience it like everyone else does. She's the most striking presence there; sure, there are tons of beautiful girls in the crowd, but Quinn has always lived a plane above the others. Sam couldn't bring himself to get it up for a vagina even if he tried, but there's something special about Quinn, something that Sam knows Puck sees as well. She's dancing with her hair loose around her face, her arms raised as she sings along, and Puck's eyes keep gravitating toward her.

It's the end of the set, and Sam is sweaty and tired - tired from playing, tired of watching Puck and Quinn and their strange wordless communication back and forth during the gig. The buzz he usually gets from playing live, the rush of adrenaline and the pure joy, it's strangely absent tonight. He's just off, and he's been off ever since they've been back in Lima. Puck is hopping all over the place, yelling into the mic and thanking the crowd. Sam waves and slides his guitar off, setting it down. The venue is small; backstage is basically stifling since the AC is out in half the rooms, and all Sam really wants to do is hit the bar and get drunk.

"Hey," Sam says, raking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. "Do you wanna do shots?"

Comments

[but_idontlie]

Admittedly? The quiet's fucking awesome.

He can't remember the last time he was somewhere without Quinn or Sam; he can't remember the last time he slept alone, without Quinn wrapped in his arms or himself wrapped in Sam's. [He totally doesn't take the chick role when it comes to their bromance, but he honestly does like when Sam holds him.] He orders a few more shots from the bartender, just tequila because he intends to get drunk tonight and now's a great time to get a head start on that shit, watching his boyfriend and his girlfriend dance together to some slow stupid Journey song. [He feels like Mr. Schue must have requested it.] His foot doesn't even throb from the pressure of Sam's foot.

With a smile in Quinn's direction as she glances at him, he tips his shot glass at her before tossing it back, well on his way to being drunk.

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

Quinn puts her head on his shoulder, and he hugs her softly, swaying in time with her. He's glad he can't see her eyes anymore, because he recognizes the look in them. It's the same way he knows he looks when he thinks about Puck, when he looks at him, when he talks about him. Quinn and him? Exactly the same. In love with the same guy. And Sam almost envies her right now for not knowing a thing about what's really going on. "That promise ring I gave you was the cheesiest thing ever. But this one's nice. Puck must've..." He swallows hard, smoothing a hand down her hair. That first night, when he was alone in the house, Puck was giving Quinn a ring. "He wanted to make you feel really special." His eyes feel wet. Puck didn't even tell him. Not that he needed to - whatever he does with Quinn is his own business - and Quinn said herself that it's not a promise ring or anything, or at least she doesn't think it is. But his chest still feels tight, and his face feels hot, and he's not nearly drunk enough for this.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't, um... I'm not good at dancing," Sam says, pulling back abruptly. "I'm just tired from our set. I need a drink." He leaves her on the dance floor with a mumbled apology, and his vision blurs as he makes it back to the bar. He wipes his eyes and grabs a shot glass, not even bothering with salt as he throws it back. He wipes his mouth, then wipes his eyes hastily, looking at Puck. "Go dance with her, okay? She's your girlfriend, don't just leave her out there." He grabs another shot, ignoring the way his eyes prickle with tears again. The tequila makes him shudder, and he bites into a lime wedge. "Go, Puck, okay? Just go, please."

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

What Sam said at first warmed Quinn's heart because - for the most part - she thought he really cared about her feelings, about how Puck felt about her. But then Sam was pulling away from her and she swore she saw tears in his eyes, but he was already walking away and she stood there awkwardly, arms down at her sides. She felt like she'd done something wrong or maybe he was mad at her and she didn't even know why. Maybe she said something or just looked at him wrong and he took it the wrong way. If he was angry with her, she didn't want to be around him. She didn't want to piss him off even more.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she didn't even look over at Puck, which Sam was beside again and she just turned, tears in her own eyes now. She felt like Sam was her best friend, her brother and he was clearly upset. She isn't stupid. She headed for the nearest exit and Sam and Puck could just have a guy night and hang out. She'd just stay at home, watch some TV and go to sleep. Whatever.

