Just as Kurt had predicted, the only resident of the loft who was happy with the prospect of Blaine moving in had been Rachel. Santana had been beyond irritated when she found out, just like Kurt knew she would be. He knew that it was probably a dick move on his part, but he hadn't mentioned it to her for the entire duration of the summer. He didn't want to deal with her questions about why he would be ok with Blaine in such close proximity, and he knew that Rachel would be far too involved in her own life to say anything about it to Santana, whom she barely spoke to anyway, so he figured that he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Um, what the fuck?" she'd said when she had come home from her late bar tending shift one night in early September to see Blaine on the couch, which was going to be serving as his bed until he could get his things delivered from Ohio to the city. "Would someone mind telling me what the hell Blowties is doing here in his 1950s pajamas?"

"Hi, Santana," Blaine had replied, smiling and ignoring the insult as if he hadn't heard it. "You look lovely as always."

"Mmm, and as always, you look like you're transporting caterpillars on your face," she replied with a sarcastic smile. "My question has yet to be answered. What exactly are you doing here?"

"Didn't Kurt tell you?" asked Blaine, the smile still plastered on his face like a mask. "I live here now. For the time being, anyway."

"Excuse me?" Santana said, dropping her purse onto the floor with a crash as Kurt cringed from his seat at the kitchen table. "I don't remember anyone consulting me about this shit."

"Well, Santana, that would be because you barely ever pay your share of the rent, and it keeps going up. Kurt and I can only stretch our money so far," Rachel replied calmly from her seat across from Kurt, where she was concentrating on painting her nails. "And Blaine has agreed to regularly pay a share. Therefore, your opinion about a new roommate is pretty low on the priority list. Besides, I could have sworn I mentioned it to you."

"You didn't," snapped Santana. "And that's such a pile of shit. I've been paying rent regularly for at least two months now that I have three jobs. Besides, you don't even work. You get all your money from dear old dads, so why the fuck couldn't you have asked them for more instead of inviting Boreblers to stay?"

"I didn't invite him," replied Rachel smoothly, blowing on the finished nails of one hand. "Kurt did. I just went along with it."

Kurt could feel Santana's stare slowly turning toward him, burning into the back of his head. "It's only temporary," he said with a sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just until he can find a place closer to his school with people he knows. It's not forever."

"Right," said Blaine from the couch. "Not forever."

Santana was silent for a moment, and Kurt really wished he could disappear when he thought about what she must be thinking of him. Not that he really valued her opinion anyway, but he knew that she had to be thinking about what a dick he looked like, inviting his ex-boyfriend to live with them and not caring even a little about Carson. You don't know shit, Santana. You don't. This is FOR Carson.

"Hummel," she said after a minute, marching over to him and hooking her arm into his, dragging him up from the table. "Come with me. We need to have a little chat, you and I."

"Santana-"

"Now," she hissed, throwing a poisonous look in Blaine's direction before yanking Kurt in the direction of his own bedroom and shoving him inside. She pulled the privacy curtain closed after them and turned to glare at him with crossed arms.

"Start talking," she ordered, her eyes narrowed and a look of pure anger on her face. "Now, or I will make you talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Kurt replied defensively, settling cross-legged on his bed and unconsciously playing with the fur on Carsey Teddy's paw. "I don't have to justify anything to you. Rachel's right. You barely ever contribute around here, so your opinion really isn't very important."

"Oh, hell no, Hummel. I think my opinion is very important when you all of a sudden are ok with Hairgel McSuspenders living here with us when he's cheated on you, sexually assaulted you, disrespected both you and Carson, and in general has done nothing but be a complete shithead the entire time I've known him," said Santana coolly. "As far as I know, you haven't seen or heard from Carson in months. Neither have I, for that matter. It's like he completely stopped talking to anyone. Meanwhile, you spend a fuck ton of time with British, and now you're inviting your asshole ex-boyfriend to live here? What the fuck?"

