After rehearsal, Mike filed out of the choir room with the rest of the Glee kids, holding hands with Tina as he went. The two of them were listening politely to Sugar insisting that every member of the combined New Directions and Troubletones dye their hair for Regionals when Finn tapped Mike on the shoulder.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

Mike was a little confused since Finn's expression clearly meant whatever he wanted to talk about was fairly serious (and Mike wasn't exactly the go-to guy for serious stuff not involving himself), but he nodded and told Tina he'd text her later. She glanced once at Finn, concern flitting over her features before she smiled, gave Mike a kiss, and headed to the parking lot with the rest of the girls.

"What's up?" Mike asked, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

"I need your help with something," Finn said.

Mike frowned. "Artie's movie?" he guessed, saying the first possibility that popped into his head. He couldn't think of anything else going on in Finn's life that would involve people outside his family.

Finn shook his head. "No, not that. I… Look, it's really hard to explain, but can you just make a quick stop at my house on your way home?"

Mike hesitated. "…Is Kurt going to be there?"

"No, don't worry about that. Burt took him to Athens for his evaluation."

"Oh, I— I didn't mean…" Mike stammered. "I wasn't worried, I— I just wanted to know what to expect, you know?"

"Dude, I get it. It's fine. So, you'll follow me in your car? It'll take ten minutes, tops."

Mike shrugged. "Yeah, okay, sure."

Twenty minutes later, Mike parked his car alongside Finn's front lawn while Finn pulled his truck into the driveway, and Mike followed him up the porch steps to the front door. "Is your mom home?" Mike asked.

Finn pulled open the door and stepped into the kitchen, slinging his backpack onto the counter. "No, she's at work. Someone has to keep an eye on Kurt twenty-four-seven now, so Mom's been grabbing extra shifts whenever she can get them."

Mike nodded, though he wasn't sure he fully understood what was going on in the Hudson-Hummel family right now. He didn't ask, though. It wasn't his business. "So, what do you need me for?"

"I need you to translate something," Finn said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the rack by the door.

Mike's eyebrows shot skyward. "Translate?" he echoed. "Seriously? What are you trying to read?"

Finn didn't laugh or smile at Mike's joking prod, and Mike was pretty sure that was a bad sign. A sign of what, he wasn't sure. "Come on," Finn said, turning and walking down the hallway.

Mike followed him upstairs, deciding very consciously not to ask or comment on the bike hook drilled into the wall by Kurt's bedroom door, or the rope hanging off of the doorknob. He couldn't help feeling a little relieved when Finn led him past, all the way to the end of the hall and opening up another bedroom.

"What are we doing in your parents' room?" Mike asked, shifting uncomfortably. If he were Puck, he'd probably make some snarky crack about Finn jumping his bones while the parents were out, but he'd been brought up in a stiff Chinese household and manners had been beaten into his bones from age three onwards. This also meant that he was not comfortable with being in a private space that did not belong to him. He hoped whatever Finn needed him to translate wouldn't take long.

Finn didn't say anything, only turning on the light and gesturing to the wall.

Mike blinked, at first confused by what he was looking at. A large patch of the wallpaper had been torn away and the wood underneath it was marred by criss-crossing jagged lines that had been made by some kind of knife or chisel. It took him several seconds to realize that the lines were actually forming symbols – familiar symbols.

"Whoa," he breathed, kneeling to get a closer look at the marks. "Kurt did this?"

Finn nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Well, technically he didn't, but… Never mind. Anyways. Can you read it?"

Mike squinted at the symbols, which were messily carved but still somewhat legible. "This is in Mandarin," he said.

"…So can you read it?"

"It might take me a minute," Mike replied. While his father's family was originally from Beijing and spoke fluent Mandarin, Mike Chang Sr. had had some sort of falling out with his siblings years ago and so Mike hadn't interacted with that side of the family tree since he was small. He was better at Cantonese, since his mother and her relatives were from Zhongshan and they all spoke Cantonese more often than English, but his father had made sure that Mike had had at least a rudimentary education in reading and writing both dialects.