[but_idontlie]

He watches them over the rim of his bottle of beer; he'd switched after his last shot, sipping it slowly and watching them. All is well. Sam's dancing with Quinn, and her head is on his shoulder, and they're talking softly to each other. Anyone would see them and assume that they're a couple, or best friends.

Quietly, all hell breaks loose. Sam stiffens, standing straight and pulling away before heading back to the bar with his head hanging. Quinn stands, shell-shocked in the middle of the floor, before turning and heading for the exit. "The fuck?" he hisses when Sam reaches him. Go dance with her. "She's fuckin' leaving, I'm gonna go get her and fix this shit." He can't leave the club without getting his things from backstage; he won't be able to leave entirely, but he needs to fix whatever the fuck happened out there on the dance floor.

"Babe," he calls, shaking his head, sending a half-confused, half-exasperated glance in Sam's direction. He follows her, catching up to her just outside the exit; he wraps his fingers around her elbow and tugs her close. "Babe. Stop, Q. What happened?"

Wow. Yeah... I forgot about this.

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

Quinn stopped when Puck took hold of her arm and she sniffled, shaking her head. "I feel like Sam hates me. Everything was fine and then he just said he couldn't.. and I swear I saw tears. What did I do wrong? I haven't been rude or anything to him!" She couldn't understand why Sam would be crying, if he even was. But she swore it looked that way or looked like he was about to. She honestly felt like someone she considered her best friend was angry at her for no reason at all or no reason she knew or understood.

[but_idontlie]

With a low exhale, he pulls her against his body, wrapping his arms around her body and tucking her head beneath his chin. "Quinn, it's okay, okay? Relax. Sam's... going through some shit, okay? We both are. We're trying to write and still trying to do gigs, and we're coming off the fucking tour and we still have to fly out to record when we get enough material for an album or an EP. And I think it's still kind of hard for him to see us together 'cuz now we're living together, you know? That's why I always stay at your place." It's entirely true, although Sam's issue is more one of wanting Puck than wanting Quinn. But he leaves it at that; his hands smooth over her hair, and he kisses her forehead gently. "Look, let me grab my shit and tell Sam I'm gonna take you home, okay? I'll come back for him after 'cuz he's gonna be drunk." There's so much that he can't explain, even to himself. What does he say? I love Sam, and Sam loves me, and I love you, too, and we can't deal with this. There's really no other way to explain it.

He pulls away gently, his hands sliding down her forearms to tangle his fingers with hers. Oh, shit. "Babe?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light. "Sam ask about your ring?"

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

She just nodded, sniffling against his chest. She was sure Sam didn't like her, not like that anymore. She never got that vibe anymore and she was pretty damn sure she'd get some kind of vibe if Sam was still interested in her. It had been years, he had to of gotten over her by now. Seriously. "Okay, just hurry, okay? I just want to get out of here. I just want to be with you," she whispered.

When Puck pulled back, she glanced down at her right hand, nodding. "Yeah, he did. He asked if it was a promise ring and I said I was pretty sure it wasn't. I told him you gave it to me our first night together again." She slowly raised her gaze to look up at him. "Why does it matter if he asked about the ring?"

[but_idontlie]

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He'll need to talk to Sam about this, but - right now - it's all about damage control. "I don't know, babe," he murmurs, "and, I mean, like, don't quote me on this or anything, but maybe Sam's just trying to give us some space, you know? Maybe he feels that way but wants to respect what we have, and kind of freaked out at the ring. I didn't tell him I was giving it to you or anything. He didn't know I had it. So, if he found out I gave it to you, maybe he's freaking out, you know?" He exhales. "I'm sorry, babe, okay? I'll grab my stuff and take you home, but I gotta come back and grab Sam. Good thing I, like, only did a couple shots. Unless you wanna take a cab and I'll meet you there...?" He drops slow kisses over her temple and the side of her face, his lips trailing over her cheekbone. "We're cool, okay? I'll figure this shit out with Sam tomorrow."

