Finn's ears were flushed bright pink and his breath fogged in front of his nose as he worked in front of his house on Thursday morning, sweating slightly underneath his puffy coat and thick gloves. He had plugged in his iPod so that he couldn't hear the scraping of his shovel against the pavement over his R.E.M. playlist. The snowplows had already made the rounds to clear the street and as Finn worked to clear away the drifts left by the blizzard from their driveway and front path, an orange truck up the street lifted workmen up into the air to fix the broken electrical cables.

It was a relief to be out of the house in the frozen air, physically working with his music blasting so loudly that he couldn't think too deeply about anything. He'd been trapped in the house with an irritated Burt for too long. Finn could understand why Burt was so frustrated, given that he hadn't been able to talk to Kurt since Sunday (Robbie hadn't wanted to talk on either Monday or Tuesday, he'd accidentally called in the middle of group therapy on Wednesday, and now the phone lines were down), but with Burt constantly fidgeting and growling about how he was going to find the Franklin guy and kill him, Finn was going a little crazy himself.

Plus, any time he thought about Kurt, he got a painful twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. He figured he was probably entitled to a little nausea where his stepbrother was concerned, but he still didn't want to think about it.

By this point, Finn had managed to clear most of the front walkway, carving a path through the four-foot-deep drifts down towards the road. He stopped and leaned on his shovel for a moment, his arms burning from the exertion, and watched a few clouds float by overhead. The electricians were still at work down the street, and Finn could see a few trees that had blown over during the storm.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard his name being called, yanking out his earphones. Burt was standing on the porch, the cordless phone from the kitchen in his hand. "What'd you say?" Finn asked.

"Are you getting any service on your cell phone?" Burt called. "I've been trying to reach the hospital but all the phone lines are still down."

Finn dug his cell out of the pocket of his coat. "Nope," he replied. "No bars."

"Damn it."

(To be honest, Finn was a little bit glad that there was no cell service. Regionals was coming up on Sunday and he really wasn't in the mood to put up with Rachel's hourly calls about preparation.)

"You want to keep my cell with you in case the service comes back?"

Burt clumped down the cleared pathway to receive the proffered phone. "Thanks," he said. Finn turned to go back to his shoveling, but Burt stopped him. "Hey, uh… you think you'll come to the hospital this weekend?"

Finn chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know. Maybe."

Burt nodded, swallowing. "Okay, well, whatever you decide. It's up to you." He clapped Finn on the shoulder and headed inside.

Finn stuck his earphones in and went back to work.

Dr. McManus's office was impeccably clean everywhere but the top of his desk, which was piled with inch-high clutter and barely had enough room for the desktop computer. The walls were painted a soothing red and Kurt wasn't so out of it that he couldn't appreciate the décor. It was now Thursday and Kurt had managed to switch only once in the past two days, to Truman for a brief time on Wednesday (much to the amusement of Dustin and the rest of the Connect-Four club). This was his third individual therapy session with Dr. McManus – at least, it was his third session as himself. Apparently Robbie had also had two sessions but unsurprisingly had remained surly and uncooperative for the duration of both.

"So, how's the medication feeling so far?" Dr. McManus asked from the armchair opposite the couch where Kurt was sitting.

"It's fine, I guess," Kurt replied. "I mean, the switches seem to have subsided pretty well, but it's only been a couple of days."

"Are you feeling woozy at all?"

Kurt shook his head. "Not really. It's a little foggy but not nearly as bad as the last time I was on anti-psychotics."

McManus nodded in approval, scratching out a few notes on his legal pad. "Risperdal tends suppress symptoms pretty well without causing too much numbness." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "How are you getting along with the rest of the guys?"

"They kind of make my head spin, but they're fine."

"And your roommate?"

Kurt's mouth twitched. "I don't like rooming with him."

"Has Scott given you any trouble?"

"No, but… well, I can't sleep very well. He's never quiet."

"I'm sorry, Kurt, but we had to place you with him. I know Scott can be a little nerve-wracking, but he's ultimately harmless and Nick can't quite be fully trusted with a roommate yet."

Kurt sighed, understanding exactly what the doctor meant. Nick was twenty-five and a dubious personality at best, and seemed to have a penchant for destruction on all scales. According to Dustin, Nick had been admitted on an insanity plea from the Ohio state court after suspicious circumstances involving homemade pipe bombs.

Kurt shifted in his seat, his leg jiggling.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm… It's just that my dad hasn't called yet. I haven't spoken to him since Sunday."

