Feeling inexplicably nervous, Blaine kept his head down as he walked along Pierce Street in downtown Lima. It was unusually crowded – so crowded, in fact, that he'd accidentally collided with at least ten people in the last five minutes. As he pushed his way through the sea of pedestrians, his eyes remained trained on the sidewalk beneath his feet. He had a strange feeling like the concrete was about to suddenly open up and swallow him whole, but he did his best to ignore the nagging in the back of his mind and continued walking.

Only a few moments later, a deliveryman running quickly through the crowd with a package under one arm crashed into Blaine with enough force to nearly knock him over, and the package fell against the cement at his feet. Blaine picked it up and quickly handed it to the man, muttering a rushed apology, his mind elsewhere.

"No problem," said the deliveryman.

Blaine's attention snapped into the present at the sound of the man's voice. Kurt's voice. He frowned and stared – standing in front of him was Kurt, in a postman's uniform, about to turn and rush off with his delivery.

"Wait, Kurt—"

Kurt turned around and gave him a strange look. "Who's Kurt?" he asked, turning around and disappearing into the crowd before Blaine could respond.

The nagging in Blaine's gut was even stronger now, and he looked around the street for a moment in confusion, only to have his stomach twist into a knot when he saw that each and every single person he could see possessed Kurt's face. Hundreds of Kurts were pushing past him on the sidewalk, driving their cars down the street, talking on cell phones, walking out of stores… They were everywhere.

"Kurt!" he yelled.

The only response was an unsynchronized chorus of "Who's Kurt?" from each Kurt within earshot.

"Kurt!"

"Who's Kurt?"

"Who's Kurt?"

"Who's Kurt?"

Blaine spun in a circle, his heart racing. He had to get out of here.

His eyes finally landed on a service entrance in the side of the building nearest to him, and he pushed through the crowd towards it. He yanked open the door and let it fall heavily shut behind him with a loud, echoing clang, plunging him into total darkness.

For a few minutes, the only sound was Blaine's breathing as he calmed himself, and he was grateful for the near silence until, somewhere off in the black, he heard raspy shallow breathing apart from his own. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the shadows, but he still could make out nothing except the damp cement floor he was standing on.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone there?"

There was no answer. After a moment, Blaine noticed that the sound was hitched and uneven. It was crying.

"Hello?" His heart racing, he forced himself to take a few steps into the darkness towards the noise. Struggling to see, he called out again, then stopped short where he was, spotting a faint outline of… he didn't know what. Blaine stared at it for a few seconds before he realized that it was a person sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him. "…Hello?" he said again, the nagging feeling that something was wrong returned to the back of his mind, stronger than ever.

The person's frame shook. He was rocking back and forth as he cried softly.

Swallowing, Blaine leaned forward and put a hand on the person's shoulder, only to yelp and yank it back, his hand coming away cold and wet. He nearly vomited when the smell of it reached his nose, realizing it was blood. Fighting the bile in bubbling in his stomach, he tried to wipe his palm off on his jeans before circling around the person crouched on the floor.

"Are you—?" he started.

The person's head snapped up, their eyes wide and afraid.

"Kurt…" Blaine whispered, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness.

Kurt was stark naked and covered in blood, some of it dried, some of it fresh. His hair was matted with it. There were tear tracks down his face, cutting through the reddish smears. He held up his hands, which were cupped around an obviously badly damaged human brain.

"I can't put it back together," he sniffed.

Blaine's eyes widened. "Kurt, who… whose is that? Your mom's?"

"No," Kurt hiccoughed. "It's mine." He reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling upwards until, with a sickening squelch, his cranium separated from—

"AUGH!" Blaine sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving and his forehead beaded with sweat. He glanced at his hands to make absolute sure that they weren't covered in blood before wiping his clammy face. He rested his head in his palms, trying to let his nerves stop filling his skull with static.

There was a knock on the door and his mother stuck her head in. "Blaine? Are you all right? I heard a yell."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine – just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you up."

"Oh my goodness – what happened to your face?"

Blaine prodded the band-aid on his left cheek. "Nothing, Mom. Kurt's got a cat."

She gave him a look like she knew he was lying. "The boy who is more obsessed with fashion than anyone else I've ever heard of has a pet that sheds all over his clothes?"

Blaine shrugged. "Yeah. Well, it's his stepmom's cat. Not very friendly."

She sighed. "Okay, well… if you need to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks, Mom. Night," he said as she closed the door behind her. Rubbing his eyes, he laid back in bed and willed his body to relax, but sleep didn't come for the rest of the night.

The next afternoon, Blaine was standing at his locker in the empty hallway, shoving books into his backpack as he got ready to go home. Every muscle in his body just felt drained, and for the first time in his life, he'd skipped out on Glee rehearsal. He simply didn't have the energy.

He was almost finished packing up when Kurt appeared from down the hall and leaned against the lockers to Blaine's right. "Where were you? Mr. Schue wanted to talk to you about a solo for Regionals – he just gave it to Puck instead."

Blaine shrugged, not looking at him as he shut his locker. "To be frank, Kurt, Regionals is kind of the least of my worries right now." He slung his backpack over his shoulders and zipped up his hoodie.

"Wait, stop—" Kurt said before Blaine could turn away, grabbing the shorter boy's shoulder. Kurt frowned at him. "What happened to your face?" he asked, though it was clear to Blaine that Kurt already knew, or at least could guess.

A muscle in Blaine's jaw twitched before he responded, "You did it, Kurt."

Kurt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let's go in the choir room," he said quietly. "I don't want to talk in public."

Even though the hallways were unoccupied as far as they could tell, Blaine acquiesced and followed Kurt halfway down the next corridor and into the choir room. He knew that it was the only place in the school where Kurt truly felt safe, though he hadn't understood until recently just how important that was.

He was surprised when Kurt began to speak immediately. "Okay, let's get one thing straight here," he said, throwing Blaine off with an unexpected fierceness to his voice. "I didn't cut you. Eleanor, or Craig, or I don't know, maybe even Robbie did. But Iwould never do that, and you know it. So don't accuse me."

Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring. "I don't understand how you can expect me to play the dutiful boyfriend when you're hugging me one second and nearly stabbing me the next. And don't think I'm going to forgive you for this just because you made me look like Inigo Montoya – you can't just throw up your hands and say it's out of your control."

"It is out of my control!" Kurt cried. "That's the point! I didn't crash my mother's car! I didn't choose to be like this, and you of allpeople should understand that!"

"Kurt, I swear to God, if you compare this to your sexuality, I will walk away." Kurt's mouth clamped shut, and Blaine continued. "You said it yourself – you don't know who cut me. But you know what I saw? I saw your face. Not Eleanor, and not Robbie, and not Craig or anyone else's."

"I can't believe that you're actually blaming me for my condition—"

"First of all," Blaine cut in sharply. "I don't blame you. Kurt, what happened to you was awful, and I'm so sorry that you had to go through that. But just because it's something that happened to you doesn't mean you shouldn't take responsibility for it. You lied to me."

"Blaine, I am not my disease, okay? It's not who I am."

"It's multiple personality disorder! It's exactly who you are – that's what it means."

His fists clenched in rage, Blaine turned and stormed out of the room. Amid all the confusion and anger and fear, he knew that he couldn't live like this. He hated himself for thinking it, but he just didn't want to help Kurt.