Sunday morning dawned clear and sunny, the very beginnings of an early thaw. It wasn't quite March yet, though, so despite the slightly warmer weather the icicles lining the porch roof remained where they were. Carole brewed coffee and made a late breakfast for Finn and Burt, and then Finn left for McKinley in order to get ready for Regionals that afternoon. Burt had been very quiet all morning, even more so than the previous evening after getting home from the hospital. Carole wasn't entirely sure what to do, but she'd at least managed to convince him to come to the school and watch Finn perform with the rest of the club.

They parked in front of the school just after noon and headed inside along with the small crowd already accumulating and heading for the auditorium. Burt was antsy, wringing his hands as they walked and keeping his eyes downcast, clearly deep in thought. Carole reached over and wrapped her hand around his arm, giving him a nudge and what she hoped was a consoling smile.

After being stopped once or twice by a few people who recognized Burt and wanted to thank him for his work in Congress, he and Carole found their seats and settled in, letting the rest of the audience mill about and chatter as they waited for the show to begin. Carole clasped Burt's hand while she skimmed the playbill the ushers had distributed, feeling a lump rise in her throat when she saw the line beneath the New Directions' header reading Dedicated to Kurt Hummel.

A few minutes later, Hiram and Leroy entered the auditorium and took their seats in the row behind Burt and Carole. Carole waved at Leroy while Hiram leaned forward and said something to Burt a little too quietly to hear above the buzzing white noise in the room. Burt nodded, a frown on his face. "All right, thanks," he said, and Hiram clapped him once on the shoulder before leaning back.

Carole looked questioningly at her husband. "What was that about?"

Burt smiled tightly. "I'll tell you later."

The lights on the ceiling dimmed, and the audience members settled in, quieting down. Carole spotted Finn sitting with the rest of the club several rows back, but he was talking to Rachel so she turned forward again and waited for the announcer to introduce the judges.

The Warblers performed first, a lengthy Fleet Foxes a capella medley, and Carole stood and clapped with the rest of the room when they were finished. Most of her attention was diverted to Burt, who was clearly paying even less attention than she was and fidgeting slightly in his seat. She kept her hand over his throughout the duration of both the Warblers' performance and the second group, a madrigals group that probably belonged in a monastery and wasn't really worth the standing ovation they received.

Finally, the New Directions were announced, and Carole sat up a little straighter, focusing her attention on the stage as the lights over the audience darkened completely. It was quiet for several seconds, then a soft blue light fell down across the stage, illuminating Rachel and Mercedes. They stood apart, facing slightly away from each other, and Carole couldn't help but think that Kurt would have appreciated their costumes – black dresses down to the knee, with a luminescent blue X crossing up over the bodice from the waist and an equally blue widening stripe sweeping down across the skirt from the hip. Both Rachel and Mercedes bore blue streaks in their hair to match, and it glowed against the light.

Rachel opened her mouth, and Carole's hand involuntarily tightened around Burt's as she began to sing, her voice unaccompanied by any instruments.

"Take off your shoes now. You've come a long way – you've walked all these miles and now you're in the right place. This is your party, and everyone came… Everyone's smiling and singing your name."

Mercedes took over then, her rich vocals soaring out over the audience. "And the nightmares and monsters – your biggest fears – they seem lightyears away; no, they won't find you here."

Slowly, a single guitar from the back of the stage joined them, harmonizing with a few notes left vibrating through the air in the wake of Mercedes' voice. Carole held her breath, and the girls opened their mouths again, joining together for the chorus.

"I'll hold your head, my dear… make sure no one's gonna wake you. Tomorrow you'll still be here, no matter where your dreams will take you…"

Rachel reached over and held Mercedes' hand as Mercedes took up the vocals on her own again, supported by the guitar's strings. "And you realize… All the falls and flights, all the sleepless nights, all the smiles and sighs… They brought you here. They only brought you home."

Carole swallowed, leaning against Burt as a piano joined the guitar, still soft but growing stronger.