McManus' eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I'm so sorry I forgot— There was a big storm up around your town yesterday," he said. "I heard all the phone lines were down."

"Oh," Kurt said, only slightly relieved. Logically, he knew that his dad wasn't trying not to talk to him – the first two mornings Robbie had been in control and not wanted to take Burt's calls, and then on Wednesday Burt had accidentally called in the middle of group therapy – but he still wanted some reassurance that he still had a house to go back to if he made it through this.

"I'd actually like to speak with you about something a little more focused today," said the doctor, snapping Kurt's attention away from his personal thought bubbles.

"What?" he asked, feeling an odd lurch in his stomach as if he knew he wasn't going to like whatever the doctor was about to say.

McManus took off his glasses, cleaning the lenses on the hem of his sweater vest. "I had a call from your father on Monday," he said. "And he wants us to start trying to tackle some of the details surrounding Franklin now."

Kurt said nothing, noticing that his fingertips had gone cold.

"Personally, I told him it would probably be better to wait until you've settled in and been able to relax a little before we tried, but you're legally an adult and you're not completely unable to make decisions regarding your own health, so I wanted to see how you felt about it."

A snake seemed to be working its way through Kurt's lower intestines and it took several seconds before he was able to speak. "Wh-why?"

"Why what?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "Why does my dad want us to do this now?"

McManus paused, his mouth tightening for a moment. "He says he knows who Franklin is."

The snake in Kurt's gut writhed, lashing upwards and latching onto the base of his throat.

"Stay with me, Kurt," McManus said firmly, looking Kurt in the eye. "I know this is stressful but you're not under attack right now."

Kurt's fists had clenched of their own accord. His heart felt like it was trying to push his lungs out through his ribs like bread through a slicer. His head began to ache as he felt someone else trying to snatch the reins from him.

"Breathe, Kurt. You're okay."

Forcing down a swallow, Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus just on pulling air into his chest through his nose, his bare toes curling against the carpet. A few long minutes passed before he managed to open his eyes again.

"W-who is he?" he asked, his stretched voice cracking halfway through the question.

"That's the problem, unfortunately," said McManus, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Your dad knows who Franklin is but doesn't know his real name or any way of finding him. That's why he wants us to starting working on this now – to see if you can remember any specific details that would help."

Kurt felt the snake sink its teeth into his windpipe. "Why would I want to find him?"

"Kurt, it could help bring you closure," the doctor said gently. "Whatever this Franklin guy did to you, it's going to take a lot of work and time to move past it. That's a given. Would it really be so bad if he was brought to justice in the process?"

Silence.

"Look, Kurt, it's absolutely up to you. I only promised your father that I'd suggest it."

At this point, Kurt was pretty sure he could feel his pulse all the way to the center of his brain. He didn't know if the fact that he hadn't transitioned yet was a result of the anti-psychotics in his system or just a miracle, but he had to grip the edge of the couch cushion for a long time just to make sure he was still there.

"If…" he starts, his voice breathy and wavering. "If we started this now, how would we do it?"

"Well," McManus said, adjusting his glasses. "I'd interview the alters and see if I can get them to talk. It's obvious that you doremember everything pretty well, Kurt – it's just that your alters are keeping the information from you in an attempt to protect you. They don't get that by keeping you split, they're making your life unmanageable. I'd like to try to get one or two of them to understand that."

Kurt frowned in confusion.

"It'll be easier to access your memories and get yourself integrated if there's at least one alter working in tandem with me. But that requires him or her to trust me fully, which can be… complicated."

Kurt sat quietly in thought for several minutes, trying to make sense of all this without allowing himself to transition. "C-can we do it now?" he asked, startling himself with the question.

McManus' eyebrows shot upwards. "You're sure you don't want at least a few days to get used to the idea?"

Kurt swallowed, his fingers shaking. "I just want to get it over with. I'm sick of all this and I want to be better." His voice cracked;being better sounded like such a fantasy at this point, about as likely as flying to the moon.

"Okay," said McManus. "Now, you should know there's a distinct possibility that your alters could get violent in reaction to this. It's perfectly normal with cases like yours – the equilibrium that the alters create is upset and they don't like that – but for safety reasons we should conduct this in the solitary confinement room."

Kurt's heart lurched and he felt the air in his lungs crackle.

"Is that all right?" McManus asked gently.

Curling his fingers around each other to stop them from shaking, Kurt nodded.

