A/N: This is where things officially go AU. Shelby and Beth will not be coming back to Lima, again, because I cannot write the level of crazy that saddled Quinn with. Also, Sam will be staying in Kentucky. Other than that, thanks to anyone who has been reading this. I appreciate it.

When she wasn't out learning to smoke behind convenience stores (Marlboro's tasted awful, but they calmed her down immensely) or rolling kids who stayed after school for cigarette money, she spent her evenings locked away in her room, chest bound tight, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do. She watched more videos and read blogs and guides to gender identity and being transgender. So many people online made it seem easy; they'd known since they were five, and had come out when they were fourteen and had new names and surgery and whatever else. They headed up progressive GSAs in small minded towns and went on Oprah or Tyra. They couldn't be real. They seemed happy, or at least content. None of them had ever been a pregnant and scared sixteen year old girl, or had already gotten the chance to change their entire life just so they could be happy and part of a family that was proud of who they were and what they accomplished.

Part of her still hoped that this was still just a phase brought on by her parent's divorce or lingering depression from giving up Beth. But the more videos she watched and blogs she read, the less likely it became. The repeated sentiments of feeling wrong and hating a body that they had no say in, the more they rang true, the less she was able to excuse it away. And there were small glimmers of hope that she could maybe get out of Lima someday; she figured it was more worth the effort to try and get out rather than fighting and exhausting batter against what was going on in her head.

She could never tell anyone in that small, stupid town, but maybe, if she got out, she would have a chance. Maybe he would have a chance to be real.

Walking down the halls with the Skanks was a lot like walking down them as head cheerleader. Heads turned, and people stopped and stared, mostly with confusion, but there was still fear and awe in their eyes. No one wanted to fuck with her because the abrupt mystery was just as intimidating as a Cheerios uniform and an icy stare.

Acting indifferent towards Santana, Brittany and Rachel was more difficult than she had expected, because there were points where she cared about all of them (Rachel not as much, more so the general concept of glee that she stood for). But there was absolutely no way she could go back, she needed to keep her distance to get out alive and in one piece, not in the fragments that would inevitably line the highway from Lima to OSU if she stayed attached to them. This version of her was no more real than the blonde cheerleader who had ruled McKinley for the past three years, but at least this lie had felt like a deliberate choice, one that she had finally made on her own.

Once school had started up again, her mother was around the house a lot more and drinking a lot less. She could tell because they didn't even go through a whole bottle of vodka that first week of her senior year. She had a consistent work schedule and was home at least twice a week to make dinner and try to engage in awkward small talk over spaghetti or baked chicken breasts.

One night in early October they were silently eating salad and her mother had this incredibly worried look on her face. She was not about to start talking, because that look alone scared her to death, like Judy could see right through her and everything that was eating away at her stomach.

"Quinn, are-how is school going?"

"What?" She was thrown, she didn't expect her mother to actually try and talk to her.

"School. It's your senior year. How is it going? Have you thought about your college applications yet?"

She stared dumbly at her salad. This was a conversation she knew they had to have, because she had no idea if they could actually afford to send her to college.

"It-I mean, I guess it's fine. Easy. Compared to last year anyway," she said.

"That's good."

They both picked at their food in awkward silence for long minutes.

"Do we even have the money for me to go college?"

"Your father and I set up savings accounts for you and Ann when you were born to make sure there was at least something, but it's not going to cover everything. You're going to have to take out loans, but if you wanted to stay in state, it might not be as bad."

Panic flooded her at the thought of staying in Ohio, but she didn't want her mother to see how scared that made her. Hell, these dinners were indication enough that she knew something was wrong with her daughter.

"I don't think I want to stay here. I've actually been looking at schools on the east coast. Boston, maybe."

Actually, she was pretty firmly settled on Boston. And there were enough schools there that she was bound to get into at least one of them.

Her mother's eyes softened a bit at that. "I've always loved Boston. I used to have family there, we would visit a lot when I was younger."

The silence after that was a bit more comfortable.

"Have you ever read Kerouac?" Judy said out of nowhere.

"Jack Kerouac?"

"Yes. I really think you'd like On The Road. My freshman English professor recommended it to me, obviously years and years ago, but it has always stuck with me."

"No, I've never read it," she said, trying to hide a confused look.

"My old copy of it might still be in the attic. I can look for it if you'd like," Judy said after taking a long sip from her wine glass.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Alright, good."

She finished her salad and took her plate back into the kitchen, leaving her mother at the table with a look of deep concentration on her face and a half-empty glass of chardonnay.