"Put down the suitcase," sang Rachel. "This weapon of yours; the struggle is over. You don't need it no more… You can't remember Lonely, and you forgot about Bored – nothing's the same since you walked through this door."

Carole could see Mercedes' fingers tighten around Rachel's. "And this roof is a blanket that's keeping you warm, inside the silence and after the storm…"

Their voices wrapped around each other, weaving in and out of the melody as the chorus began again.

"I'll hold your head, my dear… make sure no one's gonna wake you."

Carole watched as the other girls in the group, all bearing identical dresses and streaks in their hair, filed onstage, lining up behind Rachel and Mercedes and harmonizing as the music swelled behind the words.

"Tomorrow, you'll still be here, no matter where your dreams will take you.

Mercedes took a deep breath.

"And you understand," she belted out, and Rachel echoed a step behind. "This never-ending dance, this final fading sense – now it all makes sense. It brought you here; it only brought you home."

As the girls' voiced died away, so did the piano and guitar, and Rachel and Mercedes were once again left to sing alone.

"Take off your shoes now. You've come a long way; walked all these miles and now… you're in the right place…"

Carole let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and the light faded.

Sebastian had known that the Warblers would lose this competition from the moment he saw the playbill. If the New Directions were dedicating their performance to Kurt, then there was little room for doubt that whatever they chose to do onstage would be anything less than raw. And even without the crazy emotional rollercoaster Sebastian was sure most of them were going through in light of Kurt's illness, the group had been known for winning based on heart than skill right from the start. This final push was really all it took to secure first place, and as the New Directions girls left the stage and the boys appeared, Sebastian sat back in his chair and knew he was right.

Strangely, he thought he could be okay with that.

A high, sharp and rough guitar riff cut through his train of thought and a blue spotlight stabbed through the dark onstage, shining down to the left and picking Finn out from the ensemble of boys standing rigidly with their heads down. As soon as the spotlight found him, Finn's head snapped up and Sebastian blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, here we go for the hundredth time, hand grenade pins in every line – throw 'em up and let something shine, going out of my goddamn mind!"

While the girls' outfits had been edgy, the boys were more subtly so. Dressed completely in black with no ties or suspenders to highlight, their hair was spiked up slightly and the top button on each of their shirts left open. It was almost intimidating.

Another spotlight clanked on, illuminating Artie in his wheelchair. His head snapped up like a windup toy. "Filthy mouth! No excuse! Find a new place to hang this noose! String me up from atop these roofs! Knot it tight so I won't get loose!"

Heads still down, the rest of the boys in unison lifted their hands and clapped in time with the music as a third spotlight lit up, this time on Santana, who was the only girl onstage and standing directly in the center. "Truth is, you can stop and stare, run myself out and no one cares. Dug the trench out and laid down there with a shovel up out of reach somewhere." She edged forward, to the edge of the stage, still clapping her hands as a trace of rage seeped into her voice. "Yeah, someone pour it in – make it a dirt dance floor again. Say your prayers and stomp it out, when they bring that chorus in!"

Santana abruptly sprung backwards as the entire stage burst into blue light, the boys weaving a semi-complex pattern of movement across the stage as they rapidly rearranged, accented by jerky, angry moves that fell somewhere between funk and hip-hop. Sebastian couldn't help but be impressed as Santana spun round in a sort of pirouette, falling backwards into Sam's arms as Finn and Artie shouted the chorus.

"I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away! I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away!"

"Go, go, stop the show!" Puck cut in, breaking out of the formation to take center stage. "Choppy words and a sloppy flow! Shotgun opera lock and load, cock it back and then watch it go!"

Sam appeared from behind him and Puck jumped back into the foray. "Mama, help me, I've been cursed! Death is rolling in every verse! Candy paint on his brand new hearse – can't contain him, he knows he works!"

Finally, Blaine appeared, picking up where Sam had left off. "God, this hurts – I won't lie. Doesn't matter how hard I try; half the words don't mean a thing and I know that I won't be satisfied, so why try ignoring him? Make it a dirt dance floor again! Say my prayers and stomp it out when they bring that chorus in!"

