Burt watched the ground pass by thousands of feet beneath him from his business class seat on the Airbus 350, the towns and roads shrouded in misty morning light. It was just passing five-thirty in the morning and he was on his way to Washington for the week's House sittings, and he'd rather have been doing anything else.

Mostly, though, he just wanted to be there for when Kurt was brought back to the hospital. They still hadn't talked about what had happened the day before, and the weight of it was sitting in the pit of Burt's stomach like a black mold growing just out of sight.

Burt hated this feeling, this awful subdued twisting in his gut that refused to go away, whispering that there was something wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he also couldn't help sensing that something bad was on its way.

"Excuse me, sir," the flight attendant's voice startled him out of his thoughts. She gave him a plastic, too-white smile. "Would you care for any more refreshments?"

Burt sighed, every nerve cell in his body buzzing with exhaustion. "Coffee," he said. "A gigantic cup of coffee would be great, thanks."

She gave him two mugs of the crappy airplane brew, and he swallowed the contents of both without caring that it burned his throat on the way down.

While most people groaned about their own miserable Monday mornings as they trudged up and down the school hallways on their way to classes, Rachel usually felt refreshed on Mondays. Her weekends were always scheduled (it wasn't a bad thing to be organized), but remained lax in comparison to her weekdays and she always returned to school feeling rejuvenated and ready to attack any problem that dared to present itself.

Today, though, she just felt drained.

After she'd left Kurt's house yesterday, the rest of the afternoon, evening, and night had been maddeningly quiet. She'd been unable to concentrate on any of her unfinished homework and had given up in favor of watching some B-rated horror movie on TV with her dads and a giant bowl of heavily buttered popcorn. It had taken her almost until midnight to fall asleep.

She stifled a yawn as she stood in front of her locker, pushing the books she'd need for the next three periods into her backpack, and was almost startled when Blaine appeared next to her, nervously tugging on the strap of his book bag.

"Rachel, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asked, coughing lightly and shifting from his heels to his toes and back.

"He went back this morning," she replied, giving Blaine a saddened smile.

"What?" Blaine blinked.

Rachel shut her locker and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. "You were going to ask about Kurt, weren't you? He went back to the hospital this morning."

Blaine swallowed and his mouth twitched. His fingers tightened around the strap of his book bag. "Was… was he okay?"

Rachel pressed her lips together, glancing at the floor for a moment. She knew that Kurt had said to tell the truth, but she didn't think she could. At least, not entirely. "No," she said after a pause, deciding to avoid any real details – as much for her own sanity as for Blaine's. "He wasn't. Look, Blaine, he still loves you. I know he does."

Blaine's expression was hard to read, somewhere between shock and hope.

"But…" Rachel continued, "I don't think he has space for you right now. Maybe he used to but I don't think that's true any more. A-and on top of that, he's trying to protect you."

"He doesn't need to protect me," Blaine said, sounding more confused than anything else.

"Stop it."

Blaine blinked in surprise.

Rachel exhaled heavily. Blaine still didn't understand. "You've seen how stressed Finn's been over the past few months. You've seen Kurt's switches," she tried to explain. "You're not living with that every day like they are. Of course Kurt has to protect you."

Blaine didn't argue a second time, but to Rachel's relief he seemed to have absorbed what she'd said. He hesitated before asking another question. "Do you know when he's coming back again?"

"No, I don't." The bell rang shrilly, alerting everyone in the building that it was time for first period, but Rachel and Blaine didn't move just yet.

"Blaine, you're just stuck right now," Rachel insisted. "You either have to be with him or you have to make a clean cut, and as far as I can tell, Kurt doesn't have room for you to be with him."

Blaine didn't respond to that, and Rachel wanted to stay and make sure he was okay but her grades in Physics were already on thin ice and being late to class wasn't going to help, so she patted Blaine's arm and headed down the corridor in the direction of the science labs.

Just before she turned the corner, she glanced back to see Blaine with his shoulders hunched, striding away towards the weight room.

Dr. McManus didn't think he'd ever seen Kurt so withdrawn. In the days leading up to his two-and-a-half month disappearance, Kurt had been frustrated and upset and quick to anger, and he'd been trying. He'd been working at getting a handle on his alters and had been listening closely to McManus' advice. Even in the past week, after he'd come back into his own head, he'd seemed fatigued, as if having control of his own limbs was almost too much effort, but still wanting and searching to put himself back together.

After Kurt spent the weekend at home, however, McManus was shocked at the contrast. Kurt was still tired and still frustrated, but he was so inanimate now that it didn't seem like he even wanted to get better.

Or maybe… maybe he just didn't want to want it any more.

