Kurt shivered, his pajamas feeling thin against his skin as he sat at the tiny kitchen table, absentmindedly running a green marker in circles over an otherwise blank sheet of paper. He fidgeted in his seat, swallowing and trying not to wince when a bolt of searing pain shot upwards through his spine. It had been almost a week (he thought) since this all started and he still had a hard time remembering not to move.

He stiffened as Franklin walked into the room. "What do you want for lunch, kiddo?"

"I'm not hungry." Kurt made sure to keep his eyes on his drawing, not lifting his head in case he accidentally looked at Franklin's face.

"You didn't eat breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry in the morning either."

Kurt flinched as Franklin braced a hand against the table, leaning down almost to eye-level. The marker stopped, a green ink dot bleeding out from its tip. "Kurt, I told your parents I'd take care of you. You have to eat something."

Avoiding Franklin's eye, Kurt pressed his mouth shut.

"So, what do you want to eat?"

"Nothing."

Franklin huffed. "That's not an option."

Kurt's toes curled, hanging in the air six inches above the ground since the chair was too big for him. "I'm not hungry," he said again. The thought of food made him feel like throwing up.

"If you don't choose, then I'm going to, and you might not like it."

Kurt didn't say anything. Franklin couldn't make him eat.

"No? Okay."

Kurt remained stock-still, staring at the table while Franklin stirred a pot on the stove. Five minutes later, a steaming bowl was dropped in front of him and Franklin shoved Kurt's drawings to the side.

"I'm not hungry," Kurt repeated, pointedly not reaching for the spoon.

"You said you loved mac and cheese."

"I don't want it."

There was a long pause, and Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck slowly stand up, his gut clenching.

"Eat the mac and cheese."

Kurt pushed it away.

Abruptly, Franklin's big hand grabbed Kurt by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. Kurt kicked and squirmed as a too-big spoonful of soggy and hot macaroni and runny cheese was dumped into his mouth, immediately falling to the back of his throat. He coughed, trying to spit it out as it burned his tongue and esophagus, but Franklin pushed his mouth closed again.

"Swallow."

The macaroni caught in Kurt's throat and he began to choke, feeling droplets of the cheese and milk run into his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

"Come on, kiddo. Swallow."

Kurt reached up, dug his nails into Franklin's arm, and yanked down.

"Ow! You fucking scratched me!"

Kurt fell off the chair as Franklin dropped him, coughing and spitting bright yellow bile onto the linoleum floor. He looked back up just in time to see Franklin looming over him, and scrabbled to move out of Franklin's reach.

He wasn't fast enough, and Franklin snatched the scruff of Kurt's pajamas, dragging him back onto his feet. Panicking, Kurt managed to squirm around and sink his teeth into Franklin's wrist, biting down as hard as he could. He dropped to the floor again, immediately scrambling back and away.

"Get back here!"

There was a loud crash as Franklin furiously kicked over a chair and Kurt yelped, flinching back. Franklin lunged forward, gripping Kurt by the back of his neck and dragging him back to the table. Forcing his jaw open a second time, Franklin ignored the spoon and used his hand to shove a still-too-hot lump of macaroni into Kurt's mouth. He pressed his palm over Kurt's lips as Kurt's eyes watered and the food burned the insides of his cheeks.

Kurt swallowed, feeling the agonizing heat slowly move down his throat to his stomach, scalding him from the inside.

Franklin pushed another handful into Kurt's mouth. "Swallow."

Kurt choked again, and his belly heaved.

Franklin let go. Kurt clung to the table, doubling over and emptying his stomach onto the floor.

"How about we try this again?" Franklin offered.

Kurt gagged, dry heaving and crying and trying to breathe.

"You want to eat on your own?"

Kurt was sobbing too hard to be able to respond, and Franklin repeated his question. Kurt flinched at the forceful tone.

"Do you want to eat on your own, or do you want me to help you?" Franklin asked slowly.

Kurt stood still for a moment, breathing unevenly between sobs and making sure he was looking away from Franklin. "I'll eat on m-my own," he choked out, his words hitching.

"Good," Franklin said, his tone suddenly evaporating into one that was softly consoling. Kurt jumped and nearly threw up again when Franklin's hand gently patted his back the way Dad did whenever Kurt was upset.

Franklin stepped back, making it only slightly easier to breathe, and Kurt grabbed his chance. He turned on his heel and bolted.

"HEY!"

Terror clawing at his skull, Kurt pretended not to hear Franklin's shout and ran as fast as he could up the stairs and down the hall. He didn't go into his room, instead running into his parents' room and shutting the door behind him. He could hear Franklin's feet pounding up the stairs, and in a panic he dropped to all fours and slid under the bed, squirming in the narrow space until he was pressed all the way back against the wall.

