A/N: The vast majority of this was written by QuinnAbrams, helping me regain my lost momentum. Enjoy and be sure to tell her if you liked it, in a review!

By Monday morning, word had quickly traveled around the school about what had happened to the former homecoming princess-turned-Skank and one of her friends.

Though nobody had ever really cared enough to get to know the mysterious girls who hung out under the bleachers, they were certainly on the minds of the student body today, complete with rumors circulating through the hallways about what had happened.

Artie's mother had given him the option to stay home that day, but he'd politely declined. He didn't need to be handled with kid gloves. What he needed was to ace his U.S. Government quiz this morning. With both West Side Story and the unexpected events of the weekend, he hadn't had ample (if any) time to study.

And, as if he needed another reason for class to be unbearable today, this was also the class that he and Mack had together. The one where the two of them had shared the same table in the front of the class (Artie was willing to bet that Mack hid in the back of the classroom in all of her other classes, but in government, she sat immediately to his right, up front. He had felt honored that she switched her ways for him). She would never again make fun of his know-it-all tendencies or roll her eyes as he eagerly raised his hand to answer every question their teacher asked. That thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

"You know, I heard they were high," Artie heard one girl whisper to her friend as he passed by them on the way to his locker between first period and his free block. "Smoked a bunch of weed then went on a joy ride for fun."

Artie surprised himself with his ability to keep his emotions in check as he rolled by, when in reality, he wanted to reprimand those girls for spreading disrespectful (and completely false) rumors like that by giving them a fiery tongue-lashing of his own. But he said nothing and just kept his head down as he made his way toward his locker. He was hoping to avoid those pitying glances he loathed so much which – much to his dismay –seemed to be plentiful today.

He spun his combination into the lock and opened his locker, hastily shoving the heavy government textbook that rested on his lap inside.

"Hey, Artie."

Artie looked over his shoulder and saw Kurt, clad in one of his unique outfits, his hand resting on the messenger bag that hung on his shoulder.

"Um, hey," Artie answered, turning back to his locker and reaching for his math textbook that he'd be needing after lunch.

"How are you doing? After this weekend, I mean," Kurt asked, adding that last part as a clarifier, as if it wasn't abundantly clear why he had sought Artie out, in particular, to ask these questions.

"Fine," Artie answered, his annoyance subtly present in his voice. "Same as you, I assume."

"Right," Kurt answered before an uncomfortable silence fell between the two boys, with neither of them making an effort to leave.

Artie cleared his throat.

"Thank you for letting Sam stay at your place last night on such short notice," he said, still busying himself by pretending to look for something in his locker to avoid meeting Kurt's eyes.

"Oh, that was no problem. He's always welcome." Silence again. "He, uh, filled Finn and me in on what happened between you two last night. Why you asked him to leave. I just wanted to check on you."

"My sister was home from Ohio State," Artie replied coolly. "That was the only condition that was set when Sam moved in, that he'd find somewhere else to stay when she's in Lima. So that everybody's comfortable. I didn't kick him out because of what he said last night, if that's what you're implying."

"Right," Kurt repeated, and Artie could tell that he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with where the conversation was undoubtedly headed. Artie remained annoyed. "Well, a few of us were talking, and we just thought that-"

"Well, you all thought wrong," Artie huffed, effectively cutting him off. "I'm fine. I want Quinn to walk again. More than anything, really, I do. And you can tell everyone else that too."

"Okay," Kurt said calmly, leaning his shoulder against the top row of lockers now, showing that he hadn't been scared away by Artie's minor outburst. "I just know that when Blaine came to McKinley, I felt relieved to not be the only out gay kid at this school anymore."

"Being gay isn't a handicap, Kurt."

"I know that," Kurt blinked, taken aback a little by Artie's bluntness. "Artie, all I'm saying is that I would understand if you were relieved to finally have someone who gets it," Kurt said with a shrug, as if what he was saying was no big deal. "You'd be justified in being glad that you might not be alone anymore."

With that, Artie slammed his locker door shut and sharply turned his chair to face his friend.

"Kurt, listen to me. I get that it may have been nice to not feel so alone after what you went through at the hands of Karofsky and his guys. But you would never wish what you went through the past few years on Blaine or anyone else, right?"

