It was another hour before Kurt began to stir. Rachel hadn't moved (and by this point she was beginning to worry that her legs would have to be amputated from lack of circulation), her fingers combing through Kurt's hair in a meditative pattern as she hummed softly under her breath. When Kurt finally mumbled something half-asleep and incoherent, his eyes opening blearily, Rachel stopped humming and drew her hands away from his hair.

"Kurt?" she said as he lifted his head out of her lap. "You alright?"

Kurt blinked at her, his eyebrows knitting slightly as if he wasn't entirely sure that he was awake yet. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You – you called me," Rachel said, rubbing her legs to restore blood flow as he sat up. "Do you remember that?"

Kurt paused, watching her in confusion for a moment before looking back down to the floor. "Oh," he said. "Yeah."

Rachel reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Do you remember anything after that?"

Kurt's mouth tightened, his eyes sliding out of focus. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"What? Why?"

Kurt blinked, then shrugged as he scooted over to sit next to her, leaning back against the foot of the bed. "Just… didn't want you to see me like that."

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad I was here."

"Even though I scare you?" Kurt asked bitterly.

She sat upright again, looking him directly in the eye. "You don't scare me, Kurt, so stop thinking that right now."

Kurt didn't seem to register what she'd said, and he let out a long breath, staring at his hands. "I'd be scared of me," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Kurt," Rachel cut in sternly, reaching up to turn his head and make him look at her. "You are strong and smart and beautiful and you're in so much pain and that kills me, but you're you. I could never be afraid of that."

Kurt swallowed, but he didn't say anything.

Rachel exhaled, dropping her hands to her knees. "Are you feeling better?"

"I guess," he said. He let his head fall back against the edge of the bed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm tired."

She sat back beside him. "Yeah, you were out for about three hours but I can't imagine it was enough."

They sat in silence, listening to the beginning of a spring rain pattering the window.

"Kurt, what do you want me to tell everyone else?"

Kurt lifted his head with a slight frown. "What do you mean?"

"Sam was with me when you called," she admitted. "They're going to know I was here. I'm not going to tell them anything if you don't want me to, but they're going to ask."

Kurt's mouth pressed into a thin line, and Rachel couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Tell them the truth," he said.

Rachel almost protested, almost said that nobody had to know anything he didn't want made public, that as much as they all loved him they didn't really have a right to invade his privacy, but she held herself in check. It was probably a breach of his privacy even to suggest anything that had just popped into her head.

It suddenly occurred to Rachel that maybe it had nothing to do with the people at school, but instead that Kurt was just sick of trying to keep everything a secret.

"How's Blaine?" Kurt asked, tugging on a loose thread in his sleeve.

Rachel swallowed, not entirely sure what to report or how Kurt would react (or even why Kurt was asking). "He's… he's okay," she said, stammering slightly. "He's been kind of distant the past few months, but he seems to be getting better."

Kurt nodded, not meeting Rachel's eye. "Good."

Once Kurt decided that he was tired enough to go back to sleep (this time in his bed rather than on the floor), Finn walked Rachel to the door.

"Will he be okay?" Rachel asked, shivering slightly as she stood on the porch. It was still drizzling slightly and despite it being mid-May the air was chilly and damp.

"Yeah," Finn assured her, glancing back into the house for a moment with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I think so. My mom's taking him back to the hospital tomorrow morning. He didn't take his meds today so that's probably part of it, but I think he just needs to sleep a while."

Rachel's fingers twisted around themselves as she forced herself to ask another, more frightening question. "It… it was Kurt all the way through that, wasn't it? It was him yelling?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah."

She forced herself to ignore the horrible twisting underneath her breastbone. "Has that ever happened before?"

"Not that I've seen," Finn replied, scratching at his temple.

"Why did he call me, though?" Rachel crossed her arms, shivering again. "Why didn't he call you? Or your mom? You were here."

Finn swallowed, scuffing his foot on the porch slats. "I think…" he started. "Maybe he thought he couldn't trust us."

Rachel didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes to give Finn a kiss on the cheek, then hunched her shoulders against the thick misty air and went to her car.

Driving back towards her house on the other side of town, Rachel was trying not to let herself think too deeply about any of this. She knew that if she did, she'd have to acknowledge the lie she'd almost allowed herself to believe. The past few months of not seeing Kurt had made room for her to fall into a lulled confidence that Kurt would be fine, that once it was over everything would be normal again, that everything would be okay.

Now, she was trying desperately not to realize what the visit had forced her to see.

She was scared. She was so, so scared.

She was scared of the photographs she'd seen, of what she knew that horrible man had done to Kurt, of the fact that people like that even existed.

She was scared of losing Kurt.

She was scared for him.

And she was scared of him.

Pulling into her driveway at last, she abandoned her car and rushed into the house, calling for her father.

Leroy came out of the kitchen to see her standing in the foyer, in flip-flops and a wrinkled dance shirt and yoga pants with damp hair and a face blotchy from crying (and she hadn't noticed that she'd been crying), and immediately asked what was wrong. "Sweetheart, what happened? What's going on?"