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

"I'll drive us to my place and.. why can't Sam get a cab? I love him and everything, but I kind of don't want you to leave once we're at my place. Please, Puck?" Yes, she was practically begging him, but she felt Sam was a big boy. Either he could call himself a cab or someone there could call a cab for him. She just wanted the whole night to Puck and herself, no interruptions. She even gave him the big green doe eyes, which was a 50/50 chance of working.

[but_idontlie]

"I know, baby," he cajoles apologetically with another kiss to her forehead. "I gotta make sure he gets home safe and doesn't do anything fuckin' stupid, okay? He did it for me a ton when we were on tour. He totally rescued my pants from this homeless dude, too. He's my best friend, and... I'll get him home and then I'll head over, okay?" Pressing his forehead to hers, he lightly kisses her lips. "Maybe I'll get lucky and my girl's gonna be waiting in a bubble bath for me?"

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

She sighed, slightly angry with the whole situation now, which was obvious with the look on her face. Sam was more important now, that was clear as day. Fine, friends above girlfriends. Whatever. "Yeah, your best friend. Just.. come over if you feel like it, alright? Wouldn't want to take your time away from Sam." She rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, turning to walk away. Here she was, upset, thinking she hurt Sam. She needed Puck, she just wanted him to be around her, but he was obviously more concerned about Sam. Someone who was more than able to take care of himself and maybe he shouldn't get drunk if he couldn't handle it. She was pissed.

[but_idontlie]

"Quinn," he half-growls as she pulls away, "Come the fuck on. I'll be there, I'm just gonna get him and get our shit and drop it all back off at home, okay? It's not like we're gonna stay home all night and paint our fucking nails and shit. Let me take care of this and then I'll stay with you. Keep you up all fucking night."

[hadtimeofmylife.livejournal.com]

She waved a hand in his general direction that basically meant 'do what you have to do. come over if you want. whatever.' She was pissed and she wasn't in the mood to argue with him right then and there. She suddenly felt like now his friend was above her and she didn't like that feeling. She didn't like feeling she was second in his life. She had felt horrible enough knowing he was screwing groupies and now that he said he was done with that, Sam seemed above her. It didn't sit well with Quinn at all.

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

Sam doesn't know how many shots he's downed, but he's tanked. He's sprawled on his stool, slumped on the bar with his head half resting on one arm, the other idly grasping at the empty shot glasses around him. The fucking bartender told him he wasn't giving him any more. He resents that, like Sam can't take care of himself. He's always taken care of himself, and his family too at one point in his life. He's the very picture of responsibility, except for right now, because he's not sure he can take two steps without planting his face into the grimy floors. Which is why his ass is not leaving this stool until someone (Puck) forcibly carries him home. Or drives. Whatever. His brain is a little foggy.

Speaking of Puck, he's still talking to Quinn just outside the exit. If Sam cranes his neck, he can see the corner of Puck's elbow as he talks animatedly to his beautiful, perfect girlfriend who's wearing a ring that Puck gave her on the first night that Puck left him alone since they moved back to Lima. He didn't tell Sam he was giving her a freaking ring, and Sam doesn't care that it's not an engagement or promise ring, it's still a ring and it means something. Means that Puck loves her enough to buy her meaningful shit. Sam doesn't think he's drunk enough because he can still feel the ache in his chest.

He runs his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling leftover tears cling to his lashes. He's not gonna cry out here in front of everyone, except he totally is because his eyes are warming up again, and Puck is still talking to Quinn, and he's out here by himself, and Puck is probably super annoyed with him for bailing on Quinn, but he didn't want to dance with her in the first place, so this is all Puck's fault anyway. All of this is Puck's fault. It's Puck's fault that Sam fell in love with him. It's Puck's fault the bartender won't give him anymore shots.

Everything is Puck's fault. Sam groans to himself, sliding his hands into his hair. Puck's probably not even coming back for him. He should get up and find his stuff and walk home. Or something. He can hitch a ride with someone. Walking sounds too hard right now. He just wants Puck to come back and put his arms around him and take him home and let Sam fall asleep on him. Sam scrubs at his face again. He needs to pee. He needs Puck to hurry up and get here so he can carry him to the bathroom and maybe have a breakdown on the bathroom floor because Puck loves Quinn, and eventually he's going to have to come to grips with it.

