Since Finn had been called out of school early (none of the Glee kids had been told why, but they all could guess), Artie silently thanked the possibly-nonexistent God that he'd managed to talk to Finn earlier in the morning between classes. Finn had understandably been irked by the fact that the entire idea of a documentary surrounding Kurt had been set up without Finn's knowledge, but once Artie explained that he already had Kurt's permission Finn's annoyance was replaced by simple hesitance.

"Dude, I know you mean well, but Kurt's been having a hard time, you know?" Finn had said slowly. "I'm not sure that shoving a camera in his face is going to help."

Artie had insisted then that if Kurt hadn't wanted the camera, he would have said, and Finn caved and agreed to be there for the filming.

At the Hudson-Hummels' house that afternoon, Finn and Puck hefted Artie and his chair up the porch steps, Santana following behind with the tripod and the backpack holding the two video cameras. Finn had talked to Burt and Carole about the project – Artie was willing to bet that Burt was less than pleased at first – and had somehow convinced the both of them to sit for short interviews as well.

Artie wasn't surprised that Carole had agreed, but Finn had to have some serious persuasive skills if he managed to get Burt to say yes.

"So, where's the nutcase?" Santana asked as she dropped the backpack and tripod onto the counter island in the kitchen.

"Hey," Finn snapped at her, his eyes hardening. She rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. Finn glared at her for second before calling Kurt's name.

Kurt walked into the kitchen then, his sleeves rolled up and a dirty sponge in his hand. "Hi, guys," he said, wringing the sponge out in the sink. "I was just trying to clean some of the ink off the walls in the living room."

Finn nodded, though the others looked confused as to what he meant.

"Dude, where's your hair?" Puck blurted.

"Jeez, Mr. Tact, way to be subtle," Santana sneered, sticking her hands nervously into her pockets.

Kurt chuckled, tossing the sponge into the sink and drying his hands on a dishtowel. "One of my counterparts was mad at me and she cut it off," he answered. Finn could hear the tension in Kurt's voice, but he wasn't sure that the others could.

"Let's set up in the living room," Artie said quickly, temporarily saving Kurt from having to elaborate. Finn was glad Artie had – Kurt would be revealing a lot about himself over the next few hours. No point in rushing him.

Somehow, Blaine ended up at the Lima Bean after school on Valentine's Day. It felt strange to be there now – he hadn't been back since his confrontation with Sebastian, and he hadn't even bought coffee since he'd sat down with Carole. Trying to ignore the awful Valentine's decorations and merchandise, Blaine hastily placed his order and went to stand at the pick-up counter. As soon as he'd walked in, he'd looked around to make sure Sebastian wasn't there, and now Blaine scanned the shop a second time just to make absolutely sure that the Warbler wasn't watching him from a corner.

"Hello?"

Blaine whipped around, realizing the barista had been trying to get his attention for at least thirty seconds. His coffee was sitting ready on the counter. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching to the cup but stopping short when he noticed who the barista was. "…Karofsky?"

Karofsky gave an odd, nervous half-smile, as if he were unsure of how Blaine would react to seeing him. To be honest, Blaine had almost completely forgotten about the extensive and tense history between Karofsky and Kurt, so whatever gut reaction he was supposed to have was temporarily delayed.

Instead of quickly walking away or snapping at Karofsky like he might've done if he'd been less preoccupied, Blaine only blurted, "Since when do you work here?"

Karofsky laughed, which for some reason sounded a little weird to Blaine. "Uh, since two years ago? It's just a Tuesdays-and-Thursdays thing, though."

"…Oh." That made more sense; Blaine had always been wrapped up in Glee rehearsal those days, and the only reason he wasn't so engaged today was that Mr. Schue had taken the holiday as an excuse to give the club the day off. Though Blaine was fairly sure that even if it had been required today he wouldn't have shown up.

"So… how are you?" Karofsky asked lamely.

Blaine stared at him, confused as to why the guy who'd shoved him against a wall just a year ago was now seemingly interested in his wellbeing. Karofsky awkwardly waited for an answer, and when Blaine didn't give one Karofsky hesitantly asked him if he wanted to sit down.

"Why?"

Karofsky shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't you have to work?"

Another shrug. "I get a ten-minute break for every shift. Haven't used up today's yet."