The next day Judy made good on her promise and left an old, battered paperback copy of On The Road on her dresser. She flipped through the pages and saw her mother's neat handwriting doting many of them. There were a lot of notes, maybe she'd ask why someday.

She put the book on her desk and opened Skype on her computer. She and Sam tried to call each other once a week, but as school got crazier and application deadlines loomed in the near future, it slipped to every couple of weeks. She dialed and he picked up almost immediately. They chatted aimlessly about school and Sam's family (his new school was fine, he got to play football and take an art elective, and the guidance counselor had actually been really helpful in figuring out college applications). He had picked up a job working weekends at a Dairy Queen, which he hated, but they could order pizza a couple times a month, or Stevie could get a comic book every once in a while, which Sam was more than happy to pay for, and it just made things a bit more normal. He asked about the glee kids, and she tried her best to ignore the slightly sad look on his face when she had nothing to say.

"Did you finish any of your applications yet?" she asked, mostly just to change the subject.

"Yeah, most of them actually. Figured it'd just be easier to get 'em all over with, y'know? UArts, the Philly one? That's done. Plus the one in DC and a couple of the Kentucky schools."

"Well, I have my fingers crossed for you it doesn't come down to those."

"Tell me about it, but rather be safe then sorry, right? How about you?" he asked.

"I haven't finished any of them yet. I'm stuck on that stupid personal essay."

"You know, you do have a lot of material to draw from."

"I'm not going to write about having a baby or getting kicked out just to get into college. That's none of their business."

"Yeah, but if it helps-"

"I'm not doing it, Sam," she cut him off, coldly

"Sorry Quinn, you know I didn't mean anything."

"I know, it's just-" she fumbled around for the book. "My mother gave me this today. It's an old book she read when she was in college. It's about these guys who drive across the country and to Mexico, I don't know, but she seemed really adamant about me reading. Or as adamant as she can get about anything."

"What is it? I can't see."

"On the Road. Jack Kerouac," she said.

"I think my uncle really liked it, but he's super out there. Are you going to read it?"

"I guess. I mean, why not?"

Sam paused for a moment. "Are you okay, Quinn?"

She was startled by the abrupt question, and wondered what might have given her away. "I'm fine, why?"

"I dunno, 'cause you're mom is trying to talk, or connect with you or whatever. You seem…weird. More weird than normal lately."

"I'm-"she began to say.

She felt an overwhelming urge to tell him everything, just blurt it all out, about last year and the pink hair and plaid shirts and that she was just so fucking scared that the book was her mom's way of finally catching on. But he was just getting settled into a normal life again, and that wasn't fair.

"I'm okay, Sam." she said. "Really. I guess I'm just thrown off by her giving me On the Road and how she's trying to care now."

"Better late than never."

"That's crap."

"Maybe you should just let her try, 'cause she is trying."

She became overwhelmingly angry in an instant. She didn't want her to try, because their distant relationship had been what made it easy for her to keep it together. Trying to hide it from her, that might be too much, and they definitely did not have nearly enough vodka in the house for her to deal with it.

"She should've tried two years ago when my father fucking kicked me out," she said and disconnected the call.

Her hands shook and her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out.

Late that night she created a new Youtube account attached to a new e-mail address that even Jacob Ben Israel couldn't connect back to her. She went to Ryan's profile and spent an hour working up the courage to send him a message.

Subject: "Coming out as trans" video

I hope you don't mind me sending you this message. I think watching your video on coming out made me realize that I'm transgender. Even writing it is so nerve wracking and difficult, but I've been feeling all the things you talked about feeling for years now. I think I'm a guy, and I just needed to tell someone, because I'm starting to feel crazy keeping this to myself. I just can't tell anyone here, and it's significantly less terrifying to say it to someone who doesn't even know who you are.

Yeah, I just needed to actually say it to someone out in the world. And I'm sorry if I'm unloading on you. You can ignore this if you want, I won't take it personally.

But thank you anyways.

-Q

After she sent the message, she took a few shaky breaths and closed out of the window. It was done, and she couldn't take it back. The thought of someone knowing was actually a bit of a relief. She grabbed the Ace bandage she now kept hidden under her mattress and wrapped up her chest, turned on The National, then grabbed Kerouac from her desk and began to read.

The bell had just rung, and students were filtering out into the hallway. She made her way through the crowd (more like it parted for her, still, even though the shock had worn off weeks ago) when Sue blocked the path to her locker.

"What, Coach?"

