Finn helped Carole set the kitchen table back on its feet as Kurt's screams reverberated through the house, punctuated by a thumpevery few seconds as he threw some loose object against the walls of his bedroom. Burt was leaning back against the counter, staring into space and looking completely winded with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Burt," Carole said softly once the table was upright again. "You know coming at Kurt that strongly is dangerous for him."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?" Burt demanded. "I thought Kurt could be trusted to tell me what was going on."

Carole sighed. "Burt, it's possible that Kurt didn't even knowhe had those burns."

Finn interrupted then. "What burns?"

"Kurt has cigarette burns. A lot of them," his mom replied.

Finn's eyebrows snapped together. "What? That's impossible – we'd have noticed something like that."

Carole shook her head, her eyes still misty. "They're recent, Finn. From what I could tell, they weren't even fully healed yet."

The three of them flinched and glanced at the ceiling as there was a particularly loud scream from upstairs.

"Finn, can you go up and make sure he's not doing anything to hurt himself?" Carole asked, squeezing Finn's arm. He swallowed and nodded, understanding that she wanted to talk to Burt in private.

Steeling his nerves, Finn left the kitchen and headed up the stairs, stopping outside of Kurt's room. Kurt was still screaming, and Finn jumped as something made of glass shattered loudly against the other side of the door. Gritting his teeth, Finn pulled the handle open to make sure Kurt wasn't going for the broken glass. On the floor just inside the door were the fragments of a glass picture frame, a photograph of Burt and Carole at their wedding lying bent and scratched in the middle.

"Zack, are you—"

Finn didn't get to finish his question. Kurt, who had been pacing the room in haphazard circles as he screamed unintelligibly, whipped around at Finn's voice and didn't hesitate before launching himself at the door. There was a split second during which Finn realized that Kurt wasn't wearing a shirt and just as Carole had said his torso was dotted with burned pockmarks, but Finn didn't have time to fully process that image. His reflexes kicked in and he yanked the door shut just in time to keep Kurt contained, and the door rattled as Kurt beat against it, shrieking.

Finn struggled to keep his hold on the handle as Kurt tried to twist it from the other side, the door shuddering in its frame as Finn reached for the rope hanging off the bike hook drilled into the wall beside it. With his free hand, he shakily looped the rope around the door handle and pulled it tight, exhaling heavily and stepping back once he was sure the knot wouldn't give way. The door pulled back a quarter of an inch, the rope going taut as the handle turned back and forth. Kurt gave a screech of frustration and slammed into the door one last time before Finn heard his scraping footsteps recede.

The only thing Kurt could see were his own hands curled into his bedsheets, his knuckles turned white and the edges of his vision going fuzzy and dark. He blinked and tried to focus on the rocket ships printed on the sheet, imagining that maybe if he were on a rocket ship now it wouldn't hurt so much and he could just fly away. He didn't really get why Franklin was doing this again, why they couldn't just watch TV or something else more fun, but by this point it had already happened a couple times. So Kurt could handle it. Three times was enough to adjust. He didn't even have to cry any more.

Franklin's mouth pressed against the back of Kurt's neck, wet and hot, stubble scraping against Kurt's skin. His hand slid down between Kurt's legs, and for once Kurt didn't flinch as the calloused palm brushed over the sensitive skin. "Good boy," Franklin grunted as he stabbed into Kurt over and over again.

Kurt gripped his sheets, gritted his teeth, and waited for the extra-painful burst in his gut that he'd learned was the signal that it was ending.

When the burst finally did come, Kurt dug his teeth into his lip, his fists tightening, and he managed to let out only a short whimper as a searing flame raced up his spine and crackled in his head like a firework. There was a loud sucking sound as Franklin pulled away with a satisfied sigh, and Kurt stayed where he was, feeling stickiness between his legs and a soreness in his lungs.

"You're getting better at this, kiddo," said Franklin, sounding muffled and very far away.

Kurt didn't respond or move, but he felt Franklin's fingers rubbing at the burning spot between his legs like an afterthought. Instead of crying like he would've done when this first started the day before yesterday, he counted silently in his head.

One.

"You're going to be a pro at this pretty soon."

Two.

Franklin's hand moved from between Kurt's legs to Kurt shoulder, pulling him back. "Hey, come on. I want to go again but I've got to be hard first."

Three.

Kurt didn't bother to struggle as Franklin lifted him onto his lap. He could feel that Franklin was already half-hard (he'd learned what that meant over the past two days; Franklin had taught him a lot) beneath him, and it twitched against his bare bottom as he settled down.

Four.

"I don't want to," Kurt said flatly.

Franklin's almost affectionate smile vanished. "Excuse me?"

Five.

"I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

Franklin's hand shot up and cuffed him lightly over the head. Not nearly hard enough to bruise and barely hard enough to even hurt, so Kurt didn't react. "We went over this already, kiddo. Your mom and dad told you I'm in charge. You have to do what I say." Franklin's hands squeezed Kurt's thighs. "Don't want to disappoint them, do you?"

Six.

"Okay."

"Good." The smile was back, and Kurt felt relieved. He didn't like it when Franklin was mad, because then bad things happened.

Seven.

Kurt braced his hands on Franklin's shoulders and started to move his hips back and forth the way Franklin had told him to. Maybe if he did an extra good job this time Franklin would take him out for pizza.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Ten minutes later, Kurt still hadn't quieted down and Finn had settled on the floor in the hallway to do some homework while keeping watch on Kurt's door. He wasn't that great at multitasking, though, so he ended up spacing out at the floor as he listened to the screams and cries from his brother's room. He was stuck with the image of the burns scattered across Kurt's chest in his head, and he couldn't quite figure out what the hell had triggered this big of a reaction. It wasn't unusual for Kurt to yell or scream or cry, but for it to go on for this long was rare and had to be a bad sign.

Finn jumped nearly three feet when his phone went off shrilly in his pocket. He fished it out quickly and pressed the Talk button. "Now's not a good time, Rach, can I call you back?"

There was a pause on the other end. "…Oh my god, is that Kurt?" Rachel asked, and Finn winced. He should've realized she'd easily be able to hear the screams.

"Uhh… yeah."

"Oh my god."

"Rachel, I need to hang up. Just text me or something, okay?"

"O-okay."

The line clicked and Finn's phone buzzed a few seconds later with the arrival of Rachel's text, but Finn tossed the phone to the side. He didn't have the space in his head for anything else right now. Rachel was just going to have to wait.