"Well, no…"

"Exactly. Being the only one in a chair in most social settings can be a bummer sometimes, I guess, yeah. But it's more than that. I went through hell as a kid after my accident. With the hospitals, rehab, surgeries, and therapy, not to mention having to seek out accessibility everywhere I go… It took almost a year to adjust to my new normal. I'm good now. I love my life just the way it is. But it took a lot of literal blood, sweat, and tears for me to make it to this point. I never planned on living this life, and, yeah, of course it sucks that nobody really understands. But I'm okay with being alone in this if it means that nobody else I know has to go through what I've gone through."

Artie could feel his blood pressure rising with each passing moment. He tried his best not to talk about his disability if he could help it. If he was going to mention it, however, it certainly never happened in such a public place as a crowded hallway with hundreds of passersby. He needed to seize this opportunity, though, to set the record straight, once and for all.

"And I certainly would not wish this on someone I love as much as I do Quinn. So, please, don't ever imply that I hope she's paralyzed again. Sure, Kurt, you and I share a lot of things in common, what with being overlooked, and bullied, and whatnot. But you can't possibly relate to what I'm going through right now, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped acting like you can."

Stunned, Kurt had no audible reply to that. All he could do was nod.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be," Artie said, forcefully unlocking his wheels in one swift motion before backing up and pivoting his chair and hurriedly pushing off down the hallway, leaving a speechless Kurt in his wake.

A few minutes later, he approached the office with the wall of windows, rapping his knuckles lightly on the door to announce his arrival to the office's occupant.

"Artie! So good to see you. Please, come in," Ms. Pillsbury greeted him, standing up to move one of the chairs in front of her desk out of the way to make room for his wheelchair.

His freshman year, Ms. Pillsbury had offered Artie an hour of her week to help him adjust to high school. These scheduled, weekly meetings with the school guidance counselor had helped him tremendously over the last few years, so he'd never stopped coming.

"Well, first, I wanted to congratulate you on West Side Story's incredible performances this weekend," The redheaded woman told him, evidently dancing around the heavy topics he was sure she'd bring up at some point during this session. "Coach Beiste and I are so proud of you. You're a very talented director, Artie, and you really made that show your own."

"Thank you," Artie said, managing a small, appreciative smile for what may very well have been the first time since Friday. He accepted the compliment, before forcing himself to open up and get honest with her. "It's been kind of hard to enjoy the success of the show with everything that's happened."

"Right, right," Ms. Pillsbury acknowledged. She seemed like she was relieved that he had been the one to initiate that conversation so that she didn't have to. "I know you and Quinn are very close, and given what you've been through yourself, I imagine this must be hard for you."

Artie worked very hard to keep his face stoic at that statement, especially since Quinn's injury hadn't been what was bothering him the most about the outcome of the weekend's crash.

"Of course I'm worried about Quinn. I'm worried sick about her," Artie replied. "But I also know that a spinal cord injury- if she has one- isn't the end of the world. Quinn's been through a lot. A teen pregnancy, being kicked out and shuffled between different friends' houses for a whole year, whatever identity crisis she had last summer, now this… It's made her tough. No matter what the outcome of her injury is, she's alive. She'll be good. I know that she will. And she'll have floods of family and friends there to support her and get her through it."

Ms. Pillsbury nodded, but Artie wasn't done yet.

"But Mack is gone. She's dead. And nobody seems to even remember that she existed in the first place, except for me."

"That's right, you and Mackenzie were…" Her voice trailed off, clearly not knowing what exactly to classify Artie and Mack's brief relationship as. "Artie, I'm very sorry for your loss. I can see that you're very upset."

"She didn't really have any family, you know," Artie shared, choosing to ignore that last bit of what she'd said. "She lived with her Granny for a while, but when she got too old and couldn't care for her anymore, Mack went into the foster care system. And everybody around here is too busy spreading rumors about what happened Friday night, or worrying about Quinn to even acknowledge the life our school has just lost."

Artie could feel himself beginning to choke up, a rather foreign experience for the boy who seldom allowed others to see his emotions. His eyes stung as he tried to prevent tears from spilling over. Ms. Pillsbury offered him the box of tissues that sat on the corner of her desk, but he shook his head, instead opting to take a deep breath and regain his composure.

"Mack was… really great. I know not many people got the privilege of knowing her, but I don't want her to be forgotten. And I'm really worried that she will be."

"She won't." A voice at the door startled them both. They looked up to find that the voice belonged to Shelia, whose tough exterior remained intact, like a suit of armor, even in the face of losing one of her only friends in the world.

