More than anything, Mercedes felt guilty.

The more she thought about her history with Kurt, the more things actually made sense now that his illness had come to light. First, there were the countless absences from school – Finn would only report that Kurt had a cold and he'd be back the next day, but Kurt had said before that he rarely got sick because of his organic-food-boosted immune system. Beyond that there were numerous times when she'd glance over at him during class or rehearsal and he'd just be sitting there with this look that justdidn't fit.

There was also the night of her sleepover with Kurt and Rachel, when she'd woken around two in the morning to see Kurt clutching Rachel's stuffed bear and silently rocking himself back and forth on top of his sleeping bag. She'd thought it was weird and maybe worth asking him about, but she'd assumed he was sleepwalking (rocking?) and gently told him to lie down and go back to sleep.

The next day Kurt had gone back to Dalton and she'd forgotten to ask him if he was all right.

The biggest problem was that Mercedes just didn't get it. She understood intellectually what was going on in Kurt's head (or at least the basics of it), but that didn't make it any less confusing. Or less scary.

She had a vague idea of what could have happened to cause Kurt's behavior, but she consciously made a point not to think about it. Partly because it didn't make any sense that someone like Kurt would have that kind of history, but mostly because the thought of it made her want to simultaneously cry and throw up.

It really wasn't that she wanted to avoid Kurt, like Rachel said. She just wanted to avoid thinking too deeply about it, and she couldn't do that when she was in the same room as he was. She'd been keeping a watchful eye on his Skype handle, hoping he would log on, but she knew she could be doing a little more than that and Kurt's name seemed to be making itself comfortable beneath the Offline header.

Eventually, she decided that Rachel was right – she just needed to buck up and take the freaking stress, because God damn it, Kurt had enough of that to deal with already. Flopping down on her bed after dinner with her bedroom door closed, she pulled her phone out of her bra and punched in the number for Kurt's house.

Finn's mom picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Ms. Hudson," Mercedes said, trying not to notice how fast her heart was beating. "Is Kurt there?"

"Oh, hi, Mercedes," Carole replied. "I'm sorry but Kurt's dad took him to Athens today. They won't be back for another couple hours. You want me to give him a message?"

A small wave of relief rippled over Mercedes' skin, which she pointedly ignored.

"Uh, no, that's okay," she said. "Wasn't Kurt supposed to go yesterday?"

"…We had to postpone," Carole said hesitantly.

Mercedes paused, not really sure if she wanted to ask what Carole wasn't saying. "Okay," she said instead. "I'll try again later."

"Good night, Mercedes."

Ending the call, Mercedes sighed, feeling her throat stretch and her eyes prickle. Swallowing, she debated whether or not she should try calling Kurt's cell, then decided against it.

Fighting tears, she threw her phone across the room.

The drive back to Lima was painfully quiet. Kurt wasn't speaking and Burt wasn't sure what to say, so he kept his eyes on the road ahead, navigating through the lanes of traffic and the light snow falling from the pinkish evening sky. At one point he switched on the radio, hoping just for something to fill the silence, but Kurt wearily asked him to turn it off.

"You all right?" Burt ventured.

"I'm fine," was Kurt's deadpan response.

"Do you want to talk?"

"No."

Burt shut his mouth.

Several minutes passed, continuing the agonizing silence, until Kurt abruptly ordered Burt to stop the car.

"What? What's wrong?"

Kurt shook his head, a hand over his mouth. "Just pull over," he said through his fingers. "Pull over. Now. Please. Pull over, pull over, pull over."

"Tell me what's wrong," Burt said forcefully, changing lanes and pulling the car to a stop on the gravel shoulder of the road.

Rather than answer, Kurt fumbled for the door handle and jumped out. The moment he was out of the car, he doubled over and braced his hands against his knees. The muscles in his torso spasmed as his stomach heaved, its contents splattering onto the lumpy snow. Burt quickly climbed out of the car and rushed over, holding Kurt's shoulders gently as he vomited a second time.