The solitary confinement room was really nothing more than a padded cell, but Kurt was shocked by how… non-dramatic it looked. It was larger than he thought it would be, and the walls and floor were cushioned just enough so that if someone were to throw themselves against them they wouldn't be hurt, but it looked like the padding was thin enough to discourage such an action. The ceiling was painted the same sea foam green as the walls in the common area, and there were a couple of blankets and pillows piled in the corner.

"Occasionally it's safer to have a patient spend the night in here rather than risk the safety of their roommate," said McManus, seeing Kurt frown at the pile.

"Oh."

McManus pulled a small handheld tape recorder out of his pocket. "Is it okay with you if I record this?"

Kurt blinked. "Why?"

"It's helpful for me to refer to, as well as a possible method to help along the integration. If you listen to the recording later it could help to bridge the gaps you experience."

Kurt sighed. "Okay."

The doctor placed a firm hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you ready?"

Kurt nodded, wiping his palms on the legs of his sweatpants as he sat down against the wall. His heart was thudding against his ribs so loudly he was sure Dr. McManus and the two orderlies he'd brought with him could hear it.

McManus sat cross-legged on the soft floor close to the middle of the room, and the orderlies stood by the far wall. It was more than a little nerve-wracking to have three people watching him this intently, but Kurt didn't protest and instead stared at his toes. He shivered slightly even though it wasn't cold in the room.

"Okay, Kurt, try to relax," McManus began, speaking slowly and quietly. "No matter what happens, you're safe in here."

Kurt pressed his lips together, dragging a long breath through his nose and deep into his lungs, shutting his eyes.

"Now, try to tell me about Franklin."

Kurt's shoulders reflexively stiffened, his toes curling against the padded floor. He swallowed and kept his eyes shut.

"Can you remember what Franklin looks like?"

"No," Kurt choked out, his breath hitching. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest as he felt a shifting inside his skull.

"What do you remember about him?"

Bits and pieces of the foggy dreams Kurt had experienced were flashing through his mind, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. He could almost smell his old house and feel a pair of arms carrying him up the stairs. "R-rough hands," he finally said, the words forced out of his throat like a bone he'd choked on. His breath quickened.

"It's all right, Kurt, you're safe."

I don't feel safe.

He was glad when he felt someone else shove him aside.

Sitting against the cushioned wall of the confinement room, Kurt had drawn his legs against his chest and every muscle had gone rigid. McManus studied him carefully, gauging his movements and body language, and made sure to speak in a calm, low tone of voice.

"It's all right, Kurt, you're safe," he said, and wasn't surprised when Kurt's shoulders abruptly dropped and he sat up a little straighter. He wasn't familiar enough with the alters to identify them just by their mannerisms, so he kept his voice level and asked, "Who am I speaking with now?"

Unlike a few moments before, Kurt was now making direct eye contact, his eyebrows dropped and his lip slightly curled in a vaguely threatening expression. "We don't want to talk to you, you fucking quack," he spat, his voice high-pitched and oddly young.

"I don't believe you speak for the group, Eleanor," McManus replied evenly, recognizing the girlish lilt despite the crude language.

"Fuck off."

McManus took this in stride, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'd like to talk to you about Franklin."

That seemed to grab Eleanor's attention. Kurt paused, the muscles beneath his eyes tightening in suspicion as if he was trying to figure out why he was being asked this particular question. "What about him?" he asked, and McManus was glad to hear that the immediate aggression had left Kurt's voice.

"Well, Zack's told me that Franklin's the one who hurt you," he explained. Technically, it was Kurt who had reported that particular piece of information, but he'd only been relaying what Zack had said previously.

"He never hurt me," Kurt said carefully.

"Okay. Do you know who he is?"

"Only what Zack's told me."

"Which is?"

"He's a bad man."

"Did Zack ever tell you why Franklin's bad?"

"No."

McManus made a mental note of the way Eleanor was behaving, slightly confused since it didn't quite line up with what Kurt and his father had said about her. It was fairly obvious that there wasn't much to glean from her, though. "I'd like to speak to Zack now, if that's alright."

Kurt grimaced. "It's not."

McManus was surprised to hear Robbie's deeper voice replace Eleanor's. He hadn't been expecting a transition that quick. "Why not?" he asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "It's none of your fucking business," he snapped, pulling himself to his feet. He began to pace the room with his arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. McManus waved the orderlies back as they moved to restrain him; it wasn't necessary quite yet.

"Robbie, maybe you can tell me a little about—"

"Franklin, I know," Kurt drawled. "Not going to happen. And you can take that tape recorder and stick it where the sun don't shine."