"Well I'm glad to see the hair dye hasn't seeped so far into your brain that you have been rendered unable to speak in sentences."

"I'm not your minion anymore, so I really don't have time or patience to stand here and let you insult me," she said.

"There's that fire in the belly I've always admired you for. You always were ruthless, Q, and that's why I have a little favor to ask."

"Not interested." She moved to walk past Sue, but she shifted again to stand in front of her.

"No one's as good as you, and since you're no longer attached to the glee club like an overly emotional leech, I figured you could do a little digging for me. As you may know, I'm running for Congress, but Porcelain's lovably salt-of-the-earth father has entered the race, and his simple, man of the people attitude is costing me in the polls. I need you to get some dirt on Baboon Heart McGee, see if the sweet lady boy has any idea how many years his old man's new primate organ will hold up before inevitably collapsing under the stress of the humble meat and potatoes diet of a blue collar grease monkey, minus the potatoes," Sue said.

"That's disgusting, even for you. Get one of your Cheerio lackeys to do your dirty work for you."

"I could get you some thrift store furniture for your new friends' undoubtedly disease ridden, and very much against school policy, smoking spot under the bleachers. I can also get you and those mouth breathers out of detention for the rest of the year."

"No, and I hope Mr. Hummel kicks your ass."

She walked past Sue and headed straight for the exit, she had study hall fourth period anyway, no one would notice if she skipped. She was pissed and needed to get away from all of Sue's ridiculous plans and petty scheming. When she got to the bleachers, she saw that Santana was already out there smoking.

"I'm not encroaching on Skanks territory or whatever, am I?" Santana said.

"Like you would care regardless." They were both quiet for a moment. "Brittany's going to kill you if she finds out you're smoking," she said.

"She already knows, but she pretends not to so she doesn't have to get mad at me about it. Besides, I'm more worried about Sylvester. You see her on your way out? She's been trying to bust me on smoking for, like, a year now."

"Why do you think I'm out here?" She lit her own cigarette and took a long drag. "Also, cloves, really? Are you twelve?"

"You keep raising your eyebrow, and it's going to get stuck on your fucking bitchy face like that. Whatever, the smell bugs Britt less, and they take forever to smoke. It's a good excuse to stay out longer."

Santana finished her cigarette and stubbed it out on the ground. She offered her one of her Marlboro's, but Santana declined. They both leaned against the concrete ledge and stared out through the slats of the bleachers to the empty football field.

"Come back to glee, Quinn. They miss you. I honestly didn't think they would, but even Rachel has been lamenting your absence in her own obnoxious, condescending way. I could, I dunno, get Marty McVest to sign off on a Donna's number or whatever to embrace the new you even," Santana said.

She chuckled to herself. "You know, I think Coach just tried to tell me the same thing, in some sort of twisted way. It doesn't have anything to do with you guys, or not getting solos, or even Rachel being an annoying bitch most of the time."

"Then what the fuck is your problem? Aside from looking like a Hot Topic threw up on you."

"I need to get out of this town and away from all the awful things that happen here. It's not going to happen if I stay in that downward spiral of infighting and drama just to dance in the background. It was fun and all, but it's not worth getting stuck here."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

She sighed. "You don't have to get it. I just need to focus on me and getting the hell out of here. And this is the only way I can do it."

"Bullshit."

"Shut up, Santana. I need to figure some shit out and the only way I can do it is by myself, alright? I figured you of all of them would at least get that."

"What? Are you gay now too?" Santana said, immediately shutting her mouth after and staring past Quinn.

"No, I'm not," she said quietly. "Are you okay?"

"You're the only person I've told besides Britt," she said, sinking down to the ground.

"I mean, we all know."

"But…fuck. It's different, y'know?"

She sat down next to Santana. "Yeah, I do."

They sat in silence until they heard the bell ring inside.

"I hope you figure your shit out, Q," Santana said, getting up to head to her next class.

"Thanks, San. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you."

She lit another cigarette and watched Santana walk back into the building.

When she got home, after a detour to the library to finish On the Road in peace, a new message appeared in her inbox.

Re: "Coming out as trans" video

Dear Q, I don't mind the message at all. I'm glad my video could be helpful to someone.

