So… this has been rattling around in my brain for the past couple of days. This hasn't been beta'd, so forgive me, but drop me a line and let me know what you think. This may get serious at some points, or it may become fluffy. I tend to write like I talk, so….

Disclaimer: I definitely do not own anything Glee-related (um, except Season One on BluRay), and any songs used are the properties of their respective artists.

I Get By

When Paul Karofsky cleared his throat, Dave knew it was a quiet demand to listen. He raised his head off the pillow of his hands as he lay on his bed. His mother had picked up the last of her belongings the night before, and the house was eerily silent after having been filled with loud arguments for weeks.

"What's up, dad?" David tried to keep his voice light, tried to seem like the son his father had always never known. Paul raised an eyebrow as if to ask permission to enter, and Dave sat up, waving him in. His father paused, looking around, no doubt reliving the day he found his son unresponsive on the floor of his closet. The older man shook his head slightly and continued into his son's room.

"May I sit?" He asked, already lowering himself onto Dave's bed. Dave pushed himself to sitting and busied his hands with smoothing his comforter as he waited for his father to speak. "David, as you know, part of your… rehabilitation… you need to see someone."

Dave nodded. 'Someone,' meant a shrink. Just another person to dissect him and see what they wanted to see. Another person to look at David Karofsky and judge him. Just the thought of one more lie coming from his mouth, one more disappointment, made his eyes sting and his throat close up. His father's hand on Dave's knee made his head snap up.

"I want you to meet someone." Dave nodded once more, unable to refuse the conflicting hope and despair in his father's voice. He owed him this much.

While he knew there were other places than the affluent suburb in which he lived (his brief stint as Santana's beard had taken him to Lima Heights Adjacent more times than he was comfortable with), David was not prepared for his father to drive their two-year-old Lexus into the trailer park on the south end of Lima. The dingy yellow sign reading 'Lima Creekside Estates' was almost a running gag in and of itself, hanging from one eye-hook with weeds clinging for dear life at the base of its supports. These were hardly estates.

They slowly crept past a few older buildings, apartments, it seemed, and the roadway opened into the main park. He noticed the trailers were evenly situation, all their lawns groomed neatly. It was nothing like the parks shown on tv or in the movies. His father pulled into a driveway alongside an early 2000 model car.

"Here we are," he announced to the car, as though it weren't obvious they had come to a stop. Paul turned to his son, "David, just… for me, just try." When his son barely nodded his head, the elder Karofsky turned off the ignition and opened his door. "I think you'll like her."

The two men walked up a mismatched path of cracked paving stones and onto a screened-in porch. As Paul knocked, Dave took the opportunity to observe the lot. The mobile home itself was lined on one side with a small garden. A fence lined the boundaries of the yard, effectively separating it from the road, and childrens toys were scattered in the between the garden and the barrier. Obviously, this woman had kids, or at least family with children. He could only imagine that the backyard was littered with more playthings.

Dave turned back as he heard the doorknob jiggle. The door opened slightly to reveal a shorter woman, of about five-foot-six. Her hair was up in a bandana, reminding him of Lucille Ball. Her brown eyes were rimmed in black kohl and heavily shadowed in gradients of green and turquoise. Piercings adorned her lip and eyebrow, and he was fairly certain he saw the edge of a tattoo beneath her collar.

"Paul?" His father nodded, and a grin split her face. "And you must be David," she remarked, turning to him. "Come on in, gentlemen. I was just tidying up." Paul smiled back, and quietly thanked the slight woman. David took his time entering the home, stepping one foot, then the other over the threshold.

His hazel eyes took in the small living room conjoined to the kitchen. The walls were a light blue, reminiscent of the summer sky, and the floors were laminate hardwood of a chocolate finish. He noticed there was a distinct lack of furniture, excepting an overstuffed beige microfiber sofa. His perusal was interrupted by his father's voice.

"-Vid?"

"Huh?" He asked eloquently, snapping back to attention. David walked toward the kitchen, pausing again to look around. The hardwood continued in and down the hall past the kitchen. The soapstone countertops lined the wall on the far side, stopping at the half wall that split the living room and kitchen to create a more defined space. This woman must watch a lot of HGTV and DIY Network, as all the upgrades were relatively new. The cabinetry, he observed, sitting at the booth set into the corner toward the front of the mobile home, was a Mahogany finish to compliment the mossy tone on the walls.

"Did you want anything to drink? There's juice and milk in the fridge, and I have a k-cup, so you can pick whatever you like for hot drinks." She responded. Her tone of voice was deeper, reminding Dave of Ms. Holiday, the substitute teacher. He caught a flash of metal in her mouth as she spoke, and when she turned back around to prepare her own drink, he turned to his dad.

Frantically signaling with his hands, he made to ask, 'WHO THE HELL IS THIS LADY?' Unfortunately, said lady was apparently also a ninja, as she slid into the booth seat opposite him, mid arm flail.

"My name is Sam Collins. Well," She grinned into her mug, "Samantha, but no one calls me that." She set the mug down, which he now noticed read, 'While you were busy judging people, your skeletons fell out of your closet,' in spooky lettering. "Technically, I'm a psychiatrist, but in actuality, I think I'm more of a guidance counselor. Without the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder."