Blaine was honestly clueless as to why the hell he accepted Karofsky's offer, but only a couple minutes later Karofsky had hung up his cap and polyester green apron, and the two of them were seated across from each other at one of the tables in the back. Blaine turned his coffee cup anxiously in his fingers.

"How's Kurt doing?" Karofsky asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"I… don't know," Blaine admitted. "He and I… we're not together any more."

"Well, I kind of figured that," Karofsky said, as if it were just common sense. Blaine was surprised. It was the first time someone had neither been shocked at the breakup nor immediately assumed that Blaine had been the one to end it. "But aren't you guys still friends or something, at least?"

Blaine sighed, taking a gulp of his coffee and trying not to acknowledge how it made him feel a little sick going down. "I'm not really sure what we are," he said, purposefully looking out the window.

"I saw Kurt in the hospital," Karofsky said. "He was pretty messed up."

"Understatement of the year," Blaine muttered.

"Are you okay?"

"Why do you care?"

The question probably sounded a lot harsher than Blaine had intended, but he was too weary to feel sorry.

"You know how much of an asshole you're being, right?"

Blaine's attention snapped away from the window. "What?"

"Sorry," Karofsky shrugged. "Guess not."

Blaine gritted his teeth. "You know what," he said, standing up from his chair. "Screw you. I'm sick of everyone yelling at me and telling me I'm in the wrong here."

He strode quickly towards the exit, but not fast enough to miss Karofsky snapping, "Yeah, well, maybe they're right."

Puck wasn't really a smart guy – he knew that. And he was okay with it. There wasn't a lot he strived to understand, because there weren't that many things he cared about. The only thing he'd ever really tried to get was why the hell his dad had to have been such an ass, but to be honest Puck had lived almost his entire life without his dad so nothing had actually changed. It didn't bother him all that much. At least, not any more.

Now, though? With Kurt? Puck figured he'd be willing to trade in his BMX to the Wizard of Oz just to gain some little spark of understanding. Nothing had ever changed in how he saw his dad – he was always a deadbeat and nothing more. But Kurt was different. Even before Puck had joined Glee, even when he was grabbing Kurt to toss him into the dumpster every morning, he'd respected him. Of course, Puck would never have admitted that to his fellow jocks, or to Kurt himself, but man. To face that kind of crap every morning and still take the same path into school? Another thing Puck would never admit – he was pretty sure that if he'd been in Kurt's shoes, he would've snapped a long time ago.

Which was why looking at Kurt now was so disconcerting. Kurt was sitting on the living room couch by himself, nervously picking at his nails, and Puck was really trying very hard not to just stare at him. Puck's dad had hit his mom a few times (okay, more than a few) and the expression on Kurt's face now was a little similar to how his mom looked afterwards, with bruises on her temple and "It's fine, don't worry about me, Noah," in her mouth. But Kurt's face was so much worse.

Artie was sitting in his wheelchair right in front of Puck, and Santana was standing in front of the TV with one of the cameras in her hands (Puck held the other one). Finn was sitting just off to the side, keeping an eye on Kurt while Artie fiddled with the few sheets of paper in his lap.

"Okay," Artie finally said, breaking the silence. "I think we're set to go. You ready, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded, his nails clicking against each other.

Puck and Santana took their cue to switch on the cameras, focusing on Kurt from the angles Artie had dictated during their setup.

"Okay, roll cameras," Artie ordered, and Puck hit the Record button. He didn't miss how Kurt tensed up slightly.

Artie clasped his hands in his lap and began reading the questions from his notes. "First off, could you state your full name and age?"

"Kurt Elijah Hummel. I'm eighteen years old."

"How old were you when you were diagnosed?"

"About twelve, I think? I'm not entirely sure."

Puck frowned, watching Kurt through the viewfinder. How messed up did Kurt have to be if he couldn't remember when something that important took place?

"It was an early diagnosis; I know that much," Kurt continued, still picking at his nails. "Most doctors don't figure out what's happening until the person's at least in their twenties."

Artie took this in stride, and Puck couldn't help but be slightly amazed at how calmly Artie was portraying the role of the interviewer. "Why do you think it was so early?"

Kurt chewed on his lip. "The earlier the abuse, the less time it takes for the alters to show up."