"I'll figure it out," he said over his shoulder to Finn.

"Cool," Finn said. "Thanks, dude."

"No problem. Now shut up so I can concentrate."

Finn fell silent and resigned to simply leaning back against the other wall while Mike stared at the carvings and tried to make sense of them. Sifting through old information that he hadn't had to access for years, Mike compared the symbols to the ones he knew, slowly opening the pathways in his brain that would allow him to use his "mother tongue" (as his father would say).

It took him longer than the promised ten minutes, but he finally sat back and said, "Okay. I think I got it." He paused for a second before saying the phrase aloud in Mandarin. "Jhen shur yie-sho."

Finn looked at him askance. "…I did say 'translate', right?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what the closest English translation is," Mike said. "Relax." He cocked his head to the side in thought, comparing the two language dictionaries in his head for a few moments. "I guess it would be 'man is beast'."

Finn's face contorted in bewilderment. "Well, what's that supposed to mean?"

Mike raised his hands. "I don't know. But that's what it says."

Kurt lay on his back with his arms under his head, blades of grass prickling through his shirt and a light breeze tugging at his hair. A few clouds rippled across the sky above him, changing too quickly to identify any pictures in them. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds from the playground – the squeaking of the little merry-go-round as Tyler spun around, the squealing of the swing chains, Zack's engine noises as he pretended to be an excavator in the sandbox. Kurt was purposefully distancing himself from the playground, wanting some time somewhat to himself since the alters seemed to be holding their own.

He supposed this was a meditation of sorts, and even though he'd always turned up his nose a little at the idea of meditation, it was nice to be able to kick back and breathe for a few minutes.

Eventually a shadow fell over him, and he squinted up to see Eleanor's figure blocking the sun. He shut his eyes again. "You're not going to cut my hair again, are you?"

"No."

There was a rustling as Eleanor lay on the grass next to him. He cracked an eye open to glance at her in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're not insulting me," he said flatly. "Or hitting me."

Eleanor made a face like she was offended. "Fuck off."

"Oh, never mind. You're fine."

Kurt was surprised to hear her snort. He didn't think he'd ever heard Eleanor laugh before. At least, not when she wasn't trying to be cruel.

"Can I ask you something?" she said a minute later, surprising Kurt again.

"Um… I guess." He wasn't sure if he should brace himself for a rude and/or personal question, since Eleanor was acting strange (and had been for a while, now that he thought about it).

"What's it like being you?"

At that, Kurt involuntarily let out a cackle, his shoulders shaking as Eleanor glared at him.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

Kurt forced himself to calm down, leaving one hand beneath his head and resting the other on his stomach. "Sorry," he said, still fighting a chuckle. "Just… someone who lives in my head, asking me what it's like being me? It's— Aren't you supposed to know that already?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him, affronted. "In case you didn't notice, I'm not you. You own the body, and I'm stuck in your fucking dream playground."

Drawing a slow inhale, Kurt stared back up at the blue sky. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "But… I don't own the body."

"Yeah, you do."

Kurt shrugged, the grass poking into his shoulder blades. "Just because I was here first doesn't automatically make me the owner," he said, tugging a few green blades out of the ground.

"…Yeah, it does."

"Eleanor, I'm not in control," he insisted. "No one is. If someone was able to keep us all in check – and it doesn't have to be me, though obviously I'd prefer that – we wouldn't be having all these problems."

Eleanor frowned, rolling onto her side so as to look at him more directly. "You try to control me all the time."

The corner of Kurt's mouth tugged upwards. "No one can control you."

"I am pretty bossy, aren't I?" Eleanor grinned, lying back down.

"Bossy's not the word I'd use."

Eleanor giggled, which still sounded insanely odd.