Sebastian frowned, wondering exactly how much contact Blaine had had with Kurt since… well, he wasn't sure. He didn't know when all of this had started, for Blaine or for Kurt. Or Finn, for that matter. For a brief moment Sebastian was grateful he had no siblings – all they ever seemed to be good for was family drama and heartbreak, and that was with siblings who weren't locked in a mental hospital.

Finn was now repeating the chorus, alone this time. The entire audience – including Sebastian, though he was paying closer attention to the performers' faces than the rest of them – was now on their feet, clapping in time with the boys onstage. Sebastian glanced around at the other spectators. None of them had any idea where this only somewhat subtle display of rage was coming from, and Sebastian was pretty sure that most of them thought the New Directions were just giving a good show. They had no idea how deep this ran.

Yes, the Warblers were definitely going to lose.

Dr. McManus didn't often come in to work on Sundays (since even the patients had the day off from group therapies and were pretty much allowed to do what they wanted within the walls of their wards), but it was rare he had a patient with such a severe problem as Kurt. At this point Kurt had spent the duration of three days in and out of the solitary room, and McManus was beginning to toy with the idea of a more potent medication – one that would sedate Kurt to the point where not even his alters would want to lash out.

McManus didn't like the idea, but it could be necessary to force Kurt's stress levels below their current mark, at least for a week or so in order to allow his brain to come down from the rapid switching. It would be even harder to bring Kurt back if he were medicated, but if he were able to restore a sort of balance using medication and try to access Kurt after things inside his head had calmed down, then it could definitely be worth a shot. Otherwise, if he didn't calm down, they were looking at a transfer to a more specialized clinic.

Today, McManus arrived at the solitary room with his tape recorder in his hand to find, rather than Truman or Zack (who had been the most frequent visitors in the past several days), Craig pacing the room like an animal locked in a cage.

To McManus' surprise, Kurt spoke before the doctor had a chance.

"Doc, we got a problem."

McManus' eyebrows shot up, and he pressed the record button. Not only was the non-aggressive tone to Kurt's voice surprising, but also the fact that Craig seemed to be approaching McManus for help. "What kind of problem?"

"That fucker Truman did something. I can't find them."

McManus blinked. While it was unquestionably Craig speaking, Kurt's body language – fidgeting, pulling at his fingers, pacing – was verging on panic.

"Can't find who?"

"Kurt, Tyler, and Eleanor," Kurt rushed, turning and raking a hand through his short hair. "He did something to Zack, too. The kid won't stop screaming."

McManus' eyes widened. This was the first he'd heard of Tyler or Eleanor having gone missing, though neither of them had been seen since before Kurt's flashback episodes on Thursday. The statement regarding Zack was less surprising considering how he'd been acting over the past several days.

"Where do you think they went?"

"I don't know, you fucking moron!" Kurt spat, throwing his hands up. "If I had any idea, I'd find them!"

"What makes you think Truman's responsible?"

"Look, he just is, okay? We've got to find them first and then we can kick the shit out of that faggot psycho."

"Can I talk to Truman?" McManus requested.

Kurt's head whipped round to glare at him. "Ellie, Tyler, and my kid are fucking missing and you want to just talk?"

McManus raised his hands placatingly. "I just want to see if Truman will tell me what he did."

Kurt blinked, then grinned. "I've done a lot of things," he sneered.

Making a mental note of the almost instantaneous transition, McManus leaned back against the wall by the door, resting his hands in his pockets. "Truman, maybe you can explain to me why exactly you'd want to kill Kurt."

Kurt shrugged, taking a seat on the floor, leaning on the wall with his legs apart and his elbows relaxed on his knees. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, he owns the body you live in. On one hand, you might want to hurt him so that you could have control – that's perfectly understandable. But then on the flipside, eliminating him would pose the risk of Kurt or one of the others retaliating and eliminating you instead."

Kurt yawned, not even looking in McManus' direction and already bored by the conversation. "So what's your point?"

