Kurt was growing more agitated by the minute as he traipsed across the forest floor with Eleanor and Tyler trudging behind him. Every tree they passed looked the same as the one before, and however many miles they'd covered (it was impossible to tell how far or long they had walked) had all been identical, the distance bleeding into itself. Kurt couldn't say if they'd walked five miles or fifty or in circles or if they'd hiked the same hundred yards over and over again.

"I don't want to walk any more," Tyler finally said from behind Kurt.

"We have to keep going," Kurt replied without pausing to glance over his shoulder.

"But I'm tired," Tyler whined. "And it all looks the same!"

Kurt sighed, closing his eyes for a second and trying not to be too annoyed. "I'm tired too, Tyler, but we don't have a choice," he said patiently, still not turning around. "Come on."

"No!"

Kurt finally halted in his tracks, frowning at the eight-year-old. Tyler had stopped fifteen feet back, clutching Raleigh and glaring at Kurt with an anger that Kurt would have normally expected from Eleanor.

"Kurt, maybe we should stop," said Eleanor. "We've been walking for hours."

"Weren't you the one who yelled at me for not going anywhere?" Kurt countered.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed, an expression made more intimidating by the swollen black and blue bruises marring her face. "Sitting for five minutes to catch our breaths isn't going to kill us, fucktard," she snapped.

Kurt huffed. "Fine," he said. "Fine, we'll rest for a bit."

Tyler immediately curled up against the trunk of a tree, Raleigh tucked under his arm, and Eleanor went to sit beside him. Kurt sat down by himself.

Robbie had been watching Truman closely ever since Kurt, Tyler, and Eleanor had disappeared. There really wasn't that much Robbie could do where Truman was concerned – after all, Truman was older, stronger, and homicidal – but at the very least Robbie had to make sure that Truman didn't kill Zack. Since Truman had begun singling out Zack as his favorite plaything, Zack had become angry and upset, avoiding interaction with everyone and yelling at anyone who pushed him too much. For the most part, Robbie ignored Zack's behavior – it was his job to make sure Zack stayed alive, and anything beyond that he'd let Craig worry about.

But now, Truman's games were getting out of hand, and Robbie was beginning to really take notice.

At this particular moment, Truman was circling around the playground platforms Zack was cowering under, toying with him like they were playing hide-and-seek. Craig was up top, so if anyone was going to intervene before it turned a little more unsavory, it would have to be Robbie.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Truman called, pretending that he didn't know exactly where Zack was. "Come on, Z."

"Did you ever think that maybe he doesn't want to play with you?" Robbie said, approaching Truman from behind.

Truman paused to glance at Robbie for only a moment. "Bullshit," he said with a smile. "We have plenty of fun; you're just too much of a slice of dry toast to get it. Just because you're the High King of Boresville, it doesn't mean the rest of us have to live there."

Robbie narrowed his eyes. "There's not much to get about you and Zack. After what you did to Kurt, you're lucky to still be alive."

Truman turned around again, grinning widely. "Was that a threat?" he said, his tone light with amusement.

Robbie said nothing, glaring at Truman but glad that the focus had (for now) been diverted from Zack.

"Please, I've heard everything that fucking quack doctor says about you," Truman scoffed. "You're just the peacekeeper. You'll only step in if Kurt's upset, and now that Kurt's not even here to get upset, you're pretty much fucking useless, aren't you?"

Robbie's jaw tightened. Zack was watching the exchange from his hiding place underneath the platforms with wide eyes, his limbs tensed as if he was getting ready to bolt.

"Even if that's true," Robbie said, keeping Truman's attention on him. "You've still got Craig to answer to."

Truman snorted. "As if I 'answer' to anybody," he drawled. "Craig's just a thorn in my side. He's annoying, but ultimately not much of a problem."

"You want to say that to my face, faggot?" Craig snapped, appearing to Truman's left. Robbie glanced at the jungle gym – Schism was gone.

Truman smirked. "Well, speak of the Devil. You seen Zack? I've got a little present for him."

Under the platforms, Zack moved further away, curling more tightly into himself.

"And by 'present' you mean either more cigarette burns or shoving your dick down his throat," Robbie spat.

"Actually, that wouldn't be that little," Truman replied smoothly. "But I'm flattered that you've thought about my dick, Robbie. Really." He winked.

Robbie grimaced. "You're fucking disgusting."