"All done?" Burt said as Kurt staggered slightly and spat the last of it onto the ground.

Again, Kurt didn't answer and instead pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, his back still hunched over. Burt rubbed a hand solidly against Kurt's shoulder blade, noticing that the bone seemed to poke out a little further than it was supposed to. Robbie must have been manipulating Kurt's ability to keep anything down for longer than Burt realized.

"You okay now?"

"Was I raped?"

For a second, Burt thought his heart had stopped. "What?"

Kurt straightened slowly. "Was I raped," he repeated. It wasn't really a question.

Burt swallowed. "I don't know."

"Why don't you?"

Those three words felt like a knife to the gut. Kurt's head twisted around to look Burt in the eye, and his expression made Burt want to scream. "Kurt…" he breathed, reaching out to pull his son into his embrace.

But he flinched back as Kurt's face changed. His eyes hardened and teeth clenched, the corners of his mouth turning down, and his body seemed to grow a little bigger. "I told you," Kurt snarled lowly, his lip curling slightly. "You don't protect him."

And suddenly Kurt lunged, and Burt was snatched by the front of his coat and thrown up against the side of the car. Kurt's arm pressed across Burt's chest and his other hand clamped down on Burt's neck, his thumb digging into his father's trachea.

"Craig, st-stop," Burt wheezed, his hands fumbling to push Kurt away without hurting him. "You're ch-choking me—"

"That's the point, asshole," Kurt spat, pulling Burt back only to slam him into the car again. Burt could feel his face going red, his blood pulsing in his ears and cheeks. He tried to push at Kurt's chest, but Craig was fifty-six and a lot stronger than Burt was, and Kurt didn't budge. As the edges of Burt's vision began to darken, he scrabbled at Kurt's arms, attempting to wrench them away from his neck.

He was rewarded with a solid punch to the nose, and he cried out, feeling blood drip down to his chin.

"Shut up!" Kurt barked, his eyes burning an icy blue.

Gasping for air, Burt tried to reason with him. "St-stop— Craig, Kurt… doesn't want— You can't do this— He doesn't want—"

Kurt's thumb only pressed harder against Burt's throat, and Burt felt the sides of his trachea close. "How the fuck would you know what Kurt wants?" Kurt growled lowly, his face only inches from Burt's. "You weren't there."

Burt's mind was racing and the roaring in his ears was so loud that he could barely hear the cars passing by them on the road. Beginning to panic slightly, Burt wrapped his hands around Kurt's wrists, trying as hard as he could to make Kurt stop.

Craig apparently didn't like that.

Before Burt could fully process what was happening, he was being pulled away from the car and dragged towards the heavy traffic on the other side of the white line. He sucked in a breath when Kurt's hands lifted away, but his brain was still so deprived of oxygen that he didn't quite figure out what Kurt was doing until he was shoved backwards into the road.

Burt staggered for a second, flinching as the loud blast of a truck horn ripped through the air and the tractor trailer's bright headlights blinded him.

Then there was a scream of "NO!" and the headlights disappeared as a pair of hands grabbed Burt's coat and yanked him back over the white line, a wind whipping at their clothes as the truck hurtled by. Burt stumbled and the two of them fell back onto the snow, out of breath.

"No, no, no, Dad, I'm so sorry—" Kurt was crying and clutching at Burt's coat. His voice was stretched and thin, choked off. "I don't know— I'm so sorry— Please—"

Burt sat up, shaking the static from his head as his circulation finally climbed back to normal. "Kurt, stop—" he said, trying to sound calm. He placed his hands firmly on Kurt's trembling shoulders, but Kurt flinched away.

"No, no, you can't— I don't w-want to hurt you," Kurt sobbed, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry."

Burt swallowed, and rather than try to assure Kurt verbally, he wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders as tightly as he could and held him in place, hoping it would be enough to anchor the both of them.