Sundays were the one day out of the week when Rachel allowed herself to sleep late, usually not sliding out of bed until after eight and not eating breakfast until at least eight-forty-five, once her exercise and morning beauty routine was complete. On this particular Sunday, however, she'd gotten up even later than usual, having slept horribly during the night. Once the news that Kurt was suddenly back in town had spread through the club like wildfire, Rachel had been unable to concentrate on pretty much anything at all and had even cut her time on the elliptical short by five minutes from sheer restlessness.

Now, it was closing in on nine-thirty and she was sitting at the dining table in her most comfortable Sunday clothes – just a pair of yoga pants and one of her loosest dance shirts – eating breakfast and attempting to take a chunk out of her homework for physics class (and failing miserably, since all she seemed to be able to think about was Kurt and how he was doing and was he okay and was he here to stay?).

The front door opened in the foyer and Sam walked in, shrugging off his light jacket and jingling his keys.

"Hey," she called. "How was church?"

Sam yawned as he came over to the table and sank into the seat beside her. "Service starts way too early at my church, if you ask me."

Rachel chuckled.

"Have you heard anything from Finn?"

She shook her head, dropping her pen on top of her notebook and leaning her cheek on her fist. "No. I called their house twice yesterday and once this morning and all I got was Ms. Hudson telling me that Kurt wasn't available. And Finn hasn't been answering his cell."

Sam sighed. "Do you think Kurt's any better?"

Rachel shook her head, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. "I want to," she said softly. "But… if he was better then they wouldn't be cutting us off from him. They must have just given him some time at home before he goes back to the hospital or something."

"This sucks," Sam said.

Rachel made a small noise of agreement in her throat.

"I've been praying for him."

"Yeah, me too."

"You need any help with physics?" Sam offered, sounding more like a wish for a change of topic than an actual desire to help.

Rachel shook her head. "No, thanks," she said, then glanced up as her phone rang from the living room where it was plugged into the charger. She stood up and strode over as it rang again, buzzing in place on the coffee table, and unplugged it. She froze when she saw the caller ID.

Call from: Kurt Hummel.

Sam must have seen her hesitate. "Everything okay?" he called.

She ignored him as the phone buzzed again in her hand, ringing shrilly. Taking a deep breath, she pressed Accept and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

For a second, there was only silence on the other end, then her heart twisted in her chest as a choked-off sob came down the line.

"Kurt, what's wrong?"

"I—" he started, and her stomach flipped. She sank onto the couch. "I— Can you come over?"

"What's going on?" she pressed, her pulse pounding in her ears.

There was another sob. "Please come over."

Rachel swallowed, but didn't have to think twice. "Okay," she said. "Okay, I'm on my way. Just sit tight; I'm coming."

Not even bothering to change and ignoring Sam's inquiries, she slipped on a pair of sandals and grabbed her keys from the foyer, all but running out to her car.

Rachel shifted her weight from foot to foot as she rang the doorbell to the Hudson-Hummels' house, craning her neck to see through the door's glass pane. Chewing on her lip, she pressed the button again, tugging nervously on her hair. Finally, she saw Finn coming down the hall with a frown on his face.

He pulled the door open. "Rachel, now's really not a good time—"

"No, wait!" she stopped him loudly before he could shut the door again. "Kurt called me."

Finn halted.

"He – he called me and asked me to come," she insisted.

He hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder for a second, then sighed and turned back to Rachel. "Okay, come on," he said, allowing her to pass him. "He's upstairs in his room."

"Where's your mom?" Rachel asked as she followed him towards the stairs. It was quiet in the house, and Rachel didn't know why but it gave her the chills.

"She's with Burt in the living room," Finn said. "Kurt won't really let anyone near him right now."

"It's that bad?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"He kind of had a huge fight with Burt," Finn replied as he turned to climb the stairs. "I'm not really sure what started it, but there was a lot of yelling."

Rachel took a deep breath as they reached the top of the stairwell, abruptly realizing that she had no idea what she was about to see.

Finn knocked on Kurt's door. "Kurt?" he said, leaning into the room. "Rachel's here." There was no response that Rachel could hear, but Finn moved back and gestured for her to go in.

Lacing her fingers together anxiously, she passed Finn and stepped into the room, her heart thudding in her chest. Kurt was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, his knees pulled to his chest and his hands over his ears.

"I'll, uh… I'll be downstairs," said Finn, leaving the door open as he left.