Truman only shrugged, unperturbed. "Zack doesn't seem to think so. He loves the games we play."

"I'd like to play 'how fast can I chop your nuts off?' with you right now," Craig snarled, edging toward Truman with his fists clenched and his teeth bared.

Truman grinned at him, stepping forward in a manner eerily similar to a wolf moving slowly in for the kill. "You know what my favorite thing is?" he said lowly. "Having my dick buried in something that tight. And the way Zack moves… Mm." He trailed off for a moment, licking his bottom lip. Craig's eyes were burning. "You should try it sometime. I could be persuaded to lend him to you."

That was the last straw, and Craig lunged. They plowed into the gravel with the force of Craig's attack, and from underneath the platforms, Zack screamed at the top of his lungs.

Kurt, Tyler, and Eleanor's heads all snapped up in unison, their eyes searching the trees for any signs of life.

"What was that?" asked Tyler, his voice shaking as he hugged Raleigh tighter.

Kurt pulled himself to his feet, listening closely. "I… I think it was Zack," he said. A light breeze (the first movement in the air they had felt since the last time they were at the playground) began to blow through the trees, brushing over Kurt's skin.

There – another scream echoed in the distance, high-pitched and afraid.

Eleanor stood up as well, pulling Tyler with her. "That's Zack. We're close."

"Something's wrong," Kurt said, almost to himself.

A third scream ricocheted through the trees and Kurt broke into a run, Eleanor and Tyler quickly following behind. They ran over the carpet of pine needles, kicking up dirt and dodging tree trunks as they went. A fourth scream was carried on the breeze, and then a fifth. Kurt's legs and lungs were on fire and the ground was beginning to slope upwards, making it increasingly difficult to run. He could hear Eleanor and Tyler breathing raggedly as they struggled to keep up.

Zack screamed again, and a gust of wind nearly knocked them off their feet.

After what had to be another ten minutes, the slope abruptly evened out, the trees vanishing as they ran into a grassy meadow. Kurt could see the playground in the distance. The wind had picked up and was whipping at Kurt's hair and clothes and the grass underfoot. He had to squint to see where he was going.

As they finally approached the playground, the telltale sounds of a fistfight reached their ears, and Kurt spotted Truman and Craig locked in a violent wrestle near the carousel. Kurt was about to run over and attempt to pull them apart, but he nearly tripped over Robbie, who was sprawled on the gravel with blood pooling beneath his head.

"Oh my god, Robbie!" Kurt cried, dropping to his knees and trying to roll Robbie over. But Robbie coughed, blindly pushing Kurt back as he spit a disturbingly large amount of blood onto the reddened ground.

"What the fuck?" Kurt heard Eleanor mutter behind him.

Kurt couldn't see the extent of the injuries to Robbie's face since Robbie was refusing to roll onto his back (so the blood wouldn't drain into his lungs, Kurt realized) but he could see that Robbie's nose was badly broken and at least three of his teeth had been knocked out. There was a long blackened bruise stretching diagonally from his forehead to the edge of his jaw, shaped suspiciously like a crowbar.

"—gonna kill 'im— fuck—" Robbie slurred, red dribbling out of his mouth and nose at an alarming pace.

There was a yell from the other side of the playground, and Kurt looked up to see Truman pinning Craig to the ground, repeatedly punching him hard enough so that Kurt could almost hear Craig's skin breaking. Kurt could see from where he was that Craig was bleeding – not nearly as much as Robbie, but he was definitely losing the fight. Truman's crowbar was lying on the ground next to them, discarded for the moment.

Kurt turned to Eleanor, barely registering that the bruises on her face had completely vanished. "Eleanor, take Tyler and go get Zack. Whatever happens, you make sure they're okay."

Eleanor didn't ask questions or even hesitate. She only nodded once, then grabbed Tyler by the arm and ran toward the platforms.

Kurt stood up, steeling himself as he rushed across the playground. Truman had stopped punching Craig – instead he had picked up the crowbar and was now pressing it against Craig's windpipe, making Craig's mouth open wide as he tried to breathe, his wrists pinned under Truman's knees.

"HEY!" Kurt shouted.

Truman turned his head, his eyes meeting Kurt's.

"Remember me?" Kurt snarled, then pulled his fist back and drove it as hard as he could into Truman's face.

There was a loud, gut-wrenching crack and Truman was thrown onto the ground, Craig sucking in a gasp of air as the crowbar was lifted away from his trachea. Kurt shook out his hand, and Truman pulled himself back onto his feet, blood trickling from his nose into his mouth, staining his teeth bright red.