"KURT!" Franklin yelled from the hallway.

Kurt flinched, wrapping his fingers around the wire mesh holding the mattress over his head. He could hear Franklin in his own bedroom, trying to find him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He clamped his teeth around his forearm to try to stop himself from crying too loudly, but it must not have worked very well since the door banged open and Franklin's feet appeared beside the bed.

Kurt screamed.

The morning sunlight momentarily blinded Kurt as he sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving and his forehead beaded with sweat. He wasn't sure what had woken him up, but judging from the way his sheets had been tossed and tangled around his legs, whatever dream he'd been having must have been unpleasant. Not even trying to remember it, he pulled himself out of bed and wiped at his forehead, wrinkling his nose at the smell when he lifted his arm.

Peeling off the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been sleeping in, he grabbed a towel from his closet and went down the hall to shower. Standing underneath the hot stream of water, Kurt leaned against the wall and tried to let the tendons in his neck relax. He didn't know why his heart wouldn't stop thudding so loudly.

After scrubbing the sweat and sickening twisting in his gut away, Kurt redressed and went downstairs, finding Finn sitting on the couch working on math homework while a rerun of Teen Wolf played on the TV. Finn glanced up as Kurt circled around the sofa and plopped down next to him.

"Hey," Kurt said.

Kurt tried not to notice how visibly Finn relaxed when he realized it was actually Kurt speaking to him. "Hey, man. You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm a little tired, but I'm fine."

Finn frowned, as if he'd been expecting a different answer.

"What?"

"Nothing," Finn answered, turning back to his textbook. Kurt watched the television screen as two werewolves snarled at each other, fighting over some plot point that Kurt didn't have the energy to ask Finn about.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and Kurt heard Carole answer it, hanging up only a minute later.

Kurt leaned his head against his fist, letting out a long breath. It felt nice to be doing something normal, but he couldn't help feeling like there was some kind of wall surrounding him and separating him from the rest of his family. He was probably imagining things, though.

A sudden scream made him jump, and he realized he'd been dozing. The scream had come from the TV. Finn looked at him askance. "You sure you're alright, dude?"

Kurt rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I just fell asleep."

The phone rang again in the kitchen.

"Do you need any math help?" Kurt offered, leaning over slightly to see what Finn was doing.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Never thought I'd say it, but I actually miss homework."

Finn snorted, and Kurt realized with a skip of the heart that he hadn't seen Finn smile since February.

Another yell from the TV, and Finn looked at the screen for a moment, his smile fading. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to keep his attention on his books but not succeeding. Kurt frowned. On the TV, Stiles had handcuffed Scott to a radiator and was sitting outside the room while Scott yelled in pain under the light of the full moon.

"Finn, we can change this if you want," Kurt said, confused as to why it would make Finn uncomfortable.

"It's fine."

"Why are you upset?"

Finn swallowed. "It's nothing." Kurt flashed him a look, and Finn sighed. "I just… I've done that with you."

"You handcuffed me to a radiator?"

"You know what I meant."

Kurt went quiet, his joke falling flat. Then he scowled. "Wait, did you just compare my problem to lycanthropy?"

"…Maybe?"

"Do I have red eyes and sideburns when I switch? Because that's not something I was aware of."

To Kurt's relief, this elicited another chuckle.

He sighed then, abandoning the humorous tone. "Finn, I'm really sorry you've had to do that."

Finn shrugged. "I know you're fighting," he said. "If you need my help to do that, then fine."

The phone rang again, and Kurt frowned. "Why are so many people calling the house?"

"Oh, it's… kinda been ringing off the hook all morning," Finn said tightly. "The… the club found out you're back."

Kurt's expression hardened, his heart skipping in unease. "How?"

"I guess Brittany and Santana saw us leaving the store yesterday."

Kurt groaned.

"Kurt, they just miss you," Finn said. "Oh! Speaking of which, I almost totally forgot—"

"What?"

Finn shoved his books aside, standing up. "A bunch of them wrote you letters. I didn't know if Eleanor was going to rip them up or something so I kept them here. C'mon."

Swallowing, Kurt followed Finn upstairs to his room, where Finn pulled a shoebox off the shelf above his desk. "Here you go, dude," he said, pushing the box into Kurt's hands.

Kurt lifted the lid. The box wasn't stuffed – it wasn't even halfway full – but there were enough to make Kurt's vision cloud over. He saw envelopes from Puck, Brittany, Rachel, Mercedes… Blaine. There was even one from Santana.

He closed the box quickly. "Thanks, Finn, I…" he trailed off for a second. "I'll read them later."

"Okay."