[but_idontlie]

Let's recap the night so far.

Sam's pissed at him.
Sam's getting drunk, if he's not there already.
Sam made Quinn cry.
Puck chased Quinn, soothed her, and then said that he had to bring Sam home - but then he'd go to her place.
Quinn got pissed.
Sam's drunk.

Fucking fantastic.

"I'll call you when I get him home, and then you tell me if you wanna see me tonight," he finally says, exasperated, as Sam nearly falls off the bar stool, looking like shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. "If you decide you wanna come over, that's where I'm gonna be." And Sam's gonna sleep in his motherfucking room for once. "It's your call." He kisses Quinn's forehead quickly, murmuring, "Love you," in her ear [he's said it before, it's not like that's the first time] before turning and heading toward Sam.

"What the fuck, seriously," he growls, bumping Sam with his shoulder as he slides onto an empty bar stool. "She's fuckin' pissed at me 'cuz I wouldn't just leave your drunk ass here. We're going the fuck home, so get your shit together so I can get you in the car and come back for our gear." He shakes his head. "I try to be a good guy and I can't fucking win. Dude, you know how much this sucks." For all of us.

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

Puck's back and he's saying something about shit and car and winning. Sam looks at him with big sorrowful eyes, slumping against Puck's shoulder. "I didn't do anything," he whines, his words slurring together. "You made me dance with her. I didn't wanna. Then she told me all about the fancy ring her big strapping boyfriend got her while his equally attractive boyfriend sat at home by himself. I didn't make Quinn cry either. I didn't do anything to her. What did you tell her?"

Sam grabs an empty shot glass and holds it in front of Puck's face. "Look. The bartender won't give me anymore shots. Tell him I need more. I need to pee. Just take me home, I want to sleep on you." The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the floor, leaving Sam dumbfounded as he stares at the shards. "I'll clean this up." He gets off his stool, then promptly falls. He breaks his fall with one hand, then hisses as a piece of glass slices his finger. Sam holds up his hand for Puck to see, watching blood well up in the shallow cut on his index finger. "Ow. I'm sorry. Puck, I'm sorry." Sam swipes his free hand over his eyes, sighing shakily, leaning his back against the bar, still sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry about Quinn even though I didn't do anything. I'm sorry this is so hard. I wish I could be enough for you, but I can't, so I'm sorry. I won't mess things up for you and Quinn. I promise. You're a good man, Puck." Sam looks down, his vision blurry with tears as he wipes his bleeding finger on his shirt. He can sleep under the bar tonight. He can't picture a scenario in which he actually gets up and walks far enough to get to Puck's car. The room is spinning and he just wants to crash.

[but_idontlie]

Sam is fucking drunk, and his night went from good to bad to worse because now he has to figure out how in the fuck he's going to get Sam home without Quinn wanting to rip off his balls and bury them in the backyard.

Shit wasn't this complicated in high school when he was doing, like, five people at the same time.

"Not here," he growls in Sam's ear, the bartender grimacing as he watches, slapping a napkin and an ice cube on the bar in front of them before coming out from behind the bar with a broom and dustpan. Puck takes the ice cube and wraps it in the napkin, pressing it against Sam's finger and squeezing tight. "Get your ass up, we're going home." He squats, wrapping an arm around Sam's ribs and hauling him up to stand with a grunt. "I'm getting your ass to the car and then coming back for our shit and you're gonna stay there. Motherfucker. The fuck am I, everybody's mother?"

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

"Don't wanna go," Sam says, whining again as he stumbles alongside Puck, his hand held against his chest with the ice and napkin. "I can help you get our stuff. Where's Quinn? Why did you buy her a ring? Stop walking so fast. Puck, are you mad at me?" Sam leans over and tries to lick Puck's ear. "Don't be mad at me. I love you. Please. You're a jerk. Let's go home and sleep." The cool night air hits Sam when they finally get outside, making him feel slightly less nauseous. "Did Quinn go home? Did she leave because of me?" He stops talking when he gets dumped unceremoniously into Puck's car, but only for a moment. He grabs Puck's arm and tries to pull him inside with him. "Come here. I miss you. You're so hot."

