Finn was woken up by the sharp sunlight stabbing through his window on Saturday morning, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It was barely seven-thirty – he must have forgotten to shut the blinds the previous evening. On any other day, he would have rolled over and shoved his head back under the pillows, but today he immediately pushed the blankets back and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt before heading downstairs.

It was May 12th, one week since Kurt had opened his eyes and been himself for the first time in months. One week since they'd finally been able to talk to him again, knowing that he could actually hear them and would remember the conversation later. Dr. McManus had kept Kurt at the hospital for the past week, making sure that Kurt wasn't about to implode or disappear again, but he'd pulled some strings and gotten Kurt a pass to spend a few days at home. They'd brought him home yesterday afternoon, and that evening dinner had been almost unnaturally quiet.

So, for the first time since late February, there were four people in the Hudson-Hummel house again.

Finn wasn't sure if he wanted to count the alters in that tally.

In the kitchen, Carole was brewing her morning cup of tea. "You're up early," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He yawned as if to illustrate her point, scratching at the back of his head. "Yeah. Where's Kurt?"

"He's out on the porch."

Finn glanced at the front door. "Is he okay?"

Carole nodded, dropping her tea bag into the trash. "As far as I know," she replied. "I think he's just getting used to being back."

(It was unclear whether she meant back at home or back in his own body, but Finn didn't ask her to clarify.)

"Burt's not here?" he asked.

"No, he had a meeting with Mr. Berry this morning."

Finn frowned. For the past two months since John Truman's arrest Burt and Hiram Berry had been meeting every week, compiling their case against him as the trial date approached. "Something wrong?"

"No, no," Carole assured him. "It's just trial prep."

"Oh."

"Are you hungry? I can make you some eggs or something."

"Yeah, thanks. I'm going to go check on Kurt."

Finn pushed through the front door and walked out onto the porch in his bare feet, a light spring breeze buffeting his clothes as he went to sink onto the bench next to Kurt. It was strange to see Kurt in his own clothes again, though it was still a far cry from the outfits he'd worn on a regular basis when he was still in school; just jeans and a grey shirt that was probably the plainest item in Kurt's bureau.

It was Kurt who spoke first, his face worn and slightly shadowed even in the sunlight. "I still expected to see snow this morning," he said quietly, surveying the green lawn and Carole's rosebushes.

"Must be weird," Finn agreed, leaning back.

"I don't know." Kurt gave a halfhearted shrug. "I suppose it's not really that different from missing a day or two."

Finn didn't say anything, watching a few bees digging through the roses.

Eventually Kurt let out a breath and leaned back beside Finn, his arms hugging his abdomen. "Finn, what happened while I was gone?" he asked, sounding like he didn't really want Finn to answer.

"With what?"

"With the alters."

"Oh, uh… well…" Finn's stomach clenched. He didn't know how detailed Kurt wanted this information to be, but Finn knew that, personally, he'd rather not think about it at all. "Zack was out the most, but he wasn't really talking to anyone. Truman was… really scary."

Kurt frowned, his forehead knitting in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Finn drew a deep breath, looking out over the road. "He kept bragging that he killed you, and you weren't coming back, and Craig and Robbie were saying you were dead and we…" He stopped to pull in another breath, swallowing. "We didn't know what to do."

Kurt's mouth tightened, and Finn wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say.

"Finn, I'm so sorry about what Truman did to you," Kurt said, his voice wavering slightly. His shoulders stiffened, like he didn't know how Finn would respond.

Finn didn't meet Kurt's eye, still staring out at the road. He didn't how to react to any of this. For the past two months and however many weeks that Kurt had been gone, Zack had been in control nearly every time Finn visited, and even then he wouldn't speak. And now Kurt was back, and it was as if he'd risen from the dead.

"Are… are we okay?" Kurt ventured, his words shaking.

Finn forced himself to swallow and pat Kurt's shoulder. "Water under the bridge, man."

After Finn had eaten breakfast and Kurt had finished his coffee (he wasn't hungry), Carole sent the two of them to the supermarket to pick up a few things missing from the kitchen. Kurt watched Lima pass by out of the passenger side window of Finn's truck, almost unnervingly quiet. So quiet, in fact, that when he did finally break the silence, Finn nearly jumped in his seat.