"Why take that risk? Seems pretty dangerous to me."

Another shrug. "It's not like any of them can really fight back. Not much, anyway."

McManus cocked his head to the side. "Why is that?"

Kurt snorted. "They're fucking weak. And Kurt was the worst. He didn't even try to defend himself. At least Eleanor gave me a couple scratches when I killed her. Kurt was just a pussy. He bled a lot, though."

McManus was careful not to look too shocked at Truman's nonchalance, though his heart sank. Eleanor, if she was in fact gone, had been the only other potential alter to work with besides Craig. "What about Tyler?" he asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes, now annoyed. "Now there's a useless little twink. He didn't put up a fight either. Just cried, cried, cried." He flapped a hand and shook his head. "Fucking pathetic."

"And Zack?" McManus questioned. "Craig seems to think you attacked him."

"I didn't attack him," Kurt drawled, rolling his eyes again. "Craig's definition of 'attack' is going anywhere within five feet of him."

"Then what did you do?"

A wide grin spread over Kurt's face, and he ran a finger over his lip.

"Nothing Zack hasn't seen before."

As the Troubletones took up their places onstage, Santana tried to even her breathing, still slightly winded from the Linkin Park number. She was glad Brittany was singing lead with this one; otherwise she'd be gasping for air at the end of every line.

Launching into the harmonization and choreography in unison with the other girls, Santana forced herself to smile as she sang. It was hard to switch the mood all of a sudden, but performers had to do the tougher acts if it was what would please the audience (or at least, that's what Rachel had said during rehearsals… Santana needed to stop listening to her).

Brittany danced in front of Santana, mirroring the movements of the ensemble while she sang. "I just wanna be okay, be okay, be okay – I just wanna be okay today! I just wanna feel today, feel today, feel today – I just wanna feel something today!"

For Santana, the hardest thing regarding the entire situation surrounding Kurt was actually Brittany. The last thing she wanted to do was make Brittany upset by having to explain what exactly was going on inside the head of her favorite unicorn, so Santana was putting a lot of effort into keeping Brittany in the dark. Though… she had a feeling that was wearing thin and Britt was getting close to realizing that Kurt was not, in fact, on a quest with a dragon.

"Open me up and you will see," Santana chimed in with the rest of the girls, grasping Brittany's hands in a mimic of a music-box waltz. "I'm a gallery of broken hearts – I'm beyond repair, let me be… And give me back my broken parts."

Santana spun Brittany under her arm as she took up the lead again. "I just wanna know today, know today, know today – I just wanna know something today… I just wanna know today, know today, know today – know that maybe I will be okay…"

The chorus kicked in again, and Santana pushed all thoughts of Kurt out of her mind. She'd deal with the dragon later.

Lima Police Chief Rick Chevalier hadn't been expecting a call from Hiram on a Sunday morning, asking him to contact the police department in another state. Chevalier had worked with Hiram off-and-on for twenty years – never before had Hiram worked on a Sunday, and this was the second time he'd done so for the same case.

That tidbit of info there was the real reason Chevalier came in to the station that day. If Hiram had sacrificed not just one Sunday but two, then whatever it was had to be extremely important.

So now Chevalier was sitting at his desk, the phone in his hand as he waited for someone on the other end to pick up. Not likely, he grumbled silently. Freaking Sundays.

"Pittsburgh Police Department."

"Hi, can you patch me through to someone who could help me trace a Pittsburgh address?"

"What do you need this for, sir?"

"Tracking down a potential pedophile."

There was a pause on the other end. The P-word always threw people off – even cops. "You could try the sex offender registry."

"I didn't say he was a sex offender, I said he was a pedophile," Chevalier said patiently. "Look, I'm the chief of police over here in Lima, Ohio, and I need to find this guy. I could spend hours combing through the offender registry in the hopes that he's actually registered, or you could help me track his address."

"...I'll patch you through."