McManus didn't pretend to be a total expert in split personalities, but he knew enough to be able to tell immediately that something was wrong in Kurt's personal life, probably having nothing to do with the other people in his head. Kurt was sitting on the couch in his usual spot, his arms limply crossed and his eyes downcast, as if a meeting with his doctor wasn't enough to hold his interest. The muscles in his face were slack and expressionless, and McManus honestly didn't know what to think.

"So, how was your weekend?" he asked lamely, marking the top corner of his notepad with Kurt's patient ID number and the date.

Kurt shrugged. "Fine."

"Any transitions?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me about them."

Kurt let out a short, heavy breath. "On Saturday Zack came out, and on both days Truman, Eleanor, and Robbie were talking."

McManus scribbled Alters getting more vocal across his notepad. "Do you have any idea what triggered them?"

Kurt shook his head.

Kurt is hiding details, McManus wrote.

"How did you feel being back with your family?"

Kurt shrugged, pulling at a loose thread in his sweatpants. "I don't know…"

"Did you feel lonely?"

Kurt looked mildly surprised. "Yes."

"Readjusting to your old life after having spent time in the hospital is always difficult for everyone involved," McManus reassured him, scribbling his notes quickly. "Even if its only for a couple of days. You get used to a different dynamic and it's hard to switch back." He paused, giving Kurt a few moments to absorb what he'd said before posing another question. "Were the alters saying anything in particular to you?"

"Not really."

"Have you heard them at all today?"

"No."

McManus wasn't entirely sure if Kurt hearing the alters was a good thing or bad. Hearing voices was never a good sign, but in Kurt's case there was a chance that it could mean his mind was slowly pulling itself back together, the disjointed personalities gradually beginning to bleed into one another.

"My dad and I had a fight," Kurt admitted, and McManus quickly noted it.

"What about?"

Another shrug. "I don't know. He doesn't get it, I guess."

"Kurt, you have to remember that no one really knows what you're experiencing aside from you," McManus said. "All we have to go on is what you and the alters say and do, and that's not always clear. I don't know your dad that well but I'm sure he's just trying to do what's right."

Kurt nodded, looking as if he didn't quite believe anything McManus had said.

"Did you resolve the problem?"

"No," Kurt said quietly, tugging again at the loose thread on his knee. "Dad had to go back to D.C. this morning."

"And you didn't try to talk about it before he left?"

"He came into my room last night and tried to talk about it. I pretended to be asleep."

"Why is that?"

"I'm sick of talking."

McManus sighed. Avoiding dialogue was always a dangerous step for a patient to take. "And how does Carole feel about this?"

"I don't know."

"You're not talking to her either?"

"You make it sound like I'm giving them the silent treatment."

"Are you?"

"No," Kurt insisted, his tone snappish and annoyed. "I just don't see what talking is going to do in the long run. It's not going to get me integrated."

"Not on its own, no," McManus replied evenly. "But it helps."

"Doesn't seem like it."

"How do you feel about the trial coming up?" McManus asked, trying a slightly different topic.

Kurt's expression didn't change. "I haven't really thought about it," he said flatly.

"Have you thought about whether you need to?"

"I've been a little preoccupied," Kurt said tightly, his fingernails clicking as he picked at them.

"With what, specifically?" McManus knew he was pushing Kurt's buttons, but he was willing to try almost anything to get Kurt totalk. Kurt was right – talking by itself wasn't going to accomplish much, but it raised the floodgates and paved the way for everything that followed. Patients who refused to talk never made it past the first few steps.

"Craig's dead."

McManus halted. "I'm sorry?"

"Craig's dead. He's gone." Kurt twisted the loose thread between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand tightly clenched. "I can't feel him any more."

"How does it feel different?"

"I don't know, he… he took up space. Now it's just empty."

"Does that frighten you?"

"More than anything."

McManus set his notebook aside for a moment, leaning forward on his elbows. "Kurt, do you think you've really confronted what John Truman did to you?"

Kurt's eyebrows snapped together, his gaze startlingly level. "What do you mean?"

"Are you fully aware of what happened?"

"I don't remember it, if that's what you mean."

"No, if you remembered we'd be dealing with a different problem entirely," McManus explained. "What I'm asking is if you've realized and acknowledged what happened to you as a child."

Kurt's face was questioning, suspicious of where McManus was going with this line of conversation. "Yes, I have," he said slowly, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Can you say it?"

"What?"

McManus laced his fingers together, steeling his nerves. "Can you say, out loud, what happened to you?"

Kurt stared back, his face hard. "Why should I?"

"Some patients find it's easier to conquer their problems if they're able to verbally acknowledge them."

"What is it with you and talking?" Kurt demanded.

"I never said you had to," McManus replied calmly. There was a wide range of responses from different patients in reaction to this particular approach; Kurt's waspishness was nothing new. "I just wanted to see if you could. It's okay if you can't."