"Does anyone else know I'm here?"

Finn glanced at Kurt for a second before refocusing on the road ahead. "What, in the club? Uh… no, I thought I should wait and see if you wanted to see them."

Kurt's mouth twitched, still watching out the window. "Did any of them know I was gone?"

"No," Finn replied. "I didn't tell them anything."

"Okay."

Finn couldn't tell if that was good or bad.

In the store, Finn pulled out the shopping list Carole had given them and told Kurt to track down chocolate chips and vanilla while he stalked the dairy shelves for butter and eggs, and left Kurt to his own devices (but not before asking him to make absolute sure that he was okay on his own).

Kurt figured he could handle grabbing two items from the baking aisle without transitioning. There wasn't much to stress over when it came to cookies, after all.

As he headed down the candy aisle on his way to the baking section, however, a voice from the back of his head cut through his thoughts, making him halt in his tracks.

Hey, bubble butt! Grab me a Twix, will you?

Kurt swallowed, feeling as if a colony of worms was squirming through the inner workings of his gut. He hated feeling Truman inside him, taking up space in his head and in his chest and his stomach and his fingers, and he hated it even more now that it was ice cold where Craig had been.

"You're getting sloppy with your insults," Kurt muttered, as bravely as he could.

A chuckle, and then Who says it was an insult?

Kurt gritted his teeth, trying not to let himself throw up in the middle of the candy aisle. His fingernails dug into his palms as his sinuses compressed.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he jumped, drawing a sharp intake of breath. Finn was standing next to him with a basket in his hand, watching him warily. "…Kurt?" he said, and Kurt swallowed at how obvious it was that Finn couldn't tell who he was looking at.

"Sorry." Kurt let out a breath. "Spaced out."

"Okay. Just making sure you're still here."

"Yes, I'm still here," Kurt snapped, feeling an unexpected surge of anger underneath his ribs. "Can't recognize your own brother?"

Finn blinked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt spat.

"What's wrong, dude?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me 'dude', Finn. You know I hate it."

Finn's expression hardened, almost matching Kurt's. "You only hate it when there's something bothering you, Kurt. I'm just trying to help, okay?" Kurt opened his mouth to retort, but Finn cut him off again. "And FYI? I haven't seen anyone except Zack since you left. So, yeah, you're a little hard to recognize."

Kurt's mouth clamped shut and he looked away. That had stung. The worms in his intestines recoiled as if they'd been burned.

Finn let out a heavy breath. "Are they talking again? Is that why you're upset?"

Refusing to meet Finn's eye, Kurt crossed his arms and clenched his teeth. He already had enough people in his head; he didn't need Finn in there too.

"Kurt, talk to me."

Forcing his nerves to calm and his fists to uncurl, Kurt sighed and shook his head very slightly, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I'll be in the car," he said, then turned and walked back the way he'd come, leaving Finn to finish the shopping.

Striding across the parking lot, Truman's voice stabbed through his ears and down into his throat again. Turning into quite the snap turtle, aren't you? Finn didn't look happy.

"Shut up," Kurt spat, yanking open the door to Finn's truck and climbing into the passenger seat.

Hey, I'm just saying you might need a little therapy is all. Anger management could come in handy.

"Shut the fuck up!" Kurt shouted abruptly, kicking the dashboard in frustration. He sat back, breathing hard as his fingernails dug into his palms of their own accord.

Jeez, Bruce Banner, lighten up.

"SHUT UP!" Kurt screamed, nearly begging as his hands curled over his ears. He could feel tears on his face but his brain felt like it was on fire and he couldn't think.

Kurt. Breathe.

That had been Eleanor's voice, cutting through Truman's sneering drawl. Kurt squeezed the air out of his lungs as slowly as he could, then grit his teeth and pulled in a breath through his nose, leaning his head back against the seat.

Let me and Robbie handle Truman, said Eleanor.

I heard that, snapped Truman.

Just breathe.

Kurt closed his eyes, working to let the tendons in his neck and wrists release and concentrating on the (still very uneven) circulation of air through his lungs and throat. He couldn't hear Eleanor's voice or Truman's any longer, but his heart was still racing and his hands still shaking.

Swallowing and wiping his face on his sleeve, Kurt sat back and kept his eyes shut, waiting for Finn to come back so he could go home.