"You know… you're a lot more fun when you're not attacking anyone," Kurt observed. "You seem happier."

She sighed, watching the rippling clouds for a few moments. "I'm not," she said. "I just get tired sometimes."

Kurt tilted his head. "Tired?"

He was surprised to see a tear work its way out the corner of her eye, falling and disappearing into the grass. "I'm so angry," she whispered. "All the time. And I don't know how to get it out of me and I don't know why."

Her voice cracked, and Kurt reached over to lightly clasp her hand.

"We're going to be stuck like this forever, and I hate it."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," she snapped, yanking her hand away. "There's only two ways this can end, and they both suck."

Kurt blinked. "What?"

Eleanor gave him a look like it should have been obvious. "You die or you get better. Either way I disappear. We all do. And you walk off scot-free. It's not fair."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, because he didn't know what else he could say.

Eleanor only turned her head away, her face contorting as she tried and failed to keep her tears in check. Kurt didn't move, at a loss for how to react.

He jumped when Robbie appeared above them. "What are you doing?" Robbie asked, his tone laced with accusation.

Kurt frowned up at him. "Um… talking to Eleanor?"

"Why?" Robbie demanded. Eleanor sniffed and glanced back and forth between the two of them.

"…Because she's upset?"

"So?"

Kurt's frown deepened as he sat up. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, I thought you were on my team," Robbie snapped, sounding angrier than Kurt had ever heard. He didn't think he'd ever seen Robbie emotionally involved in anything, let alone angry over it.

"Team?" he echoed, almost laughing. "Robbie, there's no teams here."

"Bullshit."

Kurt squinted at Robbie in confusion, pulling himself to his feet so that the two of them were eye-level. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why are you acting like this?"

Robbie only glared at him, his jaw twitching and his eyes flashing in rage. Kurt nearly flinched.

"Have you got some kind of personal problem with Eleanor?" he inquired, crossing his arms.

"You're damn right, I do," Robbie snarled, curling his lip in Eleanor's direction. "She tried to kill you – along with the rest of us – and now you're holding hands with her?"

Kurt took a step forward, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. (It was a little strange that he was a couple inches taller than Robbie, but Robbie was a sloucher, so…)

"First of all," he said firmly. "I did that, so don't try to blame it on her. Second, you and I are not on a team. You abuse me just as much as she does, so don't pretend like you're the righteous Protector of the Realm."

"I don't—"

"You don't let me eat, Robbie!" Kurt cried, swiftly cutting his alter off. "You don't let me eat and you don't even try to be kind toanyone in the real world. In fact, you make it a point to be unkind. That's no better than anything Eleanor does, and you're not special."

At that, Robbie lurched forward a half-step, looking like he was about to punch Kurt in the jaw. Kurt flinched and stepped back, but Robbie stopped himself.

"You have no idea how much I protect you from," Robbie spat.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Robbie didn't answer, already storming back across the grass towards the playground with his shoulders hunched tightly.

"Hey!" Kurt shouted. "I asked you a question!" He jogged after Robbie, leaving Eleanor behind on the ground. Robbie didn't stop or turn around. "Robbie! I'm talking to you!"

Kurt felt the ground disappear from under his feet, and his body was yanked backwards into the blackness.

Burt and Kurt arrived at the Appalachian Behavioral Healthcare entrance nearly half an hour before Kurt's evaluation was scheduled and were directed to a waiting room only a short ways into the building. It was brightly lit and generally cheery, accented by a few potted ferns scattered around the room and a table stacked with magazines.

Kurt shifted impatiently in his chair while Burt scanned over an issue of US Weekly from 2006. "I feel like I'm waiting for the fucking dentist," Kurt grumbled. "Would it kill them to add a few Playboys to the collection?"

Burt didn't look up from his magazine, carefully choosing to ignore Truman's complaints.