"You-you're early," said their counselor, casting an apologetic look at Artie, sorry for their interruption. "Shelia, I'm sorry, I forgot to put a sign on the door, but we're..."

"– we're done," Artie cut her off, catching a hurt expression from their teacher, which made him quickly amend his statement. "I mean no offense, Ms. Pillsbury, but what else is there to say? She's gone."

Ms. Pillsbury opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it. Tears filled her eyes just then and she simply nodded, at a loss for words. Moments like these probably made her job really difficult, Artie decided, because there was no way to sugar coat the death of a seventeen-year-old Junior who should have had her life ahead of her.

Shelia leaned over to address him, in an uncharacteristically quiet manner as he passed by on his way out the door. "We have a tribute for Mack planned at sundown tomorrow. Oh, but it's on the school roof, so..."

"I'll... find a way up," Artie supplied, eyebrows arching. He didn't know what the remaining Skanks would have in mind for a tribute, but whatever it was, he wanted to pay his respects, too."

His way up there was going to be Sam – Finn could have carried him, he supposed, or Puck, but he felt like Sam would be the most understanding one around the Skanks. The other two judged them, because of their history with Quinn, and probably blamed them for the accident in the first place. Sam was the least judgmental person he knew. And, bearing that in mind, he knew he needed to find him and apologize as soon as he could for overreacting to what he'd said two nights ago.

He made sure he was the first one to arrive at Glee that afternoon. Or rather, the second, because Sam was typically first. It was usually his pattern to sprawl out atop the piano and try to catch a nap before. School, Sam said sometimes, made him tired. His brain had to rest before it could focus on anything else, even singing. Or something like that. Sometimes Artie forgot Sam had a disability, too – an invisible one.

"I need a favor," he said, coasting to a stop alongside the bench as Sam opened one eye and eased himself up. Artie stopped him. "No, no... as you were. But Sam? Look, I'm sorry. I know you and Amy didn't mean it like... like I took it."

Sam cracked a smile from where he continued to recline atop the grand instrument. "Thanks, man," he said. "Is she... is she back at school?"

"She left this morning, yeah," Artie informed him. "So she'll be staying there and-and you can come back home tonight. Sorry, I wouldn't insist but... she kind of... well, you both kind of..." he trailed off, not even wanting to acknowledge that weird flirting out loud, giving it any substance.

And Sam Evans had the nerve to smile, as he lay there, his eyes still shut. So Artie, fed up with whatever inappropriate imagery was playing out in that shaggy blonde head of his, rolled up the book of sheet music and swatted him with it, out of sheer impulse.

"Don't disrespect the sheet music!" screeched Rachel, who had also arrived for Glee Club that day.

After an exchange of eye rolls behind Rachel's back, Sam sat up and asked, "So, what's the favor?"

Artie used his key to unlock the front door to his house, pushing the door open and wheeling inside. Sam was trailing so closely behind him that he ran into the back of Artie's chair when the smaller guy stopped abruptly in his tracks upon seeing a familiar figure in the kitchen.

"Oh… you're… here?" Artie noted, cocking his head to the side at the sight of his older sister cutting up some fruit at the kitchen island.

"You don't look too happy to see me," Amy teased, gathering the watermelon chunks on the cutting board and moving them into the glass bowl she had set on the counter.

"No, no, just surprised is all," Artie amended his reaction, pushing further into the kitchen. "What about school? You didn't leave for Columbus?"

"I went, dropped off my stuff in my dorm, went to class, gathered some work from my professors, and drove back," she replied, as if that was the most normal thing ever, before changing the subject completely. "Watermelon?"

Artie shook his head, but Sam nodded eagerly and took a couple of pieces for himself. Amy coming back home once again complicated things. Artie couldn't just send Sam away again. He had just returned from his stay at Finn and Kurt's. He still had his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, for God's sake. Artie knew he'd be the world's worst friend-turned-host if he kicked him out again. The only solution he could come up with included Sam crashing on the couch in Artie's room for however long Amy planned to extend her visit home. It certainly wasn't ideal, but it sure beat the other options of shipping Sam out again or having his best friend and sister alone– unsupervised– upstairs where he couldn't get around easily.

"Artie, um, do you wanna talk?" Amy asked him, suddenly appearing a little bit nervous as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "Maybe go for a walk after dinner?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure, we can do that," Artie replied, caught off guard by her question. He wasn't sure what there was to talk about, but he agreed. Maybe he'd find out why Amy had driven all the way to Columbus only to do a U-turn and return home.

