This was the day. He knew it.

Dave wasn't confident in many things, but this he knew for a fact. He'd been mulling over it for months – ever since late October – and scrutinizing every little detail that could possibly go wrong. He had it down. The plan was to continuously show Kurt blatant affection, without letting him know that it was Dave, and then the big identity reveal on Valentine's Day next week would be the final piece that would fall into place, the piece that would make Kurt believe without a shred of doubt that Dave had changed.

The only variable in this plan was that Kurt still might say no.

And he'd have every right to – Dave knew that. He was fully aware of how badly he'd treated Kurt the previous year. He just hoped he'd done enough since then to sway Kurt's opinion.

He was reasonably sure that Kurt and Blake or Barney or whatever his name was were not an item any more. Dave wasn't thatclose to Kurt, but he liked to think that they had a good enough relationship for him to know that Kurt was not the kind of person who would cheat, and for him to be able to tell that whatever had gone down between Kurt and Sebastian was nothing more than a rebound, if that.

Plus, Sebastian was an ass, so rebound or not, it would never last.

Dave's heart was thumping solidly in his chest as he shuffled along McKinley's empty corridors – it was Monday afternoon and the students and teachers that were still on the campus were wrapped up in after school activities, and it would be an hour or so before the activities let out. Plenty of time to get in and get out.

Approaching the wall where Kurt's locker was located (yeah, he was a stalker), he pulled the card in its red enveloped out of his big sweatshirt pocket, making sure it wasn't too wrinkled. He stopped in front of the locker, suddenly feeling like he needed to punch something as he saw the graffiti on the door. Messy scribbles laced with fags and queers and fairys that Dave knew, if it were this time last year, he would've written himself.

Clenching his jaw, he tried to ignore the scrawls as he reached up and slid the envelope through the slats at the top of the door. He blew a slow breath out through his nose. No going back now.

The quiet noise of the envelope hitting the floor of the locker stopped him from leaving, though. He couldn't quite figure out why, but it sounded wrong. It sounded… empty. Frowning, Dave grabbed the door handle and tugged, almost startled when it swung open easily, banging back against the adjacent lockers.

The red envelope was the only thing inside, lying by itself on the dusty aluminum floor.

At home, Dave put off his homework and logged onto Facebook, clicking on Kurt's profile and scrolling down his timeline to see when the last post had been updated.

It was a complaint about his stepbrother's cooking, posted January 10th, 2012, 4:52 p.m.

Dave's eyebrows snapped together. Today was February sixth. Kurt was the kind of person who posted at least three statuses a day. Why hadn't he updated in almost a month? Maybe he'd been too upset over his breakup with Blake/Benjamin/Beetlejuice to be active online?

Seeing that Santana (the only other New Directions member who'd been willing to add him) was logged on, he clicked her name and sent her an instant message.

hey does kurt still go to mckinley? or did he go back to dalton?

He was relieved that Santana replied almost immediately, but the relief quickly disappeared at her response.

no, he's in the hospital. apparently you're out of the loop.

Dave swallowed, his fingers rapidly tapping the keys. what happened? did he get beat up or something?

no

There was a long pause as Dave waited for Santana to elaborate, and he was about to push her for more information when another message popped up.

he tried to opt out

Dave wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he had an idea. His stomach twisted in his gut.

are you serious? he typed.

yeah

where is he? lima memorial?

st. rita's on west market street

Dave grabbed his coat from where he'd tossed it on the foot of his bed, but his computer blipped again with another message.

i don't think you should see him

He leaned over his desk to send his reply. why, cause i used to push him around?

yes

i'm going anyway. he can tell me to leave if he wants to

Dave pushed through the front entrance to St. Rita's behavioral health wing, brushing the snow out of his hair and off his shoulders as he walked up to the front desk. He waited in line for ten minutes before one of the receiving nurses called him over and asked what he needed.

"I'm looking for Kurt Hummel," he said, spelling out Kurt's last name for her to plug into the system.

"He's on the fourth floor, room fifty-seven," she said with a sugary smile. "Visiting hours are over at eight-thirty, and the elevators are over there."