Eventually, a pretty young intern came in with a clipboard. "Hummel?" she called, which was unnecessary considering that Burt and Kurt were the only two people there. "Dr. Silbaugh can see you now," she said with a sweet, white-toothed smile. "You can follow me."

She led them down the corridor only a few yards before opening an office door for them. "You can go right in and have a seat; Dr. Silbaugh will be here in just a second."

"Thanks," said Burt.

Kurt paused in the doorway, grinning at the intern for a little too long. "Yes, thank you, Ashley," he leered, and Burt was reasonably sure that the only reason Kurt had noticed her nametag in the first place was that it was pinned to her breast.

"Stop it," Burt snapped. "Sorry, miss, he—"

She flapped a hand. "Don't worry about it. I've been here awhile."

She turned and left, and Burt had to grab Kurt's arm to keep him from reaching for her buttocks.

"Man," Kurt said once she was gone and the door had closed behind her. "I wasn't too into the whole hospitalization thing, but if all the nurses look like her, I am so down."

Burt rolled his eyes as he took one of the chairs in front of the large uncluttered desk. "I'm pretty sure your ward – if you get admitted – will be a males-only situation."

"Well, fuck. I was hoping for a little variety." He shrugged and plopped into the chair next to Burt. "Ah, well. I'll take what I can get."

"You won't be getting anything, Truman."

Kurt's eyes narrowed threateningly. "You know, you're really starting to piss me off."

"Sorry if that doesn't concern me all that much."

"It should."

The door opened behind them and a man in his forties wearing a white coat entered, holding his hand out to Burt. "It's great to meet you, Mr. Hummel," he said. "Your work in Congress has been absolutely fantastic. I'm Roy Silbaugh – we spoke on the phone. Is this your son?"

Burt nodded. "Yeah. Well, technically speaking."

"Fuck off, Gramps, I'm not your kid," Kurt spat, making a point of not standing up to greet the doctor. "Technically or otherwise."

Burt sighed. "And that would be the problem," he said to Dr. Silbaugh.

"Ah, I see." Silbaugh took Kurt's behavior in stride since he'd already known roughly what to expect. "And who's speaking now?"

"Tr—"

"Hello!" Kurt snapped. "I'm right fucking here, asshole."

"I apologize," Dr. Silbaugh said diplomatically. "What's your name?"

"Truman."

Silbaugh nodded and moved to take his own seat at the desk, shrugging off his white coat and hanging it over the back of his chair. He pulled out a pair of eyeglasses from his shirt pocket and glanced over the file on his desk. "All right, then… Can you refresh my memory? How many alters does Kurt have right now that you're aware of?" he asked. "That particular detail isn't in the file."

"Uh, seven," Burt answered, shifting anxiously in his seat.

"And what are their names?"

"Well, there's Truman, obviously," Burt said, ignoring Kurt's smug grin at the mention of Truman's name. "And there's also Craig, Robbie, Tyler, Schism, Zack, and Eleanor."

Silbaugh nodded and scribbled the details into the case file before sitting back. "Okay," he said. "Before we go any further, what specifically are you looking for from us?"

Burt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, some people come here in search of just a temporary refuge, or a place to adjust to new medications – mainly anti-psychotics – while others are looking for more of a long-term healing process."

"I don't care how long it takes," Burt said. "I just want my son put back together."

Kurt laughed, his head rolling back to grin at the ceiling. "Fat chance of that happening," he chuckled. "I like it here."

Silbaugh didn't seem surprised or at all taken aback by the statement. "Often there will be at least one alter who fights the integration process," he said. "It's perfectly understandable – and explainable."

"How many people have you treated for this?" Burt wanted to know.

"Well, it's… an unusual problem," Silbaugh replied. "I've been here ten years, but we've only had one other patient with DID in that time. However, when she left, she was fully integrated and ready to really live her life unhindered, so Kurt will be in good hands if you decide to admit him. And if he passes the evaluation. Obviously, if he's going to pose too much of a danger to the other patients, we won't be able to provide him with the care he needs since we try to keep the environment here as liberal as we can. However, if he doesn't pass, I can give you the names and contact information of several hospitals that specialize in DID."

