Thanks to all the people who have read this, and considered it. While I was originally dismayed at the lack of reviews, I realized that maybe I should write a bit more, let things unravel a bit, and maybe people can give me some concrit? Thanks to Orangepumpkins for their review, though. It definitely made me smile.

I know the beginning is slow, and I understand that readers want a bit of action to grab them, but this is a story of recovery, acceptance, and the what-if Kurtofsky. I don't take part in ship wars, so I will try to keep characters as close to canon as I can, but please don't harass me if you want an evil!Blaine or anything.

I don't own the rights to Glee or the characters, and I certainly don't own any songs that may be referenced or used in this story. If you would like to share your ideas, or even suppositions or thoughts, that's fine. PM me. I like the attention.


I Get By: Chapter 2

Dinner was both complicated and simplistic. Macaroni and cheese with hotdogs and green beans had been the easy part. Sam slapping a small spiral bound memo pad in front of Dave as he sat at the booth was difficult. He turned a confused gaze at the woman's back as she prepared a plate for Janis, who had completed her homework and was playing Mario All Stars.

"What's this?" his voice rasped in trepadation. Dave glanced back down at it and noticed his name, and several bullet points. 'Feelings of low self-worth and insecurity seem to stem from societal pressures to fit in,' he read.

"Janis," Sam called the child away from the television for dinner, setting down her plate. "Those are my notes about you." David looked up again, and noticed Sam wore an open, honest expression. "I don't keep things from my patients, Dave, not unless they present a possible threat to themselves or others."

"Um, in case you missed the memo, I tried to off myself a month ago," he replied snarkily. Piling macaroni noodles onto his fork, he shoved them into his mouth to keep quiet as he kept reading. 'Great with middle school children; should consider an occupation as an educator, or perhaps involvement in a mentor program.'

"You did?" Janis asked, plunking herself across from him. She dug into her green beans first, and spoke around a mouthful, "Why? You're so awesome!" The tiny girl swigged her juice and belched pointedly.

"Janis!" Sam admonished, and Dave internally sighed in relief for the back-up. He did not want a little kid to get the wrong idea about him. But why was it the wrong idea? He was embarrassed and concerned that the bond they had already begun to forge would suddenly go up in flames.

"That was incredibly rude, young lady. Say excuse me!" The Smurf-head seated herself at the table, finally, and continued. "David was outed at school and was made fun of by people he thought were his friends. They cyber-bullied him, and made him feel very small and insignificant."

Her daughter nodded, waves bouncing slightly, collecting cheese into the ends. As she tisked and wiped them off, she inquired, "Like those kids from Trevor Project and stuff?" At Sam's nod, Janis turned to Dave. "You know, those people just don't understand. You can't choose who you love anymore than you can choose the eye color you're born with."

Tears began to sting his eyes suddenly. This child, no more than eight years old, understood more about acceptance than people twice her age. She reached her small hand into his, effectively forcing him to drop his fork. "You're beautiful, Dave. You are who you are. I think you're pretty freaking awesome." Janis smiled impishly, the mirror of her mother, and dropped his hand to dig back into her food with ferocity.

Unable to handle it, David excused himself and stepped onto the enclosed porch. He heard Sam tell Janis to slow down, the game would still be there, and soon, the front door opened. As she gingerly stepped onto the wooden planks, he became aware of just how much taller he was. Sam bowed her head, lighting a cigarette, before moving to the porch swing to sit, and that was when he noticed the jagged scar on the side of her head.

"I tried it, too, Dave," she said finally. He moved to sit with her, the swing creaking a bit under the added weight of his muscle. His hazel eyes searched her face, turned toward the street light on the park roadway. Her dark eyes were distant, reliving memories of past times. Sam held a wrist toward him. Smoke curled around as he stared at the wide scars marring her pale skin, giving leverage and realism to what he was seeing.

"I was in a relationship when I graduated high school. He was everything I ever wanted, or that I convinced myself I wanted. Graduation day, I moved out of my parents' house." She took a drag and continued, "My mother was devout Roman Catholic, and she was very verbally abusive. My father is bipolar, and I was the only one who knew. I couldn't stand being their referee, when my father had an episode and my mother tore him down, so I moved in with my boyfriend."

"About three months down the line, we were arguing more, and I had had a miscarriage. He blamed me, saying I had miscarried on purpose. That I just wanted sympathy." Her head dropped to observe her lap, and she inhaled again. "One night, he told me he was leaving me for someone who could carry his children. He knew I was bisexual, and told me that I could go spread my disease to others, because that's all I was good for."

"We had been getting steadily into drugs; weed, coke… whatever anybody had, really. I had begun to feel paranoid and uncomfortable in my own skin. A thought occurred to me then. If I were that uncomfortable in my own skin, then I guess I didn't need it." Her voice became quiet, as she turned her arms around and pulled up her sleeves higher. Dave could see more jagged, wide markings, and understood.