Finn seemed to understand that Kurt was still too emotionally stressed to deal with whatever feelings of homesickness the letters might trigger, so Kurt gave a grateful nod and tucked the box under his arm to take back to his room.

"Hey, Kurt?"

Kurt turned back.

"Can… Can I give you a hug?"

Kurt blinked in surprise. Finn had never asked for permission before. Not for something that simple. Something flitted over Finn's face, and Kurt nodded.

The hug was tight – worryingly so. Kurt could feel Finn swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing against Kurt's shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Finn coughed, stepping back, and Kurt could feel the wall going back up. "Yeah, I… just wanted to do that when I knew Eleanor wouldn't try to punch me." He smiled as if it was a joke, but Kurt could tell there was a disturbing amount of truth in what Finn said.

He couldn't help feeling that maybe Finn thought he was slipping away.

Burt hadn't slept all night, instead staying in his home office area set up in what had used to be the guest bedroom, revising the bills he needed to complete for work. Now it was nearly eight-thirty and he was still up, his eyes sore from reading pages upon pages of text. When he'd decided to run for Representative, he hadn't expected this much paperwork, but it was just part of the job.

The door opened and Carole leaned in. "I brought you some coffee."

He leaned back, stretching and yawning. "Thanks, Car."

She hesitated to give it to him. "Are you sure you don't want to go to bed? You're starting to look like someone out of a zombie movie."

"I'm okay," he said, taking the mug and setting it on a coaster.

"Well, Kurt's up."

Burt's gaze snapped up. "Is he okay?"

"I'm not sure," Carole said, wringing her hands slightly. "He hasn't mentioned what happened yesterday at all, and neither have Finn and I. I can't really tell if he just doesn't want to talk about it or if he doesn't remember."

"But is he okay?"

"Seems to be. It's hard to tell." Carole worried at her lip. "I think you should talk to him about Truman. Make sure he remembers. We don't want him to go through that again."

Burt let out a long breath, nodding. He hated never knowing what was going on in Kurt's head, and he hated not understanding it even when Kurt tried to tell him. "Okay," he said, standing up. "Thanks for the coffee." He planted a kiss on Carole's forehead before heading downstairs to find Kurt.

Kurt was in the kitchen, leaning over the newspaper spread out on the table in front of him.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said, dropping a hand onto Kurt's shoulder. Kurt looked up and Burt felt a painful lurch in his chest when he saw just how worn Kurt's face was. He just seemed… stretched. Like his bones were too big for his body. "How're you feeling?"

Kurt shrugged halfheartedly. "Tired."

Burt ran a hand through Kurt's hair, ignoring the noise of protest that escaped Kurt's mouth. "You want some toast?"

"Sure," Kurt said, pulling his hair back into place.

"Anything interesting in there?" Burt asked, gesturing to the paper as he moved over to the counter and rummaged through the cupboard for the bread.

Kurt shook his head. "Not really. Just wanted to do something normal."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Good."

They fell into silence until Burt brought over a plate of jellied toast, sitting across from Kurt and sliding the plate over. Kurt thanked him and took a bite, turning his attention back to the newspaper.

"Kurt, do…" Burt trailed off, fiddling with his wedding ring. Kurt looked up, his eyebrows raised. "What do you remember about yesterday?"

Kurt frowned, swallowing the last of his bite of toast.

"Do you remember what we talked about before you switched?"

Then, slowly but surely, Kurt's expression contorted, his body going still and his eyes misting over.

Burt leaned forward. "Kurt?"

Another swallow, and Kurt blinked, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "Yes," he said. "I remember."

Burt nodded, almost relieved that he didn't have to repeat the conversation. "And... are you all right?"

Kurt mouth pressed into a thin line and he swiped at his eyes again, staring at the floor. He shrugged with one shoulder.

Burt reached across the table and laid his hand over Kurt's forearm. "Kurt, whatever's going on in your head, whatever you're feeling – now, later, or ever – it'll help to talk about it. I don't want you to think for a second that it's not okay to feel those things."

Kurt sniffed, clearly struggling to hold back full-blown tears. "I-I just…" he paused, drawing a breath. His voice was thick. "I guess I just d-didn't want to think about it."

"About what exactly?"

"Truman," Kurt whispered.

Burt squeezed Kurt's arm, hoping it would send him some sort of signal that he didn't have to hold back. In all of the parenting classes he and Linda had taken in the months prior to Kurt being born, none of them had trained them how to deal with seeing their child in pain. There was no pamphlet, no How To Watch Your Kid Suffer 101, no guidelines for what the hell Burt could do to make this easier.

Kurt's fist clenched, the tendons in his arm tightening under Burt's palm, and he forced out a long, unsteady breath.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Kurt?" Burt asked gently.