"That's fine," he said, smearing blood away from his upper lip. "Killing you was easy the first time. Shouldn't be too hard to do it this time around." He flashed a reddened grin.

"I wouldn't be too sure," Kurt spat. "Craig taught me a few things."

Truman laughed, completely unfazed. "Craig's old school," he said, a few drops of blood dripping onto his shirt. "A couple of kicks and punches aren't going to do shit. You've got to fight dirty."

Kurt launched himself at Truman, the both of them hitting the gravel hard as Kurt pummeled Truman's abdomen, trying to gain the upper hand. Truman was fighting back, but not hard, and Kurt knew that Truman was only playing with him.

"See?" Truman panted, only slightly out of breath. "That was good; you had the element of surprise. You're learning."

With a growl, Kurt punched him sharply in the kidney, and Truman finally let out a grunt of real pain.

The small victory lasted only for half a second, though, and Truman suddenly lurched up, flipping Kurt over onto his back like a rag doll. In the blink of an eye, Truman was keeping Kurt's arms pinned above his head, straddling Kurt's waist as Kurt struggled to free himself. A few drops of blood from his broken nose fell onto Kurt's forehead.

Abruptly, Truman grinned down at him. "Now, where have I seen this before?" he said, then ground his hips into Kurt's.

Kurt froze.

Suddenly, the crowbar swung into Kurt's peripheral vision and landed with a whoomph on Truman's back, making Truman grunt and nearly lose his balance. Craig was standing just to the side, panting and bleeding and not nearly as strong as he usually was, the crowbar held almost limply in his hands.

"Stay… away…" Craig snarled breathlessly, "…from my kid."

Truman stood up, but before Kurt could scramble away he drew his foot back and kicked Kurt swiftly between the legs. Kurt let out a yell, stars dancing in front of his eyes as he curled in on himself, trying to somehow alleviate the agonizing pain radiating all over his body and down into his bones. He couldn't move.

"Guess I'll save you for later," Truman told him, then turned to Craig. "Come on, old man. Let's see what you can do."

Craig swung the crowbar at Truman, but the movement was sloppy and Truman easily stepped out of the way. Growling, Craig lifted the bar and gave it another swing, but in a single movement Truman grabbed it in midair and wrenched it out of Craig's hold.

Kurt was trying to pay attention to the fight, but the edges of his vision were fuzzy and his limbs felt paralyzed.

With a solid thunk, the crowbar cut through the air and collided with Craig's temple, and he fell to the ground again. Truman pulled the bar up again and drove it into Craig's side, several deafening cracks echoing in Kurt's ears as Craig's ribs snapped. Truman dropped the crowbar to the side and seized Craig around the shoulders, beginning to drag him away (Kurt couldn't see where).

Trying to roll himself over, Kurt coughed and blinked the fuzziness away from his eyes, his hands shaking. The pain was finally starting to subside, but he still couldn't move.

Then, Eleanor appeared beside him, kneeling as she grabbed his shoulders. "Come on, fucktard," she said, though it sounded more gentle than the last time she'd used that name (his ears were roaring, however, so he couldn't be sure). "Get up."

His limbs feeling like they were made of jell-o, Kurt gritted his teeth and hooked an elbow around Eleanor's neck as she pulled him up off the ground, her arm wrapped around his lower back. They stood there for a moment, Eleanor supporting the majority of Kurt's weight as he waited for the pain to evaporate.

"What are you going to do?" Eleanor asked.

Kurt swallowed, still dizzy. "I don't know." He let out a breath, stepping away from Eleanor and swaying on his feet for a second, his legs still slightly wobbly. He shook his head, blinking and steeling his nerves. The pain from between his legs wasn't entirely gone, but it wasn't crippling any more. That was enough.

"Keep Zack and Tyler safe," he told Eleanor, then grabbed the crowbar from where Truman had dropped it and ran after him.

By now, Truman had dragged Craig over to the swing set and hoisted him up by a swing chain around his neck, leaving him hanging like a pig in a butcher shop. Craig was kicking and trying to work his way free, but the chain was tightening around his throat like a noose and his ribs were still broken. Truman had turned around and was lighting a cigarette.