"As I've told you repeatedly, Santana, the relationship between me and Carson is none of your business," Kurt snapped. "You don't know shit about my life or about Carson, so you need to drop it. It's also none of your business who I choose to spend my own time with. And I... I only agreed to let Blaine live here, temporarily, because he got rejected from the dorms at his school and he'll be out of here just as soon as he makes some friends there he can room with." He hoped that his voice sounded relatively normal, because the last thing he needed was for Santana to know the full truth of why he was "letting" Blaine stay.

"Ok, you need to sit there and listen to me, because I'm about to lay some cold, hard truth on you whether you like it or not," replied Santana, her voice slightly hushed so as not to carry through the entire apartment. "I call bullshit on that whole sob story. How the fuck did he get rejected from the dorms?"

Kurt sighed. "I don't know, Santana, just drop it. Please."

"I most certainly will not," Santana insisted. "You hated this guy's guts last year, and now you're willing to live with him? Something doesn't add up here, Hummel. He's playing you, and you're falling for it like a dumbass. I'm only trying to figure out what's going on so I can help you. You and Carson are like fam-"

"God, Santana, just mind your own damn business!" Kurt exclaimed in a hushed tone, desperate to get her to just leave him alone with his own misery. "He's living here for a few months, and that's that. If... if you don't like it, you can just move out," he finished, feeling bad about his words instantly when Santana looked momentarily stricken. Just for a brief second, she looked vulnerable, and much like with Carson, Kurt wasn't accustomed to seeing her look like that.

It was brief, however, because her default cold expression returned almost instantly and she shook her head in exasperation. "Fine. Whatever. I don't know why I bother trying to help people who don't want to be helped. First Berry and her hooker boyfriend and now you and whatever the fuck is going on. I don't know. I'm done." She stalked out of the room, pulling the curtain closed angrily on her way out and leaving Kurt alone. He took a shaky breath and curled up on the bed, clutching at Carsey Teddy and softly stroking the fur on the bear's head.

Everything is such a mess, he thought sadly as he hugged the bear tightly. He hoped that maybe Carson would feel the hug wherever he was and think of him, even if only for a second. He wondered how much longer it would be before Carson stopped ignoring him. He knew that their father had been talking to him regularly over the phone and had even seen him at his apartment at the beginning of the summer.

"How's he doing?" he'd asked Burt over the phone once, desperate for any bit of news he could get. He wasn't even sure if Burt knew that Carson wasn't speaking to him.

"Oh, he... he's fine," Burt had replied, clearing his throat. "He's very busy with school and stuff, I guess. Always on the go. You know how he is."

"Yeah," replied Kurt, his stomach twisting in pain. Because no, he didn't know anymore how Carson was. Months continued to go by in which Kurt heard nothing and received no replied to any of his messages or texts, which were becoming an ever more infrequent occurrence. He just couldn't handle the sting of being ignored anymore, especially when he knew that their dad was talking to Carson and he couldn't.

What about me? he thought sadly, holding Carsey Teddy to his chest. Why won't he talk to ME? At this point I don't even care if he loves me in a romantic way anymore. If he doesn't want me in that way, I'm ok with that. I think. Well, not really, but... I mean, if that's what he really wants, then fine. I'll live the rest of my life single if it comes to that, but... I can't handle life without Carson in it at all.

He dreamed the proposal dream again that night, after he'd cried himself into a fitful sleep. The one in which he and Carson were in the beautiful, hilly meadow. He smiled in his sleep, a smile that faded into a frown as soon as he realized that Carson was fading away before his eyes. He took the sunlight and the color with him, leaving Kurt by himself, surrounded by nothing but dry, dying lilacs and browning grass.

No matter where he looked, he couldn't find Carson.

"You should call him," Dr. McNeil kept saying.

For months, that was all Carson had been hearing, and quite frankly, he was beginning to get sick of it. He was sick of her bringing up Kurt in general, especially since he tried so hard to steer the conversation away from him during each and every session he was forced to endure. And yet somehow or another, he always ended up talking about him anyway. He didn't know how Dr. McNeil managed, but somehow she always wound up making him discuss Kurt, little by little, whether he wanted to or not.