Kurt's eyes were squeezed shut and Rachel was reasonably sure that he didn't know she was there. "…Kurt?" she tried, approaching him slowly. She didn't want to startle him. "Kurt, I'm here."

He didn't seem to hear her, so she sank to her knees next to him, tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Kurt."

He jerked back, his eyes flying open, but his shoulders slumped again as he recognized her.

"What's going on, Kurt?" she asked softly, searching his face for any signs that he was about to change into someone else. She sat back and crossed her legs.

His face was blotchy and his eyes red, as if he'd run out of energy to cry. "They—" he started, his breath hitching in his chest. His fists clenched on top of his knees. "They—"

"It's okay," Rachel whispered.

Kurt's teeth gritted and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "They won't s-s-stop talking," he choked out.

Rachel reached forward and grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her and wrapping her fingers around his palm. "Don't listen to them," she said.

His mouth opened as if he was struggling for air. "I c-can't breathe," he gasped.

"Yes, you can," she promised. "Just squeeze my hand if you're having trouble."

His fingers suddenly did as she said, clamping around her hand with a painful grip that nearly made her yelp. Kurt's knuckles were white and his hand was so much bigger than hers, but his body looked so much smaller.

Rachel scooted closer, running her free hand through his hair. It had grown long since she'd last seen him. "What's going on, Kurt? What happened?"

His hand tightened again, his ribs shuddering. Rachel was trying not to look at his arms where they each bore the frightening scars of knitted skin where he'd cut them back in February, but it was difficult not to see them. It was even harder not to think about the photographs from her dad's study two months ago, the horrible gut-wrenching pictures of a tiny boy who had been bruised and battered in ways that Rachel didn't even want to imagine.

"It's okay," she said again, wrapping her free arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulling him close. The muscles in his back clenched and unclenched as he fought to pull air into his lungs. Rachel was sure her fingers were getting bruised, but she didn't let go of his hand.

"I can't— can't br-br-breathe," he forced out, his teeth clicking around his words.

It suddenly occurred to Rachel that maybe, instead of trying so hard to inhale, Kurt was trying not to.

Battling with the agonizingly large rock lodged in her throat, she rubbed circles on his back and planted a kiss on his temple. "Kurt, you don't have to work so hard," she said. He convulsed for a moment, choking on nothing. "It's okay."

Suddenly, there was a nearly audible snap as the dam broke, and Kurt was screaming.

Rachel clutched his hand as tightly as she could, Kurt practically writhing in her arms. The screams coming out of Kurt's mouth now were unlike anything she'd heard the day Jacob's article had been published. This didn't belong to Eleanor. Whatever Kurt was releasing now had been locked down as tight as he could manage since before he could remember, and it made Rachel's lungs halt to think that he couldn't remember anything else.

Carole rushed into the room, dropping to her knees beside them. "Kurt!" she said loudly. "Kurt, what's—" She turned to Rachel, her eyes wide (and Rachel barely noticed that Finn was standing at the door). "What happened?" Carole demanded, reaching for Kurt's other hand.

Rachel shook her head quickly, realizing for the first time that she was crying. "N-no, leave him," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the hoarse cries from Kurt's throat. She couldn't tell if Kurt knew Carole was there, and if he didn't Rachel didn't want an unexpected touch to startle him.

Carole drew her hand back, looking back and forth between Kurt and Rachel in confusion. A moment later she looked over her shoulder and asked Finn to go back downstairs and stay with Burt, but Rachel wasn't paying attention to anyone other than Kurt and so didn't see Finn leave.

"It's okay," she whispered over and over as she ran her fingers through Kurt's hair.

Kurt was screaming and crying and shaking and probably unable to think at all, but he was breathing.

Two hours later, Rachel was sitting in the same position, her legs folded under her and completely numb from not moving. Kurt had finally exhausted himself and had fallen into a much-needed sleep before he'd been able to remember that Rachel was there. His head was resting on her lap and her fingers were still combing through his hair in an attempt to soothe him while he slept.

"Is he all right?"

Rachel glanced up, startled since she hadn't heard anyone come upstairs. Burt was standing in the doorway, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to come in but wasn't sure if he was welcome. Peering closely at him, Rachel saw that his eyes were slightly red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face worn out.

"I think so," she replied, her fingers tracing a line from Kurt's temple to the back of his skull. His cheek twitched in his sleep. "I think he's just tired."

Burt nodded, swallowing. He looked… helpless. Lost. And just a little bit hopeful.