"Do any of them have hot nurses?" Kurt piped up, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Silbaugh raised his hands. "I can really only give you a definite opinion of the psychological care you would receive," he said. "I know nothing about the hotness quotient of the staff."

Kurt snorted. "I like this guy."

"I have to ask," Silbaugh started, leaning on his elbows and turning his attention to Burt. "This may be a difficult question for you, Mr. Hummel, but I need you to answer honestly. Are any of Kurt's alters psychotic or chiefly violent?"

Burt chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Well, yeah. Craig's beaten Kurt up before, and Eleanor cuts him sometimes. She also hits other people sometimes, too, but she's not very strong so there's not a lot of damage there. I wouldn't go so far as to call either of them psychotic, though."

Silbaugh nodded. "Okay, good. That sort of thing we're equipped to handle."

"What exactly does 'equipped' mean?" Burt asked. "I just want to know exactly what I'm signing my kid up for here."

"Well, we use sedation as an absolute last resort," Silbaugh assured him. "We make a point to not drug our patients unless we're one hundred percent sure that it's the only way to control them and we usually only come to that conclusion if they're attempting to hurt themselves. If a patient is having a difficult time remaining calm, we have a solitary room where they can go until they feel ready to come back."

Kurt cackled again, earning a strange look from Burt. "Padded cell sounds fun," he remarked with a stretched grin. "An awesomeplace to hook—"

Burt frowned as Kurt's speech was suddenly cut off, his facial expression going slack. A low, groaning sound rattled in Kurt's chest for a moment as his eyes slid shut and then abruptly snapped open. "—talkingggg you!" he slurred loudly, nearly falling out of his chair as his limbs jerked and his body lurched forward.

Burt managed to reach out and grab Kurt before he lost his balance or hit his head on the desk. "Kurt?" he said, holding him with one arm around the chest and one hand on his back. "Kurt, say something."

Kurt's eyes blinked as if they were adjusting to the light, and his breath was coming a little faster than normal, but he sat up slowly and looked around the room in confusion. "Where are we?"

Burt huffed a sigh of relief at the sound of his son's voice. "You scared me for a second there."

"Sorry, I— I was running after Robbie—" Kurt shook his head. "Never mind."

Burt squeezed his shoulder. "We're at Appalachian, kiddo. This is your interview."

Silbaugh reached across the desk to shake Kurt's hand. "I'm Dr. Silbaugh," he said.

Kurt blinked again, and Burt could see that he was fighting tears. He could hardly blame Kurt for that, though. He'd been dreading the evaluation for days and all of a sudden he'd woken up right in the middle of it.

"Kurt, you okay?" Burt asked, a hand still resting on Kurt's arm.

"I…" Kurt swallowed, then abruptly stood up, wiping at his face. "I – I need a minute. I'll be in the hall." He turned and pulled the door open, disappearing into the corridor.

Burt stood to go after him, but Silbaugh stopped him. "Don't worry; he can't go far," he said. Burt hesitated, still wanting to make sure Kurt wasn't completely falling apart. Silbaugh closed Kurt's medical file. "Now, if you like we can admit him now and have him situated in just under an hour, but it seems like he might need a couple days before he's ready to move in. We don't want him too stressed his first day."

Burt paused. "So he passed?"

Silbaugh nodded. "I think we can help him. Hopefully he'll be on his way to integration very soon." He took off his glasses and dropped them on top of the file. "Now, Kurt's going to need a physical examination before he's admitted. We can do that here whenever he moves in, but I think with his condition it would be better to do it in a familiar environment with a doctor he knows. If you want to use your own physician for that, just have him or her fax me the results."

Burt reached out to shake Silbaugh's hand again. "Thanks, Doc," he said. "I'll bring him back on Sunday."