Dave snorted. "You know Miss Pillsbury?"

"We had the same dentist," Sam replied. "I started seeing a different one when I started having weird gas fantasies about elaborate musical numbers." Dave remembered Santana raving about some Britney Spears thing after seeing the dentist; it could only be the same guy.

She scratched her ear, and continued, her words picking up speed like a hyperactive child. "So I was thinking you and I could hang out for a bit while your dad finalizes some papers with your mom, and then you can decide if you want to hang out here, and then we'll work out a schedule." Sam turned to Paul, "I'm not covered by a lot of HMO's, but as I mentioned on the phone, I charge by the week and I'm very fair." Her head whipped back in Dave's direction, and the bandana slipped a bit, revealing a few turquoise strands beneath."So, whaddya say?"

"Uh…" Dave looked at his dad for direction, and Paul shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

An hour later, the questionable hair had been let loose, and Dave found himself staring at it more often than not. "It's Aquamarine. It was supposed to be purple," Sam grinned up at him as they walked up to the edge of the road to wait for her daughter's school bus. "C'est la vie, non?"

His head was still spinning from the last sixty minutes spent with this lady. As soon as his father had left, Sam threw an xbox 360 controller his way and announced Rage Multiplayer. When he had asked what that had to do with therapy, she smirked and replied, "What? You don't play video games when you're stressed?"

When he factually told her mid-frag that she was bat-shit crazy, she came back with, "You're suicidal, so what does that say for you're sanity?" He was pretty sure a therapist wasn't supposed to talk to her patients like that.

"Dude, seriously? Stop looking at me like I'm the weirdest ant in the farm." She pulled a cigarette out as they walked up. Dave shook his head when she offered one up to him, and the short blue-ette shrugged. "Had to offer. You're 18, you know? And even if you weren't, you're old enough to try and kill yourself aggressively, figured why not passively, too?"

Dave halted his steps right then and there, bus stop in plain sight. "Why do you keep bringing that up?" Seriously, it was getting annoying to have someone constantly remind him that he was a fuck up. He couldn't be straight, he couldn't even be gay right, and he fucked up hanging himself.

Sam rounded on him, stabbing her cigarette with every other syllable. "Really, dude? Here's how I figure it; everyone who knows is already thinking about it, they're already making their mind up what they think about you and your decisions. At least I'm honest. And, quite frankly, I think it's interesting how much it bothers you." She spun again and began walking, her small feet crunching heavily on the gravel. "You act like you're more ashamed that you even tried. If that's the case, you didn't even want to die. You just wanted the pain to go away."

His legs wouldn't move, and her petite form moved further ahead of him. "Oh, and David? Think about what you want for dinner while you lag behind. My kids are gonna be hungry when they get back, and I'm gonna need your help."

What the fuck was wrong with this chick?

Sam's daughter was even weirder than her mom. The second grader was working on more advanced forms of math, and, as Dave helped her remember some basic rules and do her homework (how had he gotten roped into that again?), she turned her clear blue eyes on him.

"It's a shame you like boys." David, who was already predisposed to wince when the subject was brought up by adults, did so, and slouched forward subconsciously.

"Why's that?" he replied quietly. He wasn't used to kids, and he certainly didn't know how to handle any sort of response she might have. He braced himself for the worst, unaware that Sam was watching them from the hall.

"Because my Math teacher would love you." The little brunette tossed her hair, and he saw streaks of red and purple underneath. Finally, she figured out the answer to the problem she was working on, and chewing on her eraser, turned to regard the larger boy. "If it makes you feel any better, I think my chorus teacher might be gay. I'd hook you up, but he's old, too."

A snort erupted from David and he reddened. "And I suppose I'm not old?" He wouldn't even ask her about the gay thing.

"Nope. Well," she chewed her lip, "you're older than I am, but so's my mom, and she's pretty kick ass." A gangly arm pumped its fist in the air and Dave laughed.

"Are you supposed to cuss?" A shrug answered him. "You know – eh.."

"Janis," she supplied.

"You know, Janis, it's said that only the unintelligent people cuss." She turned her crystalline eyes on him in a glare.

"And whoever said that is an idiot, because smart people cuss all the time. We're just more creative about it." He patted her head and stood.

"Yeah, I'd say that's accurate."

"Duh, Dave. I fucking said it." Oh my god, this kid was as bad as her mother! "Hey, Dave?" Janis questioned as he was leaving her room, "Do… will you come back?" He turned and stared at her.

"You think I should, kid?" The child nodded, sending her wavy hair bobbing. "Why?"

"I think you and my mom would be good friends… and since you're gay, people don't like you as much because they're igno-ingenor- STUPID. I think you need more friends." He smiled at her and moved across the room to pat her head again. She swatted at his hand this time.

"Yeah, kid, I think I will come back." As he was leaving the room, he tossed back, "The word is ignorant."

An indignant, "THAT'S WHAT I SAID!" answered him, and he walked down the hall smiling for the first time since Kurt visited him in the hospital.