"Do you know who he is?" McManus pressed, letting the recorder remain where it was.

Kurt whipped around, his eyes narrowed and fists clenched. "What the fuck is your problem?" he demanded.

"Robbie, you know I'm only trying to help Kurt," McManus insisted.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't need your talk-about-your-feelings bullshit, okay?" Kurt spat. "He's got everything he needs."

McManus quickly snatched the prompt. "I suppose you mean yourself?"

Kurt was silent, his jaw twitching.

"You just have to trust me when I say it'll help Kurt more if you don't keep secrets, Robbie."

McManus flinched as Kurt shot forward, leaning down with his face only a threateningly few inches from McManus' nose. His eyes bored into the doctor's, his lips pulled back and his jaw jutting forward as he spoke very slowly.

"Fuck. Off."

Waving the orderlies back a second time without breaking eye contact with Kurt, McManus waited for several long, tense seconds for Kurt to finally step back, still eyeing the doctor with a hostile glare.

"Robbie, this would be much easier on everyone if you—"

"The kid told you to fuck off," Kurt snarled lowly, his voice changed yet again. "You got a hearing problem?"

McManus frowned. As stressful as this sort of thing could be, it was unusual to see someone switch this rapidly. It probably meant one of two things: either Kurt's memories were locked down tight and the alters were now convening to keep them that way, or the memories were much nearer to the surface than McManus had originally thought, and now the alters were panicking.

"And you are?" he prompted, taking careful note of the aggressive set to Kurt's shoulders.

"I will fuck you sideways if you lay a hand on my kid," Kurt growled.

"Ah. It's good to finally meet you, Craig."

"I'm warning you right now – back the fuck off."

"Craig, I'm not trying to hurt you," McManus promised. "Or Kurt. You're not under attack here."

"Bullshit." Kurt's fingers twitched and clenched into fists.

"The only thing I'm trying to do is find out anything you can remember about Franklin. You think you can help me out?"

"Oh, yeah, sure thing!" Kurt spat mockingly. "And you know what, doc, while we're at it, why don't you grab your little faggy-ass ukulele and we can sing Kumbaya!"

"Craig, I know you're just trying to protect Kurt," McManus said. "That's perfectly understandable and I'm not trying to keep you from doing that. But if you really want to keep him from getting hurt, then you need to work with me."

Kurt's lips pulled back in a snarl. "You've got no say in what I need to do, asshole. He's my kid."

McManus saw an opportunity, and quickly seized it.

"Of course he is."

Kurt stopped short, blinking in surprise.

"I'm not going to tell you you're not his father, Craig," McManus said. "For all intents and purposes, you are."

"What the fuck is your angle here?" Kurt demanded, sounding more confused than anything else now.

"No angle," McManus promised, holding up his hands as he played along. "You're a better father to Kurt than Burt is, aren't you? You always protect him, no matter what. Right?"

Kurt paused, eyeing McManus with suspicion. "Burt Hummel's a piece of shit," he said.

"Why's that?"

"It's 'cause of him that Kurt's completely fucked in the head."

"Maybe you could elaborate on that for me?" McManus prompted.

Kurt's teeth gritted audibly against each other and he turned away, shaking his head and raking his fingers through his hair.

McManus tried a different approach. "Did… did Burt ever do anything? Directly, I mean. Did he ever do something to Kurt that you didn't like?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

"He left him."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

Kurt's face contorted, the muscles in his neck, shoulders, and arms tightening. His head shook of its own accord, as if he was trying to get rid of an uncomfortable chill.

"Craig?" McManus said. "You still with me?"

There was no response. Kurt's eyes were moving rapidly back and forth and his breath was quickening. McManus couldn't tell if he'd transitioned or not. Kurt's hands were tense, the fingers rigid.

Abruptly, Kurt's back curled, his shoulders jerking forward as if he were about to vomit. His jaw jutted out again, his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth clicking. McManus stood up, about to try to calm Kurt down.

However, whoever was in control didn't want their personal space invaded, and Kurt let out a startling gruff barking sound halfway between a groan and a yelp, edging away. McManus stopped where he was, allowing Kurt to wind the fingers of one hand into his hair, the other tugging nervously on the hem of his shirt.

"Kurt," McManus said softly. "You're safe. Tell me what's happening."

Kurt's breath hitched in his throat, his chest shuddering.

And then he screamed, and threw himself into the closest wall.