Dave thanked her and strode over to the elevators, pressing the fourth-floor button once he was inside and half-listening to the crappy music on the speakers as the elevator carried him upwards.

The fourth floor wasn't very busy, and it seemed like there was only a handful of doctors and nurses on duty, so Dave hoped that whatever had prompted Kurt to hurt himself wasn't that serious.

The door to room fifty-seven was closed, and he hesitated before knocking. There was no answer from the other side, so he turned the doorknob and pulled it open, not quite sure if he had the right room.

"…Can I help you?"

Dave blinked. The person sitting up in the bed with a book on his lap was definitely Kurt (he thought). His hair was buzzed short (which wasn't too much of a shock, since Dave had already seen it that night at Scandals), his skin was paler than it should be, his facial expression was hard and (if Dave wasn't mistaken) more than a little annoyed, and his arms were bandaged up to his elbows, but it was Kurt.

"If you want me to leave, just say so," Dave said quickly.

Kurt snorted. "Yeah, I want you to leave. I think you've got the wrong room."

Dave stopped short, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that. "Um…"

"Wait, I know you," Kurt said, squinting at him. "You're that asshole who was shoving Kurt around last year, aren't you?"

Dave blinked again. "Um, what?"

"Hate to break it to you, Tubs, but Kurt's not here right now," Kurt said, and Dave realized for the first time that Kurt's voice was off – too high. Kurt was giving him an odd smile that didn't quite fit on his face, and the expression made the hairs on the back of Dave's neck stand up.

"Whatthehell."

Kurt's lip curled in distaste. "Obviously you haven't heard about us."

Dave gulped audibly. He still hadn't moved from his position by the door. "Us?" he echoed nervously.

"Kurt's gone." The smile was back, and Dave's blood ran cold.

"Kurt, what are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke? 'Cause it's not funny."

"Ow! Fuck!" Kurt abruptly cried out, his head twitching to the side and his eyes squeezing shut as if he'd had a sudden migraine. He massaged the side of his head for a moment with a pained expression before turning his attention back to Dave. "Okay, fine," he snapped (and Jesus Christ why was he talking like that?). "Kurt wants me to tell you that he's still here. And he's being super fucking annoying."

Dave really couldn't process anything that Kurt was doing. Was he even awake? Had Dave wandered onto a movie set or something and Kurt was just playing a character? What did Kurt think he was doing? Dave just stood there, staring.

"Better close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

Dave's jaw snapped shut, but it wasn't from what Kurt had said. His voice had changed again, this time dropping below his normal pitch, low and graveled.

"Okay," Dave said slowly, his own voice shaking. "I really don't know what the hell is going on with you, so maybe I should just—"

"No, you can stay," Kurt said. "I can explain." He closed the book on his lap and set it aside.

Dave was silent, not moving towards the bed, but not making a move to leave either.

Kurt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This is gonna sound completely fucked up," he said.

More fucked up than whatever the hell you were just doing? Dave wanted to retort.

"And the only reason that I'm telling you this now is that Kurt's asking me to. Otherwise I really don't give a shit," Kurt said, and Dave really wanted to slap Kurt to wake him the hell up. "But… Kurt's a multiple."

"I don't know what the hell you're—"

Kurt held up a hand, cutting Dave off. "We are not just one person," he said. "There's eight of us, and we all take turns using the body."

Kurt referring to himself as 'we' and 'the body' made Dave feel like he needed to throw up. He swallowed the bile in his throat, though, and mustered up the courage to say, "Yeah, that's completely fucked up."

Kurt nodded in agreement. He scratched behind his ear. "Sorry about Eleanor. She's even more fucked up than the rest of us."

"Who the hell is Eleanor?"

Kurt winced slightly, running a hand over his head. "That would be the creepy psychotic sixth grader that you just met. I'm Robbie." He sat back with a heavy breath. "And if it makes you feel any better, Kurt's not an alter."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means he's real," Kurt – Robbie – replied. "I really don't give a fuck what your relationship with him is, but you should at least know that he's real."