"I scratched myself so hard in anxiety and fear, I was literally filleting myself." Her fingertips grazed every scar, reliving her personal experience. "I didn't stop until one of his friends, the nicest person I have ever met, walked into the house to ask why my ex was storming down the street. He's the one who found me." Sam stubbed her cigarette out and stood, offering Dave a hand up.

He accepted and they moved to the door. "So… what happened next?" David asked, unable to keep the concern and empathy from his voice. Sam touched the scar on her head and smiled at him wryly.

"I stayed with him for three more years, until he died in a car accident along with our baby boy." He was struck dumb, as the petite woman before him opened the door and stepped up inside. The bright colors of the interior warred with her dark story, and he suddenly felt like an idiot.

"Come in and finish your dinner, David. Your father texted me, and will be here in a half hour." He realized, suddenly, that he had absolutely no idea who this woman in front of him was, but he had judged her just as unfairly as people had judged him. She smiled warmly, and offered her small hand to him again. Staring at it, Dave was overcome with the desire to trace the fine scars on her knuckles, to inquire more about her. To gain perspective.

Yes, he decided, he would continue to see her, if only to unravel the mystery of her life.


When Paul arrived, he was halted in his steps at the sight of his son playing video games with a middle school child. While he knew Ms. Collins had a child, for some reason, it didn't compute that the tyke would be in contact with his son. Sam greeted him, and Dave tossed a true smile his way.

He was ushered into the kitchen and seated himself at the booth. A moment later, Sam joined him, pushing a cup of chamomile in his direction. While not normally a tea drinker, he was shocked at the resurgence of the son he used to know, and unwittingly sipped the best tea he had ever had.

"So, Paul, how did everything go?" She wasted no time in cutting to the chase, it seemed. It was an admirable quality, especially in a woman her age, to be honest and forthright. He sipped his tea again, if only to gain some purchase.

"Things went as well as they could at this point. Because she is his mother, she has asked for visitation, but only once a month. I managed to convince her lawyer that visitation should be dependant on how his therapy goes, and that I required she seek counseling, as well."

"I think that was only fair of you, Paul. May I voice a concern?" Hmm, while she was straightforward, she was also respectful. He nodded for her to continue. "I am concerned that she is discriminatory against lesbians and gays, and any progress made while Dave and I visit would be undone in one day around her. Perhaps you could require she attend PFFLAG meetings, even just once a month. She needs to be educated, and she needs to understand that David is still her son, the only son she has known."

Paul nodded again in agreement, and stroked his facial hair slightly. "I know that," he said finally, " And you know that. I don't think she understands that the only time David was someone she didn't recognize was when he was hiding himself. Now that he is out, he can be the kid he has always been. I've always been proud of my son, I just don't understand why she can't be." He drained his cup, and set it to the side.

"Well, Paul, it's always difficult when people who have been raised a specific way are suddenly challenged with what they've been taught was wrong. She feels justified in her anger and bigotry, because, for her, it's not bigotry. Now," she held up a hand at his spluttered indignation, "I'm not saying she is correct in her thinking, because hatred is hatred and it begets hatred. But maybe she is just as confused as Dave was. A little education could go a long way."

Sam slid a card his way, and he picked it up. "That is the local chapter of PFFLAG. Normally, I wouldn't advocate someone in Karen's position to immediately go to a meeting, I would suggest one-on-one counseling and then reintegration, but there is a gentleman there she might recognize. He is the deacon of the Federated church here in Lima, and he has a gay child." Sam drained her own cup, and moved to put the mugs in the sink.

"I think it just might do some good. Also, maybe you and David could attend when he's more comfortable. From what I understand, one of his former classmates goes with his father; Kurt and Burt Hummel?" She spun, leaning against the counter. Her keen eyes took in the change in Paul's demeanor. Sam wasn't stupid. She had read David's school records, had known there was a history with the Hummel boy.

From the living room, Dave boomed, "Kurt goes to PFFLAG?" She smirked. Paul was in a corner now. While it was easy to say he accepted his son, he had made no real effort to prove it. David needed to know that someone like his father, the man he had looked up to for so long, actually supported him.

She met Paul's eyes, and instantly she knew, there would be no problems here. "Yes, Dave. Kurt goes to PFFLAG," he replied for her. Paul twisted in the booth to regard his son, who was suddenly vibrating with energy. "Is that something you would like to go to?" At the insistent nod, Paul smiled, and Sam mirrored him.

This family would be okay. Now to figure out the situation with Kurt Hummel. She wasn't naïve. David's demeanor had changed drastically as soon as the other boy had been brought up. Monday morning would see another phone call to McKinley for the records of one Kurt Hummel.


AN: please note, the story Samantha told is real. Certain facts have been glossed over, or straight up omitted, but it did really happen, except for the car accident.

Also, let me know what you thought, what I could fix, etc. I love constructive criticism. I accept PM's and my personal email address is forsakenkalika(at)gmail(dot)com - obviously, ffnet does not like links, so adjust accordingly.