Santana's on her way to her apartment. Her boss is about to come over for dinner, but she hasn't damn made anything yet. The walking sign turns green, and her legs move her across the street. Fuck, where's here cellphone?

She never had a chance.

Santana Maria Lopez, age twenty-three, victim of a car crash, declared dead on arrival 5:14 pm of March 8, 2011.

Santana wakes up; she feels nothing. Scratch that—she feels like nothing; she feels as light as a feather; she feels as free as the wind; she feels nothing tying her to the ground. She feels like a prisoner born into his shackles being freed for the first time in his life.

She knows she's dead. She knows she got hit by a car driven by an incredibly drunk man. She knows he was driving 10 mph over the speed limit. She knows that when she got hit, her ribcage was immediately shattered, and that her vertebronal ribs punctured her lungs. She knows a lot of other things about her death.

Which brings us to this point. Santana doesn't feel nothing. But it doesn't mean that she's living (mind the pun) in internal turmoil; she just feels calm. At ease. At peace.

She looks down at herself, expecting to see nothing; instead, she sees that her soul has taken form, that of when she was a teenager probably. She's a teenager in a white dress stranded in a void of white.

Santana looks around, but even before she did that, she knew the whiteness stretched on forever. She sat down on the floor below her, and she waited. There was nothing else to do.

She didn't think about her life while she waited. She didn't think about her death either. She just sat there.

She felt a strong tug near where her heart was supposed to be, and she opened her eyes. She didn't know she closed them.

She was in a crowd. Teenagers, who wear wearing white dresses and shirts and pants. They all looked lost, like they were trying to find the most important thing of their lives but they didn't know what it was.

Two things were tugging at her heart now. They were pulling each of its side to the opposite direction; Santana was scared that it might tear it apart. Oh yeah. She's already dead.

Santana stands up, and she goes to where the stronger tug was pulling her.

She passes by several people, of different heights, colors, nationalities, though all have the same lost look in their eyes. Santana wonders if she does too. She wades through the flood of souls for eons, and sometimes she wants to give up and let its undercurrent take her away, but the strong pull of the first tug and the insisting tugging of the second remind her that she's still looking for something.

Santana doesn't know how much time passes. It may be second, it may be millennia, it might be that time hasn't passed at all. She doesn't know where she's going; she's just going to where her heart wants to go.

And then she finds it.

She finds her.

She's a tall, golden saffron blonde, with the lightest blue eyes she's ever seen. She's several inches, meters, miles away, but Santana knows it's her. She's the one. The one her heart wants to go to.

She passes by more lost souls until they meet. She looks into her eyes, and they embrace each other. They can move on now. They've found their soulmate.

Except.

Do you feel that too?

Brittany doesn't talk, but she's Santana's soulmate, and now that they've found each other, they're one and the same.

Yeah. Do you think…it's both ours?

There's that second tug, already so very weak, yet still as insistent. And because Brittany and she are one and the same, she feels Brittany's second tug too, and it's pointing at the same direction.

It's possible that no one has ever done this before; it's with the same possibility that they could have done this too.

But who ever heard of a second soulmate?

Do we—do we find it?

They both know the answer.

Santana grabs Brittany's hand, and as one they wade through the lost souls. The tugging gets weaker and weaker, but it's always so frequent, so insistent.

They pass by millions of souls, but, eventually, the crowd starts evening out. The few people they see her don't have the same energy as those they just left; they're all in varying states of exhaustion. Every one looks like they're fading away.

Is this what happens when souls don't find each other?

Santana feels Brittany squeeze her hand.

The tugging gets weaker by the moment.

Brittany and Santana pass through more fading souls when they feel the tugging at its weakest yet. But they finally find her.

She's curled up into a ball, shivering, and her skin is paler, even more than a dead person's should be.

The tug on their hearts are stronger.

Brittany and Santana walk to the side of the girl. Each one puts a hand on her shoulder, and the girl stills. She looks up, and glances at Santana, then at Brittany. Her eyes are green, with hazel specks floating through it. Tearstains run from the corner of her eyes down to her cheeks.

You found me.

Arms wrap around Quinn, around Brittany, around Santana.

They hold on tighter.

Santana has never felt more complete.

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