[but_idontlie]

"You're fucking drunk and I'm taking your ass home. You can't even fucking walk," Puck half-mutters, half-growls, still hugging Sam around the ribs and nearly dragging him out to the car. He doesn't fucking care if Sam doesn't want to go, and he flinches when he feels the press of Sam's tongue to his ear in a moist swipe, the slurred murmurs of love that he really can't hear right now. Puck doesn't answer any of the questions; he tosses the keys to the bouncer following them, who opens his truck helpfully so that he can shove Sam inside.

He pulls away as Sam tries to lean for him, nearly falling out of the truck in the process. "Fucking stay in there," he gasps, raking his hands over his close-cropped hair. "I'm going to get our shit and then I'm taking you back to the house. We'll deal with shit there." He's angry, and uncertain, and feeling fucking trapped because any decision he makes is going to result in somebody getting hurt, somebody unhappy, somebody feeling the sting of betrayal and he's this close to dumping Sam off at the house and just showing up at his mother's to sleep.

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

Puck looks a little manic, or at least Sam thinks he does. The world is still tilting all around him. "You're mad, I know. I'll make you feel better. With my mouth." He smiles sloppily, then closes the door because he needs something to lean on. He opens the window and dangles his arm out, his fingertips brushing Puck's stomach. "Hurry up and come back, I have a great idea for us. I can drive us home." He scoots into the driver's seat, but he doesn't have the keys so he just rests against the steering wheel and closes his eyes. He's sleepy, but he needs to stay awake so he can tell Puck his Super Awesome Plan that'll end all their hiding. "Hurry up. I miss you already," he mumbles. "I love you more than Quinn, okay? I do."

[but_idontlie]

It takes him two trips to load everything into the truck, because he's not only having to grab his shit and maneuver it out of the club, but he also needs to go back for Sam's. He does his best to outright ignore Sam and the way he's nearly melting into the seat of his truck, hoping that he doesn't vomit [he doesn't let people puke in his truck, no way in fucking hell... and the one time that happened was when Quinn was pregnant, so she got a pass on that].

Plans made when drunk are never Super Awesome; they're always Super Stupid, and he smacks the glass of the driver's side window to startle Sam when the truck is loaded up and they're ready to get out of there. [But first, he takes a picture of Sam, sprawled out half-drooling and dazed against the window, just in case he needs to quickie-text it to Quinn later as an explanation of why he's not at her place.] "Hey!" he barks sharply. "Move your ass over." He could shove Sam into the passenger seat, but that would involve first opening the door, and he doesn't want roughly 180 pounds of Sam falling out of the truck and onto him. [Okay, to be fair, he doesn't want Sam to hit the pavement, either.]

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

The sound of Puck's palm against the window makes Sam look up, and he smiles when he sees Puck, reaching up and pressing his own hand against the glass. "High five me." He forgets about it within the next few seconds, unlocking the door and opening it, and only almost tipping out of the car before he rights himself and scoots over to make room. "Hi." Puck slides in, and Sam snuggles against him quickly, planting a wet kiss on his arm.

"Listen to my idea, okay? It's awesome. Just turn on the car..." Sam grabs Puck's hand and sloppily places it on the steering wheel. "And drive. That's it! That's my whole plan. Isn't it awesome? But there's a part two. Are you ready for part two?" Sam doesn't wait for Puck to reply. He sits up and scuttles back into the passenger seat, grabbing his seat belt and taking a few moments to buckle it. He looks up and beams. "Part two is this. We keep driving. Like, all the way out of Lima and somewhere way less lame. We just drive and drive and drive, forever, and we never settle down because settling is for lame people, and we kiss a lot, and we can be together all the time, and we don't have to hide anymore because we'll go places where no one knows who we are. I'm totally okay with it, it'll be perfect. It'll be like an extended tour, except it'll be forever. And then I won't be sad anymore because I won't have to share you, and you don't have to worry about Quinn finding out about us because you can break up with her, right? Because I love you more than her anyway, and I love you enough that I can leave everything in my life behind if it means I get to be with you all the time. It's awesome, right? You would do it for me too, right? Because you love me? Right? Puck? Can we do it? Can we just go? Please? If you say yes, you don't have to explain about the ring or anything. I'll forget it. I don't care about anything but being with you."