The denim of his father's jeans was rough underneath Kurt's hands as he gripped Dad's leg, his face half-hidden behind Dad's hip as the front door swung open. "It's so great to see you!" he heard Momma say. A man walked in, taller than Dad, with spiky-ish hair and a big smile. Kurt liked how his clothes looked like they hadn't been ironed.

"You look great, Linda," he said and gave Momma a hug. "So, where's the little guy?"

"Kurt?" Momma called, and Dad put a hand on the top of Kurt's head.

"Come on, buddy, don't be shy," Dad said.

Kurt didn't say anything, chewing on his thumbnail as the stranger came closer.

"Hi, Kurt," he said. "I'm John. I used to go to school with your mom."

"Were you a cheerleader?" Kurt asked, saying the first thing that came to mind. "Momma was a cheerleader."

John laughed. "No, I wasn't a cheerleader. But your mom and I were really good friends."

Momma came up beside Dad, reaching down to ruffle Kurt's hair. "John's going to stay here with you while Dad and I are on our trip. You guys'll have lots of fun."

Kurt's legs thrashed against the floor as the orderlies held him, pinning his shoulders down and trying not to let his legs kick. McManus knelt beside them, not touching Kurt but speaking calmly over the sound of Kurt's heaving breath. Eyes wide, Kurt's back arched as he tried to blindly free himself from the orderlies' grasp.

"It's all right, Kurt, you're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you here."

A half-growl, half-moan ripped out of Kurt's throat, his arms lashing at the orderlies' grip.

"Tell me what you're seeing, Kurt," McManus pressed.

Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head, the tendons of his neck stretched tight as the muscles around his mouth worked to form soundless words.

"It's all right," the doctor repeated. "No one will hurt you. Tell me what you see."

The air halted in Kurt's chest, his ribs opening and closing without drawing breath.

"Dude, you have an AWESOME car collection!"

Kurt pawed through the pile of matchbox cars that he'd collected – all sixty-two of them. John was sitting on the edge of Kurt's bed, and Dad and Momma had already left for their trip. Kurt held up a blue Mercedes-Benz. "This one's my favorite."

John reached down and picked up a red Ferrari. "Let's race them."

Kurt perked up at that. Dad was a lot of fun but didn't have a lot of time to play with him – he usually had to spend time with the really big cars in the shop instead. "Where?"

John grinned. "All over the house. No limits."

"What are you seeing, Kurt?" McManus asked as Kurt's eyes reeled, his breath coming in short desperate bursts. "Are you alone?"

Kurt's spine arched again. "No," he whimpered.

McManus felt a small wave of relief – Kurt responding to the question was a good sign. "Who's with you?"

A sob squeezed out of Kurt's mouth, his face contorting in agony.

"Is it Franklin?"

"J-John—" he gasped.

"What is John doing?"

Kurt's teeth bared and he let out a wordless snarl, jerking in the orderlies' grip. His hands lashed up at the doctor, fingers curled into claws.

"Dinner's ready, Kurt!" John called from the kitchen. Kurt jumped up from where he'd been coloring on the coffee table. "What movie do you want to watch?"

Kurt accepted the proffered plate of pizza and went back to the living room. John sat on the couch with his own plate as Kurt pulled his favorite movie off the rack, sliding the tape into the VCR.

"Franklin the Turtle's my favorite," he said as he joined John on the sofa. He grabbed the remote and pressed Play.

"My middle name is Franklin."

Kurt's eyes opened wide. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Can I call you Franklin instead of John? I like it better."

John chuckled. "Sure."

Kurt kicked and thrashed, trying to scratch the orderlies' faces. When that didn't work, he tried to bite their arms, but they managed to keep their limbs away from Kurt's teeth.

"Is John hurting you, Kurt?" McManus pressed.

The only response was a strained half-groan from deep inside Kurt's chest.

"Is he touching you?"

This time, a loud, hoarse cry.

"Let's get a cake!"

Kurt blinked at John in confusion. "Momma doesn't let me have cake."

John flapped a hand. "Screw that. You deserve it. What kind do you want?"

Kurt hesitated. "I dunno…"

"Oh, come on, kiddo," John insisted. "Let's have some fun. What kind do you want?"

"Momma doesn't let me have cake," he repeated.

"Well, your mom's not here," John grinned. "Come on. We'll go out to the store and get one. What do you want? Chocolate?"

"I like chocolate…" Kurt said slowly, but his mom's voice was still nagging at him.

"Great! Let's go." John grabbed his car keys.

"But Momma—"

"—doesn't have to find out," John said, grinning again. He winked. "It'll be our little secret."