"He was perfect," he found himself saying during one early November session after Dr. McNeil asked him what he and Kurt had been like as children. "So adorable, and so sweet."

"Were you interested in the same things?" asked Dr. McNeil, jotting something down in her ever present notebook. Carson sometimes wondered what the fuck she had in there. If she was really taking notes, or if the entire book was full of doodles or something.

"Well, not really, I guess," Carson mused, thinking back on it. "I mean, he had his interests and I didn't really have many. He took ballet classes from the time he was really little."

"Oh?" asked Dr. McNeil, interested.

"Yeah. My mom caught him dancing in front of the television to the Blues Clues theme song once, and she asked him if he liked dancing," Carson said, smiling at the memory. "He said yes, and asked if he could take ballet classes like the girls in our nursery school class did. My mom enrolled him the very next day."

"Did he enjoy it?" the psychiatrist asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think he did," Carson replied, lost now in his stroll down memory lane. "He loved his tutu, especially. I remember he was so excited when he first got it, and he tried it on immediately. He asked me and my mom how he looked."

"And what did you say?" asked Dr. McNeil. "Do you remember?"

"My mom told him he looked cute, and then he turned to me," said Carson, almost forgetting now that Dr. McNeil was even in the room. "He looked at me with those big, blue eyes, and he said "Carsey? Do you like it too?" And I told him, "Kurtsie, you look beautiful." Because he really did. He was perfect. And then he smiled so big, like my opinion had made his whole day. And to this day it remains the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

"It sounds like you two were incredibly close," said Dr. McNeil gently.

"We were," replied Carson, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat and willing himself not to fall apart. He would not cry here in front of Dr. McNeil. He just fucking wouldn't.

"What about you?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing. Carson couldn't blame her. This was probably the most he'd ever talked in one session. "Kurt had his ballet lessons. Did you have any activities you were involved in?"

"Not for a while," replied Carson, resigning himself to the fact that he was apparently going to spill part of his guts in today's session. "Mostly I liked to write my little stories for Kurt and my grandmother. But then when I was around seven, I started taking martial arts classes."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I guess, looking back on it, I needed something to distract me. You know, because our mom was sick by then," said Carson, his stomach twisting at the dredging up of those particular memories.

"That's understandable," said Dr. McNeil softly. "You were so young and going through so much."

"Yeah," murmured Carson, digging the toe of his sneaker into the plush rug.

"Why martial arts?" asked Dr. McNeil.

"Oh," said Carson, clearing his throat. "Well, actually, that was sort of because of Kurt. He's always had a hard time, you know. With people giving him shit for being different. Even when he was only three years old and starting to take ballet classes, the other kids and even their parents would laugh at him for wearing the tutu."

"That's terrible," remarked Dr. McNeil in shock. "How did it make you feel, seeing people treat him so badly?"

"Honestly? It really fucking pissed me of," replied Carson. "There he was, just trying to enjoy doing something that he really loved to do, and most of the people around him were going out of their way to make sure that he knew that they thought he was "strange" or "weird" for being himself. I mean, what the fuck. He was three. And already kids and adults alike were laughing at him and treating him like shit. He came out of class crying once, when me and my dad went to meet him and my mom at the ballet studio. Like, crying so much that he couldn't even talk. My dad asked my mom what was wrong with him, and I heard her whisper that some of the kids had been teasing him and calling him a girl."

"Poor child," remarked Dr. McNeil.

"Yep. It only got worse when we started real school. Bigger kids practically made it a fucking hobby to pick on him. Calling him names, stealing his lunch, making fun of him for every fucking thing. I spent a lot of recesses letting him cry on my shoulder in the bathroom. And wishing that I could hurt every last little shit who had ever made him cry."

"Is that why you chose to pursue martial arts?" asked Dr. McNeil.