[but_idontlie]

That first epic night of just you and me at the hotel began with both of them drunk; Puck had been the random drunk and Sam had been the angry drunk, which reminded him weirdly of Santana the night of Rachel's slightly-less-epic party. Now, Sam is the happy-giddy-random-love-professing drunk, and Puckerman... really just wants to drop Sam off at home and crash at Puckermom's for the night. [Is it worth pissing off Quinn and likely Sam? He's still trying to decide.] High five me! Uh, hell to the no. As soon as he climbs into the truck, Sam is on him, pressed to his side with lips dragging over his bicep. "No. Fuck, no, dude," he growls, exasperated. He pulls his hand away from the steering wheel - gotta put the keys in the ignition and turn the truck and the headlights on, bro - and Sam is just way too fucking happy as he throws the truck into reverse and steps on the gas.

"We can't fucking do that," he says shortly, because any part of Puck that might have laughed and hugged Sam is no longer present; he's just irritated that what could have been a fun night turned into something that might require a beer and/or some painkillers to knock the headache he's pretty sure he'll have when this is all said and done. "We have to work to fucking feed ourselves and we can't just hide and shit. I can't do this shit now, okay? I'm bringing you home. You can sleep this off or whatever. Just don't puke in my bed." His concentration is on the road, and the fact that Sam is currently buckled into the passenger seat and has the fine motor skills of a sugar-laden preschooler is one of the few things relaxing him at the moment. Ain't no way Sam's getting out of that seat belt without assistance. Nope. Because you love me? Right? "Yeah, I fuckin' love you, but we can't do that," he repeats, his voice gentler.

[lormenari.livejournal.com]

Puck shoots him down so abruptly that Sam just sits still and blinks for a few moments, processing. His idea is so good. What's the problem? "We can work. Like, we can get jobs along the way, and we can sing for people. We can perform roadside. Come on, please? We can do it, we can make it work. I don't want to stay here anymore, Puck, I hate it here. Okay? It sucks here. Everything sucks. Lima sucks. I just want to be with you. I don't care if we lose everything. I'd still choose you. If it means being with you, then fuck the rest. I don't need it." Sam's starting to feel a little desperate. He needs Puck to listen to him. "Even if it meant losing everything, wouldn't you still choose me, too? You'd choose me over Quinn, right? I love you more than her. How many times do I have to tell you? Keep driving, Puck. Just keep driving until we're not here anymore." Sam leans over and touches his arm, poking him incessantly. His ice and napkin are gone, and his finger has an angry scratch over it that kind of itches. "Please, Puck. Answer me. Answer my questions. Are you listening to me?"

[but_idontlie]

"I can't, okay?" he finally blurts out, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles whiten. Sam becomes more and more petulant, begging and pleading and whining about being together and how much Lima, Ohio, sucks balls, and how they could have this perfect fucking fantasy life where they play their guitars in gas stations for a couple of bucks to get to the next city where they'll do it all over again, and they'll sleep in the back of the pickup truck wrapped in each other's arms, and eat peanut butter sandwiches and apples and water all day every day. That's not the kind of life he ever wanted for himself; sure, it means that they're no longer beholden to anyone or anything, and nothing is expected of them, but maybe he's getting older in that he wants a little more from life besides freedom to do what he wants.

"You're drunk, Sam," he says, gritting his teeth against the pokes. He's trying to get them home, and then he's going to make sure Sam's okay, and then he's leaving him a note and texting Quinn and basically saying, Not sleeping at home, not cheating, need a break for the night. "I'm taking you home and you're gonna sleep this shit off." Dropping him off at Quinn's for the night is a bad idea, given the things that Sam is saying. Bad, bad, bad idea. "I'll talk to you about this shit tomorrow." If you remember it. He concentrates on the road, intent on driving until he can park in their driveway and get Sam out of the car and into the house.