Kurt's chest shuddered and he shook his head.

"Okay," Burt said, standing up. "Come here." Not bothering to ask for Kurt's permission, he pulled Kurt into a hug, wrapping his arms around Kurt's shoulders. He could feel Kurt shaking, and Kurt's fingers dug into his back, clinging to him in return. "I love you," Burt said with absolute resolution. "No matter what you do, what you feel, or who you are. You understand?"

Kurt nodded minutely against Burt's shoulder. He felt just as small now as he had ten years ago.

"Dad?" came Kurt's voice a minute later, muffled by Burt's shirt.

Burt pulled back slightly. "Yeah?"

Kurt was blinking rapidly, his gaze jumping around the room. Burt had seen this expression a few times before, when Kurt was struggling to say something potentially harmful.

"What is it?"

"Th-there is something else," he hiccoughed, his face blotchy.

"What's going on?"

Kurt pulled away from him, raking his fingers through his hair and gritting his teeth.

"Kurt, what—"

"Craig's dead."

Burt blinked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the abrupt statement. "You— What? How do you know?"

"I-I don't know how to explain it, Dad," Kurt said, his voice shaking in what had to be terror. "He's just— He's not there any more."

Burt shook his head. "I'm confused. He just disappeared?"

"No," Kurt said, wincing and biting back a sob. "T-Truman killed him."

Burt reached out and grabbed Kurt's shoulders to steady him. "Kurt," he said gently. "The last time Truman said he killed people, all three of those people came back."

"This is different," Kurt insisted, his eyes bright and sharp in panic.

"Are you sure he's gone?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell Dr. McManus about this?"

"N-no."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Kurt cried, his chest heaving. "I was scared."

Burt let out a heavy sigh, trying to think. "Okay," he said. "I want you to talk to him about this the second you get back to the hospital tomorrow, and I want you to keep me in the loop."

"Okay."

"You promise?" Burt pressed, his hands still firmly on Kurt's shoulders.

"Yes."

Burt sighed again, praying for just one thing he could do to help. "Kurt, maybe this is a good thing," he said softly.

Kurt blinked, his expression snapping into a frown.

"I mean… you know that at some point they're all going to have to leave if you're going to get better," Burt clarified.

Kurt didn't seem to see it the same way, and his face hardened. "Dad, the people in my head are killing each other," he said, his voice abruptly steady. "How is that a good thing?"

"Craig wasn't exactly a fairy godmother, Kurt," Burt stated. "He was an asshole."

"He protected me."

Burt's frown deepened. "He beat you."

"He protected us," Kurt repeated, his gaze and voice startlingly level. His shoulders stiffened under Burt's hands. "And now he'sgone and Truman is still there. How long do you think it'll be before Truman goes after Zack again? Or Tyler? Or Eleanor?"

"I can't really say that I'd miss them."

The words were out of Burt's mouth before he realized he'd said them, and Kurt's eyes narrowed as he stepped away, forcing Burt to drop his hands.

Glaring with an intensity eerily similar to Eleanor, Kurt spoke lowly. "How long do you think it'll be before Truman kills me if Craig's not here?"

"Truman's not going to kill you—" Burt started, attempting to be reassuring.

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!"

Burt jumped, stepping back at Kurt's shout. Kurt's teeth were clenched and his eyes were burning. Burt had never seen him this angry – not Kurt, at least.

"Craig would've done anything to stop Truman from doing this, and now he's gone, and the rest of us are vulnerable!" Kurt shouted, his neck craning forward and his shoulders hunching the way they always did when he was furious. "Don't you get it?! Heprotected us!" Kurt swallowed, a few stray tears escaping down to his chin. His jaw clenched.

Burt stared at him, at a loss. He didn't know what to do or say or think.

"He protected us," Kurt continued, his voice shaking as it dropped back to its normal volume, hitching on his sobs. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"Kurt…" Burt breathed, feeling as if his chest was collapsing. He moved to pull Kurt into another hug, but Kurt took a painfully obvious step back. "Kurt, I know… I know you think this is my fault, and that's okay—"

"It IS your fault!" Kurt screamed. "You gave me to him! You just handed me over!"

"Kurt, you—"

"I WAS FOUR!"

Burt suddenly felt as if the blade of a sword had rammed straight through his stomach. He'd dealt with Eleanor's fits of rage, with Truman's insults and Craig's violence, but he'd never seen Kurt stare back at him with this much… hate.

Not allowing Burt the chance to offer some meager form of defense or comfort or anything, Kurt let out a shuddering breath before rushing out of the room, pushing past Finn and Carole, who had been standing in the doorway for the past six minutes.

Carole cast a single terrified look at Burt before running after her stepson.