Here's what happened last time:

Rose and Rusty talk. They decide that Rory doesn't have Tourette's, but instead doing it for attention.

"Can't blame him. Freaky Deeky's probably too busy cleaning the house constantly that she has no time for him."

Will brings the boy home.

"My name is Sam Evans."

"Dude, your mouth is huge! How many tennis balls can you fit in there?"

"I don't know. I've never had any balls in my mouth."

Brittany begins a live webshow to discuss gossip.

And that's what happened last month with the

Family.

Puck slammed his fists into the punching bag.

"Dude," Finn sighed, "calm down."

"I can't! I just can't! I'm pissed off."

"What happened?" Matt asked his brother.

"Well," Puck gulped, pushing the punching bag away and taking a seat, "yesterday, Ariana told me that the baby has Down's Syndrome."

"What's so bad about that?" Mike joined him on the bench.

"She invited me to her doctor's appointment, and that's what really made me pissed..."

The two sauntered into the hospital, and had only waited a few minutes for a doctor to call them into a room.

"Is he the father?" the doctor asked Ariana.

She nodded, "This is the first appointment Puck's been to."

"Well, it's good to have you here, Puck. Today you will be seeing the baby's fifteen-week sonogram."

Puck was utterly confused, and also a little concerned. "Wait, did you say fifteen-week?"

"Yes," the doctor said, "fifteen-week sonogram. The baby is fifteen weeks old."

"What? That would be four months, right?"

"Four months, yes."

How is the baby four months old? We had sex not even three months ago..."

"Jacob," Sue sighed, "go make me a protein shake, on the double."

He rushed out to the kitchen, and returned within a minute.

"Now sit down. We're going to talk."

"What's up?" Jacob plopped onto the sofa, facing her.

"Let me be as frank as I possibly can be." She leaned forward in the chair. "You are disgraceful."

"I am?"

"You are the most annoying, obnoxious, incommodious son I could ever have squeezed out of me. And I thought the girls were revolting..."

"So, does that mean-?"

"Yes, I am kicking you out. I suggest you go to the Schuester's, because that is where you will find many others like you. Better yet, they'll keep you, and they won't send you back. Excited? Great. Now, get out."

Will knocked on Sam's door.

"Come in."

Will stepped inside. "Hey buddy, our appointment with Miss Pillsbury is at four. We have to leave for the therapy center in ten minutes."

"I'm mostly ready," Sam said, "I just need my shoes."

"They're over here by the dresser," he told the boy, after glancing around.

"Thanks." Sam sat on the bed and slipped each sneaker on before pausing.

"What's wrong?"

Sam stared at his left sneaker, then reached out and attempted to make sense of the untied laces. "I got this," he said to himself, under his breath, "okay. I got this."

Will watched the laces jumble into a knot. He watched Sam in his struggle to concentrate. The kid was trying so damn hard, he really was. Only if he could just get it right.

Sam grew more distressed by the moment.

He was so stupid. He couldn't even tie a shoe, and he expected to please Will and make him proud?!

Will gave Sam another moment to figure it out, and spoke, "Do you-"

"No, I got it." Sam inhaled and tried to keep focus.

"Sam, buddy, if you need help, I-"

Sam decided that it was best to get assistance rather than struggle more. "Please help me."

Will kneeled to the ground and eased the knot from the laces.

"Thanks."

"You might not be able to tie shoes, and it's okay. I'll teach you." He made the laces into a neat bow, and moved to the right sneaker.

"Listen, um, there's something else I'm having trouble with too. It's sort of embarrassing."

"Are you gay?"

"No."

"Are you Goth?"

"No."

"Ahmm," Will thought, "Are you a crossdresser?"

"No."

"Are you anorexic?"

"No."

"Are you obsessive-compulsive?"

"I used to be, but it's not really an issue anymore."

"Are you an axe murderer?"

Sam snickered, "No!"

"Well, I would still accept you if you were any of those things, except the last one, of course! Then I'd put you in a crazy home!"

"No, Will. I'm-"

"Dyslexic. I was suspecting you'd say that, Sam."

"How'd you know?" Sam stood, along with the man.

"I had a look through your school records, bad grades. Every morning, when I teach, you give me that little gaze - that little gaze that each of those kids out there gave me when they were lost, confused, alone."

Sam looked at the floor.

"I get that you're embarrassed, and that's the reason I'm here. I'll help you, Sam. You are not alone."