"You're doing great," whispered Rachel to Finn as the group assumed the starting positions for their final number, each boy partnered with a girl and the audience waiting. Finn squeezed her hand and the boys took their cue, humming a low tune in harmony as the girls circled around them.

"Truth of the matter is, I'm complicated," Blaine sang from the opposite side of the stage, spinning Tina back into his arm before letting her go again. "You're as straight as they come. You go about your day, baby, while I hide from the sun."

Finn cut in then, taking up the lead. "It's better if you don't understand, 'cause you won't know what it's like until you try…"

At the exact same moment, each person onstage opened their mouth and let the song swell and take on a shape of its own, spinning along the stage floor along with them. "And I… I'll be waiting on the other side, and you… All you've gotta do is cross the line. I could wait a whole lifetime – but you've just gotta decide. Oh, I… I'll be waiting on the other side."

As the chorus died away, the girls dipped to the floor and leapt back up, gripping the boys' hands, and Finn resumed the lead.

"If they say life's a dream, call this insomnia – cause this ain't Wonderland, and it damn sure ain't Narnia." Rachel pulled back on Finn's arm before spinning back against his chest. "And once you cross the line, you can't change your mind. Yeah, I'm a monster, but I'm no Frankenstein."

Blaine stole the lead once more, rapidly circling around Tina before turning his back and allowing her to wrap her arms around him from behind. "And quite frankly, I've been feeling insane in between my eyes – I really can't explain what I feel inside. If you knew what I was, you would run and hide!"

Finn's stomach twisted as he and Rachel mirrored Blaine and Tina's moves. He'd been trying to fight off any thoughts of his stepbrother during the performance, but now that he could see his mom and Burt watching in the audience it was hard to focus.

"Many have tried to go into the night, cross over the line and come back alive, but that's the price we pay when we're living on the other side!"

He didn't know when he would next see Kurt. As far as he knew, Kurt's treatment had been going fine for the past week, but it was difficult to think of Kurt-his-stepbrother and not Kurt-lying-on-top-of-him-doing-things, and Finn wasn't sure when that awful feeling would finally go away.

He took a deep breath and joined the others for the chorus, spinning Rachel under his arm. "And I… I'll be waiting on the other side, and you… All you've gotta do is cross the line. I could wait a whole lifetime – but you've just gotta decide."

Finn supposed that maybe he owed at least one visit to Kurt, just because it technically hadn't been Kurt who had snuck into Finn's room that night a week ago, and because they were brothers, but he wasn't ready to make that promise.

"Oh, I… I'll be waiting on the other side."

"Kurt. Wake up."

"Kurt?"

"Dammit, Kurt, get your ass up!"

"Is he dead?"

"Shut up, of course not."

"Why isn't he waking up?"

"Because he's being an ASSHOLE, that's why!"

A sharp pain exploded in Kurt's side and he yelped, rolling over and coughing as his eyes flew open.

"See? I told you. Kicking always works."

Looking up, Kurt saw Eleanor and Tyler standing over him. Tyler was as usual clutching Raleigh to his chest, but Kurt's eyes widened when he saw the horrific bruises on Eleanor's face, neck, and arms. Tyler's shirt was torn and there was blood on it, but he didn't seem to be hurt.

Kurt pulled himself to his feet. "God, are you okay? What happened?" he asked, peering closely at the black-and-blue patch of skin covering Eleanor's right eye and most of her cheek. The equally dark bruises on her neck were shaped suspiciously like human fingers.

"Fucking Truman, that's what."

"He came after us," Tyler said softly, squeezing Raleigh.

"But… why?"

"Fuck if I know," Eleanor grimaced, batting Kurt's hand away.

Tyler frowned at her. "Don't use that word. It's not nice."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

And then, Kurt felt a horrible, painful lurch in his stomach as he realized for the first time that they were not at the playground. They were standing on a thick carpet of pine needles that crunched under their feet, and trees towered overhead. There was no open sky, no direct sunlight, nor any sign of the fields surrounding the playground. They were in a forest, and Kurt couldn't see anything distinguishing one tree from the next.

"Guys… where are we?"