Rachel didn't answer, only wrapped her arms around Leroy's waist and tried to let herself feel secure and protected as he hugged her. She'd lost the battle with her mind, which was now running a thousand miles an hour with all the terrifying thoughts she'd been holding back for months on end. Maybe Kurt was going to be stuck like this forever. Maybe the man who hurt him would be found not guilty. Maybe she'd never get Kurt back.

Maybe it wouldn't be okay.

The cafe in Mansfield was somewhat crowded as Hiram shrugged off his raincoat and draped it over his arm, shifting his briefcase to his other hand. It had been drizzling in Lima when he left almost two hours ago, but in here there was a torrent coming down in sheets outside, battering the windows and adding another layer to the white noise filling the cafe. Hiram scanned the room and spotted a woman in her thirties sitting alone at a table in the far corner against the window, watching the rain run in rivers down the glass.

"Natalie?" he said as he approached her.

She glanced up, a tight smile on her face. Not unfriendly, just… prepared for a difficult conversation. "Yes, hi."

"Hiram Berry." He held out his hand to shake hers, then sat down. Natalie took a nervous sip from her latte. "Thanks so much for meeting with me; I know it was a long drive."

"It wasn't a problem, I'm… I'm happy to help."

Hiram hung his coat over the back of his chair and open his briefcase, taking out a pen and legal pad. "Now, I realize that some of the stuff we're discussing could be really… sensitive," he started. "But if you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say so."

"Okay." Natalie was thin (almost too thin), pretty, with bitten nails and dyed blonde hair that brushed back and forth across her shoulders every time she shifted in her seat.

Hiram propped the notepad on his knee. "So what can you tell me about John?"

She took another sip of her coffee, glancing out the window. "Well, he… he was always very reserved. You know, he didn't interact much with me, but he was almost nine years older, so…" She shrugged. "Our father wasn't a good guy and as far as I know he really targeted John a lot. But I don't remember that much; Dad died when I was about five and he mostly just ignored me before then."

Hiram nodded as he jotted down the details. "How much have you seen John over the past ten years or so?"

"Not at all."

"Never?"

Natalie shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him since he graduated from Ohio State."

"How old were you then?"

She had to think for a moment before answering. "Uh, fifteen. It was 1995."

"Okay," Hiram said, marking the date. "Natalie, the Toledo officer you spoke to when we were trying to find him… He told me that you didn't sound surprised. That we were looking for him, I mean."

Her mouth tightened. "I wasn't."

"Do you mind telling me why?"

She swallowed. "Mr. Berry, the thing you have to remember about John is that he's a nice guy. He's friendly and he'll smile at everyone. It's only when you get to know him better that it starts to feel strange, and he can keep up the smiles for as long as he wants."

Hiram tilted his head, frowning. "Could you be a little more specific?"

Natalie hesitated again, the tips of her fingers rubbing together in anxiety. "John's my brother," she said. "And I do love him. On some level. But… there's always been something wrong about him. You know, just a little off."

"What do you mean?"

She ducked her head then, speaking quietly. "I really don't know how to explain it…" she trailed off.

"Okay, that's fine," Hiram backed off the subject. He reached down for his briefcase again. "Can I ask you to look at the photos of some of the kids he targeted? Just to see if you recognize anyone?"

Natalie nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip.

He yanked out a manila folder and slid it across the table to her. "A lot of them are still minors, but for the ones who are over eighteen now, see if you recognize their names as well."

The pictures weren't frightening in and of themselves – only school yearbook photos obtained by the Ohio police department – but Natalie's eyes gradually welled up as she flipped through them. She sniffed, then stopped on one picture and held it up. "This one. Kurt Hummel," she said. "He's the one who… who told the police who to look for, isn't he?"

Hiram nodded. "Do you recognize him?"

"No," she replied, still staring at the picture. "How old was he?"

"Four."

She shook her head, blinking back tears as she put Kurt's picture back into the folder. "I'm sorry, Mr. Berry, I don't know any of them."

"That's okay," he assured her, sliding the folder back into his briefcase. "Can I ask something, though?"

Natalie used a napkin to wipe her eyes. "Sure."

"It's been seventeen years since 1995," he said. "Why haven't you seen John at all? I mean… he is your brother."

She swallowed, looking down quickly, and for a moment Hiram thought he saw sheer terror flit across her face.

And then it hit him with all the force of a bullet train at full speed.

Teenage girl, 1994. No ID, no photographs.

Hiram blinked, fighting the urge to throw up. "It's fine," he said quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

She nodded gratefully, chewing on the insides of her cheeks.

"Natalie, are you willing to testify against him in court?" Hiram asked. "You're under no obligation to, and I understand if you say no, but your testimony could really help our case."

She drew a deep breath, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes," she said. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," Hiram breathed in relief. "We'll make sure he ends up in jail."

"I don't care if he goes to jail or not," Natalie said, her voice suddenly hard. "I just don't want anyone else getting hurt."