Puck swallowed and forced himself to remain still and quiet as Artie pushed through his interrogation, question after question. The more Kurt talked, the more Puck wanted to simultaneously vomit and punch a wall. It was astonishing how often the answers were "I don't remember," "I don't know," and "Tyler has those memories; not me." Puck felt relieved when Artie finally said that Kurt's interview was done.

His stomach twisted, though, as Artie added, "Do you mind if we speak to a few of the alters?"

Puck noticed that Finn didn't look shocked at the question – nor did Kurt – and he realized that Artie's asking was really just a courtesy. This had been the plan all along, and he'd just been too dumb to figure that out.

Where was the Wizard of Oz when you needed him?

"Robbie, we'd like to talk to you," Finn called, and Puck felt the hairs on his arms prickle as Kurt's eyes seemed to shut off like a computer screen powering down, his eyelids sliding down halfway and his head drooping.

Nothing happened.

Why wasn't anything happening?

He'd been okay visiting Kurt the day after Jacob's article had been published, because the only personalities that came out then were the little kid and the party boy and those two weren't exactly scary. Weird, sure, but not scary. Puck didn't want anything to do with the one who had been screaming Kurt's head off in the choir room.

Crap.

Why was Kurt just sitting there?

"Robbie," Finn called again.

"What's going on?" Santana asked.

"He's transitioning," Finn replied without taking his eyes off Kurt. "It sometimes takes a—"

"Damn!"

Every person in the room jumped as Kurt's eyes suddenly snapped all the way open and his posture changed.

"Fucking hell, this is the best thing I've ever woken up to," Kurt said with a toothy grin.

"Truman?" Finn said, startled and confused.

Kurt ignored him, his eyes running over Santana's curves graciously accented by her Cheerios uniform. She shifted uncomfortably, wrapping her free arm around her midriff. Puck didn't blame her.

"Seriously, Finn, did you just get the hottest fuckers from school to give me a surprise party?" Kurt asked, his eyes glinting. "Because if you set up an orgy, I am so down with that." He leered at Santana, who looked away. Shifting his focus to Artie, he continued, "You're welcome to join too, Hot Wheels, but you have to leave the chair out of it. I'm not that kinky."

Artie coughed. "Truman, is it?"

"Can I take my shirt off? It's hot in here, and it's not just me."

"Actually, Truman, we're not here for… that," Artie said diplomatically.

Kurt shrugged. "Whatever. I'm taking it off anyway."

"If it makes you comfortable." Artie pushed his glasses up his nose as Kurt pulled his shirt over his head, sitting back in just his undershirt. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Ask as many as you want, Professor Triple-X," Kurt winked.

Artie ignored the quip. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six. Pornstar prime."

Puck cringed behind the camera. He really hadn't wanted that image in his head.

"What role do you play?"

Kurt's grin stretched, not quite fitting the shape of his face. "Oh, we're into role playing now? Is that what this is? The reporter, the subject, and the camera crew all get together for a gang bang?"

"Um, no," Artie replied, a little forcefully this time. "I meant, what role do you play in Kurt's life?"

"I get him laid."

"Okay, then."

Once again, Burt was agitatedly pacing the floor of Hiram Berry's home office, having paid Hiram a visit after he was finished with the day's work at his own office.

"He didn't recognize the guy at all?" Hiram asked from his desk chair.

Burt shook his head. "There was nothing. No reaction."

Hiram let out a long breath, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his chin in thought. "Burt, do you want to find this man?"

I want to find him and bury him. I want to break every single bone in his body. I want to tear out his lungs and see just how twisted his insides are.

"Yes."

"Then you're going to have to talk to Kurt."

Burt stopped his pacing. "I am not forcing my son to relive any of what this psycho did to him."

"You may have to," Hiram said. "You can't have your cake and eat it too, Burt. Not in this situation. If you want to find him, you need more information, and the only person in possession of anything that might help is Kurt."

"I can't ask Kurt to do that. It could end up with him getting hurt again."

"He's already hurt, Burt," Hiram said evenly. He held his hands up placatingly. "I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job as a parent. But think of how much pain he's going to endure in his life if he's not able to heal as soon as possible?"

"That's what the hospital is for."

Hiram shook his head. "It doesn't matter what kind of problem you're talking about – nothing is going to make it go away without confronting the problem's origins. It's simple logic. The nature of the human mind. You have to get rid of the roots before you can kill the weed."