The sprinting pair only made just outside the front door before Kal collapsed onto the concrete, barely even conscious.

After a whirlwind of how does he know, how can he know, what does he know Blaine stopped dead in his tracks, ice chilling his blood. Kal needed help. Everything else could wait.

"BURT!" Blaine screamed, dropping to his knees and gently cradling a mumbling Kal in his lap. "BURT, KAL IS HURT I NEED YOUR HELP!"

Burt was out before Blaine could even finish his sentence, a determined concentration set in his features. But Blaine could see lines of panic threatening to show, causing Blaine's heart to ache.

"Help me take him inside," Burt commanded lowly, curling his arms under his limp son before carrying him up the steps. Blaine weakly cupped Kal's head, feeling useless. He was barely doing anything at all.

The feeling of helplessness only increased when Burt crowded his son's space after placing him carefully on the couch, feeling his forehead, brushing his bangs back over his sweaty head, muttering things under his breath. Did Blaine somehow do this to Kal? Was it stress, or something far, far worse?

"What's wrong with him?" Blaine asked shakily, hovering, standing on his toes to see.

"Go get me the first aid kit, it's under the sink in the bathroom down the hall," Burt proceeded to say, his finger pointing in the right direction. Blaine immediately did as told.

When Blaine returned with the box of gauze and bandages, Burt was already removing his son's wrist cuff, clearly deducing that the bleeding was coming from somewhere within.

There was so much blood. Blaine felt queasy. His heart was in his throat, but he couldn't leave now.

"Hold his wrist," Burt grunted, examining his son's wounds, tending and cleaning them. "But don't look."

Blaine respected Burt's wishes. He didn't want to see the name Kal bore without his permission, and especially in a circumstance such as this. So he chose to think about why those open slices were there, right above and below where the name would be.

Before Blaine looked away he could tell that they were deliberate, save for a few hesitation marks. He definitely felt sick now.

"There has to be something I could do," Blaine managed, his throat tight and eyes stinging once Burt had his son all wrapped up.

Kal's skin looked less waxy now, but he was still unconscious. Burt pressed his knuckles to his son's forehead, feeling his temperature again.

"I think he'll be alright," Burt said quietly. "He just needs some rest. I'll have him call you when he wakes."

Severely saddened and disappointed that Burt was subtly kicking him out, he didn't fight it; despite the fact that Blaine would wait several lifetimes for Kal to wake up. For now, all he could do was wait.

"Thanks for..," Blaine trailed off. Thanks for what? Having me over to eat? Distressing your son to the point where he'd cut himself? Yeah, you're welcome, Blaine thought bitterly.

"No problem, kid," Burt said anyway, patting him on the shoulder like it was old hat.

Instead of going home, Blaine took a very long walk.

***

"Are you okay," Rachel asked softly at lunch that afternoon, noticing Kurt's haggard appearance.

Kurt replied non-committally, more in the form of a grunt. He was just so exhausted. After uncounted days, possibly weeks of managing to avoid Blaine, it was starting to take a toll.

He had suspicions that his body was torturing him as well as his heart.

Now that Kurt knew Blaine was his soulmate, he could feel him. Kurt could sense whispers of his emotions, even if they weren't even in the same room. These days, Blaine was just as miserable as Kurt, especially when Kurt would just run away. Double anguish was enough to age somebody to the point of near-death.

Kurt's wrist constantly hurt, but now that he was used it, it was at least bearable.

And then there were the dreams.

Blaine made an appearance in every single one of them, whether it being exchanging small 'I love you's' or staring into each other's eyes and seeing the universe unfold between them.

As it turned out, avoiding Blaine only made Kurt think about him more, whether or not it was voluntary.

Kurt just wanted it to stop. All of it. He wanted everything to just - fucking - stop.

He didn't want to worry about all the recruits, young and old eating contentedly around him. He didn't want to worry about his father, or Blaine or anybody for that matter. Kurt just wanted to be by himself, his wrist blank and mind clear. He wanted to fall asleep, dream of serene place and hope to never wake up.