"I can," Kurt snapped.

McManus only raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting.

"I…" Kurt faltered, his hardened voice wavering momentarily. He shook his head. "Look, I don't see what kind of an effect this is supposed to have."

"It's supposed to help you confront your problem and fully understand what it is."

Kurt's lip curled slightly. "You think I don't understand that I'm a multiple?"

"Kurt, your alters aren't the problem; they're only a symptom. You haven't fully accepted what happened to cause the split."

"Yes, I have!"

"Then say it. Tell me you've accepted it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you," Kurt spat, his limbs rigid.

McManus smiled very slightly. "What on earth makes you think I'm asking for me?"

Kurt huffed. "I really don't know what you want from me here."

"If you don't feel up to talking, Kurt, then we can be done for today," McManus offered. He'd planted the seed of doubt in Kurt's head; he could allow it room to grow. "That's up to you."

"Thank you," Kurt snapped, standing up and brushing out of the room without another word.

McManus sighed and sat back to review his notes on their discussion. He'd see Kurt tomorrow, and every day after that for as long as it took.

Finn had known ahead of time that lunchtime on Monday would be hell. He'd actually considered grabbing some food from the line and then skipping out of the cafeteria before anyone in the club could notice, but he knew that doing so would probably only prompt even more questions. So instead, he filled his tray and sat down next to Rachel as the other club members slowly filtered into the cafeteria, crunching tensely on his carrot sticks as he braced himself for the barrage of questions.

And, amazingly, none came.

Not a single member of the club – not even Quinn or Sugar – ventured to prod Finn for details on Kurt's temporary return. Rachel had squeezed his arm and given him a small smile when he'd sat down, and he was pretty sure that the rest of them were sneaking wary glances in his direction when he wasn't looking, but other than that conversation went on as normally as on any other day. It was almost nerve-wracking. Finn was quiet, waiting for someone to give up and address the elephant in the room.

When the elephant was finally brought up, it was not by anyone in the club, nor was it directed at Finn. A tape recorder was shoved under Blaine's nose as Jacob Ben Israel appeared from behind, making everyone at the table jump slightly.

"Jacob, I really don't want to talk to you," Blaine said as calmly as he could manage.

"Inquiring minds want to know," Jacob shrugged. "Rumor has it that Kurt Hummel returned this weekend only to be dragged right back into the asylum. What can you tell us about that?"

Finn's eyes widened. How the hell had Jacob found out about that?

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "No comment," he said rigidly.

"Rumor also has it that you were the one who drove Kurt to the psych ward in the first place—"

"Hey!" Mike barked. "What is your problem?"

"Would you just go away?" Tina demanded.

"You are so annoying," Brittany groaned, rolling her eyes.

"I'm just trying to give the people what they want to hear," Jacob snapped, turning his attention back to Blaine and failing to notice the glares in his direction. Even Rory looked like he was about to snap. "So, Blaine, how does it feel to have your boyfriend locked up in a padded cell?"

Blaine lurched to his feet, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched. Finn stood up as well, rage boiling in his gut. To his credit, Jacob at least had the decency to look a little frightened.

Finn was startled when Quinn was the next person to speak up. "Jacob, if you don't walk away right now, I'm dragging you straight to Coach Beiste," she threatened.

"Coach Beiste can't do anything," Jacob retorted. "She's not the principal."

Finn's jaw tightened, and he felt Rachel's hand on his arm. Another minute and he knew that either he or Blaine would punch Jacob in the teeth.

"You have three seconds," Quinn snapped, now on her feet with Blaine and Finn.

Jacob squirmed in place, and finally Quinn rolled her eyes and snagged him by the scruff of his shirt, yanking him along as she headed for the cafeteria doors. The rest of the club were watching with wide eyes and Jacob shrieked, digging his heels in and fighting against her.

"Would you rather I took you to Coach Sylvester?" Quinn spat.

"You can't do anything to me!" Jacob cried, still trying to pull away.

"Yes, I can," Quinn snarled.

"Let go of me!" Jacob yelped, tugging at her wrist. "You're as crazy as Hummel!"

In half a second, Quinn halted and spun around, driving her knee directly between Jacob's legs. He let out a high-pitched howl and dropped to the ground, and Finn couldn't suppress a grim smile.

"Hey!" Mr. Schue bellowed, breaking through the crowd of student spectators that had gathered to watch. "What's going on?!" He reached down and pulled Jacob back onto his feet, keeping a hand wrapped around Jacob's arm and turning to Quinn. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Quinn crossed her arms. "He wasn't cooperating."

Mr. Schue huffed, Jacob still half-curled and sniveling in his grip. "Come on," he snapped. "I'm taking both of you to see Principal Figgins."