I can't tell you what to do, and I'm definitely not in any place to offer you anything resembling professional advice. I can only speak from my experience, but a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders when I told someone. Just having one person know, and be okay with me being a guy validated my identity. It made me feel like a real person again. It helped give me the strength to start telling other people, because I knew I had at least one person in my corner, but I know coming out is scary and can be very dangerous and not possible depending on where you live or what your family situation is like. Do you have a close friend or someone you can trust to keep it in confidence? Maybe try talking to them about trans stuff, like bringing up and article you read or something you saw on TV, and if the response is positive, maybe come out. You don't have to tell the world, or even anyone else, but it's hard to do alone, that much I do know, and someone having your back makes surviving and getting through high school a lot easier. If you don't have anyone you can talk to, I know a few websites that do online pen-pal/mentoring type things, and I can get you that info, they can set you up with just a person to talk to about whatever, doesn't have to be trans stuff.

I don't know how much it means from a person you've never met, but you are whoever you say you are. People are going to try and tell you that you're wrong, but no one knows you better than yourself, or whatever that saying is. Just try to keep that in mind. If you know you're a guy or trans or whatever, then that's who you are.

-Ryan

She reread the message until her vision began to blur from the tears welling up in her eyes. He didn't reject her; he told her she was fine.

Him. He was fine, or at least he wasn't crazy. And someone knew. Ryan knew and he didn't care. Ryan told him he was whoever he said he was.

He was not her.

He wiped at his cheeks with his hand and rummaged through his backpack to get his mother's book out. The glow from the screen acted as a book light as he searched for a passage that had been marked well, underlined emphatically with scribbled notes in the margins that were illegible, the only ones he couldn't read in the entire book.

"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."

He wished he could have a conversation with Jack Kerouac about not knowing who you are for seventeen years. The idea struck him as perfect nonsense for a college essay, and he chuckled to himself, which slowly turned into a full nonsensical laugh. Luckily his mother wasn't home, otherwise she really would be concerned, and the thought sobered him quickly, but he opened up a new Word doc and began to write about a fictional meeting with a beatnik.

By the end of November he had finally finished his last applications (to Boston College and Suffolk University). After signing his (her?) name and stuffing the one to BC in an envelope to hand to Ms. Pillsbury she texted Sam and asked if they could talk on Skype.

It had been over a month since Ryan had messaged him, and he had been working on the best way to tell Sam, because he was finally ready. Knowing for sure and still being stuck as Quinn Fabray, no matter what the hair color or who she hung out with, was starting to weigh just as heavily as when he was drunkenly googling everything that could be wrong with him. Someone real needed to know; someone he truly cared about needed to know.

He began to pick at the skin around his fingers, an old nervous tick from when he was younger. At some point, his parents had managed to get him to stop, through a series of threats and shame, but without drinking to calm his nerves, this was the best he could do.

Sam called moments after he began fidgeting, and he waited a few seconds, taking a couple of deep breaths before picking up.

"Hey, Quinn. What's up?" Sam said.

"Not a lot, I just finished the last of my applications. The long nightmare is finally over."

"Awesome! I would try to high five you, but I figured out that it's really, really lame to do over webcam."

They both laughed, but he humored Sam anyway and put his palm up to the camera, and he returned the gesture.

"I'm transgender, Sam. I'm a guy," he blurted out, while still giggling a bit.

Sam became solemn immediately and was silent on the other end, but he saw the confused look on his face.

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam said, tentatively.

He took a deep breath. "I'm a guy."

"You're a-holy shit, Quinn."

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that, it just came out. I mean, I was going to tell you anyway, but I didn't mean to just say it like that. Shit."

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was not going the way he had planned. Sam sounded confused and looked upset. He was fucked and immediately lonely at the thought of losing him now.

"Quinn, are you alright? Are-are you sure?"

He looked at Sam and nodded. "I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure. I just-you don't have to understand everything right now, I just need you to be my friend and not hate me for this."

Sam was quiet again, rocking back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

"I don't hate you. I just don't know what to say."

"I know it's a lot to hear."

"That's an understatement," he said, letting out a weak laugh. "Okay…shit. Alright, I'm going to come up this weekend. I'll buy a bus ticket and call Finn and ask if I can crash at his place for a couple days."

"Sam you don't-"

"Yeah, I do. Because you're my best friend and this is kinda scary and we can't just talk over Skype and pretend that it's okay to do it like that. Okay?"

"Okay. Yeah. Just let me know when you're going to be getting in, I'll pick you up."

Sam looked him in the eye for the first time in two long minutes. "Are you going to be okay? Until I get there and we can, like, actually talk about this? Because I love you, Quinn, like, well, I guess like a brother now."

"Yeah, I'll be alright until Friday. Thanks, Sam. I love you too, you know."

"Okay, I'll see you Friday." Sam disconnected the line.

He was pretty sure this was the first time he had cried happy tears in his life.