Carson nodded. "Pretty much. I thought maybe it would come in handy one day if I ever had to really protect him. So I signed up for the classes and I learned as much as I could."

"And did you ever have to use what you learned?" asked Dr. McNeil quietly.

Carson hesitated a moment. "No," he said at last. She didn't need to know about Blaine. Besides, that hadn't taken any of his martial arts knowledge. That had been pure, pent up fury finally being released. "I wanted to, though. So many times, I wanted to. Especially when we got older and assholes started bullying him physically. Throwing him in dumpsters was their favorite thing."

"Why didn't you choose to use your skills?" the doctor asked.

Carson shrugged. "I guess because Kurt isn't a violent person at all. It makes him uncomfortable, because he's a really gentle and sweet person. He's the type of person that never wishes harm on anyone, even when they really deserve it. So... I don't know. I guess I just kept myself under control for his sake. So that he never had to see me being violent. I felt like I always had to be the most positive influence in his life and be strong for him."

Dr. McNeil was silent for a minute, apparently lost in thought. Carson couldn't blame her. He'd side-stepped the subject of Kurt for so long, and now all of a sudden he'd let loose with a veritable flood of Kurt feelings. She must have been fucking fascinated. I really hope she can't tell that I'm in love with him, though. I don't particularly need to have THAT conversation today. What I've already said is bad enough.

"Carson," she said after a minute, clicking and unclicking her pen. "Do you suppose that maybe part of the reason you've spiraled into such a depression is because of whatever happened between you and your brother that resulted in your not speaking to one another?"

"I'm not depressed," Carson replied forcefully. He was so sick of her implying that he was. He couldn't be depressed, he thought. Tried to tell himself, more like. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if she was right. After all, he spent most of his days trudging through what he was absolutely required to do, just so that he could go to sleep when it was all over and forget that the world existed. Some days it was even a chore to get out of bed to feed Kurtsie Kitty.

"Ok, I know you insist that you're not depressed," said Dr. McNeil. "But certainly there is a hole in your life that Kurt once filled. Surely you can't deny that. From the way you speak of him, I get the feeling that you miss him terribly. And, I obviously don't know Kurt, but my instinct tells me that he probably hasn't exactly disowned you, either. I honestly think that we can only get so far with these sessions. I think a large part of your recovery will start when you finally reach out to him."

You don't understand, lady. You really don't. I can't just reach out to him. At this point, I think it's safe to say that he's probably moved on with his life without me. If I reach out now, what will that do to his progress? What will it do to both of us? I know that I can't avoid him forever. He's still my baby brother, after all. But... I don't know. Everything is so fucked up and I don't know what to do.

"You should call him," said Dr. McNeil. "I know I say that all the time, but I honestly think you should do it. I think you won't begin to feel better and fight your demons until you do."

Carson left the session that day turning her words over in his mind. He wanted to believe them. Wanted to follow them so badly. He just didn't see how he could do that right now. He just wasn't ready. He was still so fucked up, and even if he did reach out to Kurt... then what? Eventually Kurt would find out about his plethora of problems, and Carson would be even more humiliated than he'd been when his father had found out about his anxiety attacks.

It's not normal to hate my life this fucking much, he thought bitterly as he shuffled his way down the hallway to his apartment. It's not fair. Why couldn't I have just been given a normal life? I never asked for any of this.

He let himself into the apartment, reaching down to pat Kurtsie Kitty on the head when the cat climbed as far as he could up Carson's leg, his usual greeting when Carson had been gone for a while. "Hey, little guy. Did you behave yourself while I was gone? No shenanigans? No broken objects or scratched furniture? Good," he said, hanging his coat up and settling on the couch with the cat by his side. "Not that I would be mad or anything if you scratched up the furniture. I'd probably just think it was really cute."

The cat ignored him, curling up into a small, furry ball as Carson shrugged and reached for his laptop. He had a hell of a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, after all, and nothing better to do with his time but to get it over with. He opened up his browser, noting that he had one unread email as he glanced at the top of his screen.