"Kurt," Rachel then whispered quietly when she was not satisfied with his response, placing a placating palm on his wrist. His nostrils flared at her use of his true name, turning from staring at the wall to glare at her.

"Had to get your attention didn't I," Rachel said matter-of-factly, tossing her long brown mane over her shoulder. In most lights, it looked nearly black, thus the reasoning for her alias 'Raven.'

Rachel and her family were the only ones that knew the true names of Burt and his son since Kurt had known her since he was basically an infant. She was one of Burt's right-hand people; always eager to do something for the revolution.

Kurt thought of her more of a cousin than anything else, really. He trusted her with his life, but on a day such as this he really didn't feel like dealing with her. He'd rather take up the monotonous task of stapling pamphlets again.

"Can you just leave me alone," Kurt complained, poking at his uneaten food. "Plan out what we're gonna do for our Recruitment Ball or something, but don't concern me about it just yet."

Under normal circumstances Rachel would have huffed irritably at Kurt's brashness, possibly left him alone at the table but instead today, she leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Wanna have a good time tonight," she asked hushedly.

"Depends on what it entails," Kurt replied, lifting his brow curiously.

"I know this guy," Rachel began, and Kurt rolled his eyes. She knew a lot of guys. Not that Kurt was judging since he was basically just as promiscuous, but Rachel mingled more in the crowd that Kurt usually didn't like associating with. They did... questionable things, but something in his gut already told him before Rachel was even finished talking that might as well, fuck it.

"His name is Puck, he's got some good stuff, and he can get us into some clubs."

Kurt shrugged. "Okay."

Rachel, looking a little surprised couldn't hide the smile stretching across her face. It was going to be quite a night indeed.

***

Kurt had only seen his father cry a couple times in his life. The first time, when Kurt was really young and walked in on his father looking at pictures under his bed. The second, when they went to Kurt's Aunt's funeral. The third, was when he woke up from passing out.

Burt wiped large tears from the creases under his eyes, leaning over Kurt, waiting for him to wake up. Kurt stirred, blinking away the fuzziness in his vision, feeling considerably better than when he had come home.

"Hi," Kurt croaked. Burt smiled, sniffing a little, placing a hand on Kurt's chest.

"Hello, son."

Kurt swallowed, smacking his lips a little bit. He still had that horrible, sour taste in his mouth.

"Where's-"

"He went home," his father answered for him. Kurt felt both anxious and relieved at the news.

Burt looked immensely sad again, so Kurt took his hand and squeezed it. "What's wrong, Dad?"

Burt laughed bitterly. "I should be asking you that, Kurt."

Kurt looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

Burt shook Kurt a little, grip tight. "Don't be. Don't ever be sorry."

Kurt bit his lip, trying not to cry. He was on the verge of sobbing, and he knew that once it started he would have no means of stopping it. He didn't want his father to see him like that; so weak.

"That boy," Burt nodded toward the door. "He loves you."

Kurt's heart twisted in anguish at his father's words. A few tears slipped down.

"No he doesn't," Kurt replied in a hard, biting tone. He only loves me because we were bound by the curse of soulmates. It isn't real.

Burt was quiet for a long time, observing his son.

"I may miss a lot, Kurt but I do know a few things."

Kurt blinked, rubbing tears from his cheeks. The bandaging scratched his skin, reminding him of what he did earlier, further increasing his shame and self-hatred.

"You don't understand," was all Kurt could say.

"I heard you call him Blaine..," Burt hesitated, and Kurt felt his heart drop. He couldn't have this conversation now, he wasn't ready.

Kurt shook his head vigorously, but his father embraced him.

"I know that despite all I teach you, you'll always wonder who Blaine is and where he is," Burt whispered meaningfully. "But you don't need to replace the real thing with a fantasy. Ben.. he's a good kid. I just want you to be happy."

Even though the conversation was difficult on Kurt's body and mind, his father was opening up to him. They rarely but never did this. It made Kurt feel like a boy again, wanting to reach out; desperate for familial comfort and wise words that would shield him from the world.

So he told his father everything.