"Oh, good, you boys are home!" Nancy said, entering the kitchen wearing an apron around her waist. "Artie, honey, will you season this chicken for me? Every time I try to do it myself it doesn't turn out as good as yours. You've got the magic touch."

Artie nodded, heading to the sink to wash his hands, always happy to help with meal preparation. It was oddly stress-relieving for him, when he was working in the kitchen.

"I'm gonna head upstairs and wash up before dinner," Sam announced, adjusting the duffel he was still holding, before giving a little wave and disappearing upstairs. It didn't go unnoticed by Artie, the way that Amy's eyes were glued to Sam as he disappeared up the stairs. He wasn't sure what Amy wanted to talk to him about, but maybe he could address that on their little walk later, if they were going to be bringing up things that bothered them.

It wasn't long before their meal was ready, and Sam had returned downstairs– freshly showered and in sweatpants– to eat. Artie's father had left early that morning for a business trip in Chicago, so it would just be the four of them. They made small talk around the table, each sharing moments of their day. Amy told them how her roommate had left their dorm a complete mess when she went to class, factoring into Amy's decision to return home after attending her classes. Sam proudly reported the B minus he'd made on his math quiz, and when telling the others about his day, Artie conveniently left out his confrontation with Kurt in the hallway, his appointment with Ms. Pillsbury, and the planned memorial for Mack entirely. Instead, he shared that he'd received a text from Frannie saying that Quinn had been weaned off of some of the heavier painkillers she'd been taking, and therefore she was able to be awake and alert for longer periods of time, which was a step in the right direction.

"I'd like to head up there and visit her again tomorrow," Artie shared, to which his mother nodded her blessing.

When dinner was over, Sam helped Nancy clear the table and wash the dishes while Amy and Artie donned their jackets to head out on their walk. It was November now, and the air was really starting to get chilly, especially at night.

"So, what is it you want to talk to me about so badly that you drove ninety miles, only to turn back around?" Artie asked, a lighthearted tone to his voice as they made their way down the sidewalk, side by side.

"Well, to be honest, I just wanted a few more days to be here with you," she said. "The past few days have been really hard, and I wanted to make sure you're okay. That we're okay."

"I'm fine, Ames," Artie huffed, now becoming a little bothered. "Shitty things happen all the time. I'm used to it. You don't need to skip your classes to coddle me."

"No, I know that," Amy replied calmly, despite Artie's clear annoyance. "I came back a little for myself too, I guess. Quinn's like a sister to me now, you know that. The entire drive to Columbus, I couldn't get her off of my mind."

She paused for a moment, giving Artie the opportunity to say something, but he didn't. He kept silently wheeling beside her, so she kept talking.

"And… I didn't want to leave with us on bad terms."

"Who said we were on bad terms?"

"Artie…"

"Oh, you mean the way you and Sam haven't stopped making eyes at each other? Even though you know it bothers me? Or when you implied that I hoped Quinn's been paralyzed?" He was doing a poor job of preventing his emotions from the other night from resurfacing. He'd forgiven Sam for what he'd said, but Artie still held a little bit of a grudge against Amy. "I just don't appreciate it, is all. But you're an adult. Don't let me influence your decisions too much one way or the other."

"Artie, I'm sorry, okay? For all of it. You're right. Maybe I do like Sam a little bit, and maybe he likes me too. But I'm old enough to know better. I'm sorry. I'll try to put a stop to whatever it is going on between us."

"Thank you," Artie replied coolly. After all, it was the least she could do after all this time.

"I'm worried about you," Amy said just then. Artie's heart softened a little bit when he heard the quiver in her voice. "Your girlfriend just died, and someone who may as well be a sister to us was really, really badly hurt in an accident that was similar to one that you've experienced firsthand. It would be understandable that you're feeling anxious, or depressed, or alone. But you bottle up your emotions so tightly and put on that stone-cold, unbothered façade that I don't even know how you're really doing. By keeping all of this inside, you're only hurting yourself, you know. I'm worried about you, can't you understand that?"

She was close to tears now, and Artie twisted his mouth to the side, trying to decide what to say. Her worries were extremely valid, and her words really affected him. Because she was right. He did internalize everything, and it never did him any good. And, until just now, he hadn't realized how his tendency to do that was hurting anyone but himself.

"We're planing a memorial for Mack," Artie revealed, even though he hadn't planned on telling anybody. "Well, the Skanks are... but they invited me..."