Probably something from that annoying chick in my group for that history project, he thought with a groan as he clicked on it. I swear to god, her and Rachel should-

He stopped his train of thought as he took a look at the body of the email. It wasn't from Annoying Girl at all. It was a notification from Facebook, letting him know that he had been tagged in a video uploaded by his dad.

"What the hell, Dad?" he said out loud as he logged into Facebook. He couldn't imagine what video his dad could have possibly uploaded that involved him, unless maybe it was a new campaign video and he wanted Carson's opinion on it. Yes, that had to be it. He clicked the red notification on his home screen, which took him to the video in question.

My Boys Through The Years, it was titled. With- Carson Hummel and Kurt Hummel.

Carson swallowed as he stared at the second tagged name. He could tell, obviously, from the title and the thumbnail, that the video was going to be a compilation video of him and Kurt as children, and he wasn't sure if he really had the inner strength right now to deal with that. Especially not after the session he'd had that day with Dr. McNeil. And yet... and yet he really did want to watch it. He missed Kurt so badly. Maybe seeing videos of happier, more innocent times gone by would comfort him a little.

Or wrench his heart out and squeeze it until there wasn't any life left in it. Really, either outcome was possible. All he knew was that he was clicking the play button and his screen was filling with the video. He was in this for the long haul.

The video opened with a steady shot of a colorful play mat on the front lawn of their old house, on which sat a very, very young baby Kurt by himself. Carson knew it was Kurt, because the baby was playing quietly with the set of blocks in front of him and wearing the large white sun bonnet on his head without fussing. Carson had heard enough stories about his own childhood to know that the sun bonnet never stayed long on his head without him trying desperately to claw it off, or, if he couldn't do that, wailing relentlessly until someone took pity on him and took it off.

Baby Kurt played contentedly with his blocks for a minute, and then a pair of legs Carson recognized as their mother's popped into the frame. She absentmindedly set a second baby down on the opposite end of the play mat from Kurt and disappeared from the shot, leaving Baby Carson looking very displeased indeed. Carson watched as the baby version of himself looked around, clearly unhappy with what he saw, because he started whimpering and looking somewhere to the left of the camera while pointing at Kurt.

"Neh!" he screeched. "Eh!" Baby Kurt, who up until now had paid no mind to what was going on behind him, so engrossed was he in his blocks, finally looked over at Carson and broke into a smile and a happy squeal, which ceased Carson's whimpering fast as he returned the smile.

Present day Carson scooped up Kurtsie Kitty into his lap and watched, fascinated, as his former, smaller self looked around one more time and seemed to come to a decision in his little head. He carefully pulled himself up using the edge of a nearby lawn chair and stood shakily on his chubby legs, taking three small, tentative steps in Kurt's direction before tumbling onto his diapered butt. Now closer to Kurt than he'd been before, he smiled and let out a happy "Neeeh" as Kurt handed him a block from his collection and Carson took it and promptly put it in his mouth.

Adult Carson snorted, and the scene changed to the inside of a familiar ballet studio. Seven little girls, including a smaller (and more easily squishable, Carson thought) version of Rachel Berry, were proudly showing off a simple, carefully practiced dance for a small group of parents seated in folding chairs on one end of the room. There was one little boy among them, and Carson smiled fondly as he watched his baby brother flutter happily around the room in his pink tutu, holding a plastic wand with a glittery star on top.

"Look, Carsey," he heard his mother's voice whisper from one side of the camera. "Look, there's your brother. Isn't he doing so well?"

"Kurtsie looks so beautiful," a child's voice whispered back, and Carson felt tears streaming freely down his face as he had to pause the video. He turned his face into a nearby pillow and sobbed, letting it all out until there was nothing left. He wondered later, as he dried his eyes and face on the sleeve of his hoodie, if he should leave a comment, or at least "Like" the video, but decided against it.

I should call him, he thought to himself as he buried his face back in the pillow, exhausted. I should call him, but I don't know how.