As Kurt tried to run faster, gripping the crowbar tightly in his hand, Truman blew out a billow of smoke before turning back to Craig. Kurt mentally planned out his attack – he would run up behind Truman and hit him over the head with the crowbar as hard as he could. That would at least give him a few seconds before Truman could recover, and in that space Kurt could gain the upper hand.

He watched as Truman lifted the cigarette and pressed the burning end to Craig's forehead, directly between his eyes.

And Craig erupted into flames.

Kurt froze in his tracks, the crowbar falling from his hands and the breath leaving his lungs. A high-pitched scream like nothing he'd ever heard before sliced through the air. Craig was thrashing as the fire gripped him, the shape of his body barely visible. The light rippled as tongues of flame licked along the swing set bar.

Craig screamed and screamed and screamed.

Kurt thought he could hear Tyler and Zack crying, and Eleanor yelling Craig's name, but above the roar of the fire it was difficult to hear anything at all.

It felt like an hour before the screams tapered off and died away, Craig's body no longer fighting to escape, but Kurt couldn't do anything except watch with wide eyes and empty lungs. Eventually, the flames burned out and disappeared into the air, and the only thing left behind was the chain noose that had circled Craig's neck.

There was no trace of Craig left.

Truman walked over to Kurt, the blood from his nose dried over his mouth and chin, his cigarette hanging from his lips. "Great show, huh?" he said. "I should've brought s'mores."

Kurt looked Truman square in the eye. "I'm going to kill you," he promised.

Truman smiled, his teeth still bloody and red. "Well, that should be interesting."

Then Kurt felt blackness wrap around his mouth and nose, and he was yanked backwards into the dark.

The first thing Kurt heard was the rattling sound of several dice being rolled, and then a voice that was somewhat indistinct. Blinking, Kurt looked down to see he was sitting on the floor of a room that was almost unfamiliar, his legs crossed.

"No, that's a full house," said a second voice from behind him. "Twenty-five points."

Finn.

"Oh. Your roll," replied the first voice – Dad.

The dice shook again, rattling loudly. "Crap, I was going for sixes," said Finn.

Kurt breathed in and out, trying to steady his thudding heart as he twisted around. His dad and Finn were sitting on his bed (and Kurt finally realized that they were in his room at the hospital), playing Yahtzee. Burt glanced at him for only a second.

"Hey, Zack, you want to play Yahtzee?" he asked as Kurt stood up, his joints feeling stiff.

Finn smiled at him. "You can be on my team. I'm kicking Burt's butt."

Why don't they recognize me?

Kurt stared at them for a moment. "It's me," he said, his vocal chords feeling hoarse and unused.

Burt and Finn's gazes whipped to Kurt in unison, and Burt lurched to his feet, knocking the Yahtzee tray and dice to the ground. Suddenly, Kurt was engulfed in a crushing embrace and Burt was shaking— Was he crying? Finn had stood up too, staring at Kurt with an expression that Kurt had never seen before, a mix of fear and relief and shock. He didn't like it.

"What's going on?" he said, and Burt finally pulled back, his eyes red and watering. Kurt had only seen his father cry a handful of times. It was unsettling.

"Y-you—" Burt started, choking up. He looked tired, more tired than Kurt could remember. "You're okay? You're sure you're okay?"

"Dad, what are you talking about? What happened?" Kurt looked to Finn again, but Finn seemed to be stuck where he was. "What—?" Kurt's heart twisted in his chest as he realized what would make his dad and brother act like this.

No. No, no, no…

"Wh-what's the date?" he asked shakily, not wanting to know the answer.

Burt just looked sad. "It's May fifth."

Kurt didn't move, his vision going blurry. "…No, it's February," he said.

Burt shook his head, his hands on Kurt's arms. "Kurt, it's May."

"No," Kurt shook his head, his voice wavering. He ran a hand through his hair, jerking it away when he realized his hair was much longer than it was supposed to be. His breath quickened.

"It's okay," Burt said, but he was still crying and it was hard for Kurt to believe him.

Kurt could feel the tears on his cheeks and it was getting harder for him to breathe, and God, the look on Finn's face wasn't helping. Kurt's palms clamped over his mouth. Burt pulled Kurt against his chest again, a hand on the back of Kurt's head, just holding him as tightly as he could. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt buried his face in his father's shoulder, his ribs heaving without drawing in air.

"It's okay," Burt said again, and Kurt wanted to yell and scream and beat his fists against the wall.

As it was, though, he only sobbed into his father's shirt and tried not to let the darkness snatch him back.