Now that Kurt was in the hospital, the Hudson-Hummel house belonged just to the Hudsons for the days that Burt was in Washington. Most evenings consisted of Carole not getting home from work until nearly seven and having barely enough energy to make dinner for the two of them before settling in on the couch to watch TV with Finn until she fell asleep (and then waking up around midnight to actually go to bed).

Today, Carole had gotten off work a little early and stopped by the tire shop to pick up Finn from his afternoon job and drive him home, though they still didn't pull in to the driveway until the same time as usual. Carole immediately went to work on dinner while Finn went upstairs to shower, and Burt called just as Carole was pulling the chicken fingers out of the oven.

"Hi, honey, how're you doing?" Carole smiled into the phone, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she placed the hot baking sheet on top of the stove.

"I'm okay," Burt said. "Long day in the House."

"You sound tired," she remarked.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Everything okay at home?"

"Yeah, don't worry so much. Finn's been doing an amazing job helping me with the shop."

"The shop?" Burt echoed. "I thought Randy was supposed to handle that."

"Oh, he does," Carole reassured him as she scooped servings of chicken and potatoes onto two plates. "But we own the shop, so Finn and I try to check up on it as much as you do when you're here, and either way Finn doesn't get an allowance any more so he's got to make money somehow." She held the receiver away from her mouth for a second to yell "Finn! Dinner!" over her shoulder. There was a thump from upstairs, and then Finn's feet pounding down the staircase. "So how are things in DC?"

"It's a bunch of old white guys like me yelling at each other all day about issues that have nothing to do with them," Burt replied as Finn walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. "Same as always."

"Sounds exciting," Carole remarked, dropping a plate in front of her son and sitting down across from him. "By the way, Dr. McManus called me this afternoon – looks like Kurt's coming home again this weekend."

Finn's attention snapped up with a frown. "He is?"

There was a relieved exhale on the other end of the phone, then a pause. "Wait, is that good or bad?"

"Burt, it's fine," she said. "Dr. McManus thinks it'll help the integration process if he comes home more often. You know, remind him that he's got a support network."

Finn was quiet, ignoring his meal and appearing deep in thought.

"Okay," Burt said. "So long as it's helping."

"He'll be okay," Carole promised. "You just keep doing what you're doing. I love you."

"Love you too. I'll let you go. Tell Finn I said hi."

Carole hung up and placed the receiver on the table by her plate, taking a bite of chicken.

"So… Kurt'll be home this weekend?" Finn said, pushing his mashed potatoes around his plate.

"Yeah, we're picking him up on Friday. You want to come?"

"Uh, no, I'm good."

Carole swallowed, dropping her fork back onto her plate. "Finn, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Finn."

Finn sighed, chewing on the insides of his cheeks and not meeting Carole's eye. "I was just… I don't know," he started, his voice tight with frustration. "Is it really safe for him to be out of the hospital?"

"Dr. McManus seems to think it is," Carole replied, confused as to why Finn was so reluctant. She thought the boys had resolved the issue regarding Truman, or at the very least agreed that it wasn't Kurt's fault.

"He's never seen Kurt at home, though," Finn countered. "I mean, he doesn't know what Kurt's like."

"Finn!" Carole exclaimed.

"What? He doesn't," Finn protested.

Carole pressed her lips together, reining in her temper before responding. "Your brother is not a psychotic criminal, Finn, so don't talk about him like he is. Show a little respect."

Finn's gaze snapped up in alarm. "I never said he was a psychotic criminal!"

"Then what are you trying to say, Finn?" Carole demanded, her patience quickly running out.

"I-I…" Finn stammered. He tugged at his hair. "I just don't get why he has to come back."

Carole's frown deepened. "Finn, your brother doesn't belong in that hospital," she said, her voice hard. "He doesn't live there. He lives here."

"Mom, that's not what I meant—"

"Okay." Carole leaned back in her chair. "Then what did you mean?"

Finn swallowed, his face contorting and the tendons in his neck tense. Carole didn't understand what was making him act like this – sure, he and Kurt and the alters had all had their differences, but the entire family had always counted on Finn to walk right next to them for as far as they went.

Although… now that Carole thought about it, maybe they'd been counting on him a little too much.

Finn let out another heavy breath. "This weekend sucked, Mom," he said quietly. "I know it wasn't Kurt's fault and he's still getting used to being back, but it was stressful, a-and scary, and—" He shook his head, staring at the wall.

"Honey," Carole started again, her tone softened. She leaned forward, propping her elbows against the table. "Try to put yourself in Kurt's shoes, okay? We're all terrified, Finn, but it's worse for Kurt because he's alone in the hospital. Just telling him we love him isn't enough."

"I know," Finn said, still not looking at her.

"Kurt is struggling with a lot of really frightening stuff right now, and you know that as well as Burt and me."

"I get it, Mom," Finn cut her off, his tone tightening again. "I know I don't have a right to complain."

Carole felt her heart wrench, and she reached forward to lay a hand over Finn's. "Yes, you do," she said.

"Really?" Finn snapped. "'Cause so far, every time I have I've gotten yelled at."

Carole swallowed, her throat constricted. She wanted to reassure him that it would be better once he graduated, once he was living independently and didn't have to constantly worry. But she couldn't think of any way to say it without making it sound like she was kicking him to the curb, so she kept her mouth shut.

Instead, she just kept her hand over his, leaning her cheek against her free hand and tiredly resting her head. "There's so much poison in this family," she sighed, almost to herself. "I'm so sorry, Finn."

Finn looked confused, but Carole didn't say anything more. She knew that everything toxic in their lives had actually made their little makeshift family unit stronger, but that didn't make her stop wishing it wasn't there. She just hoped the poison wouldn't spread farther than it already had.

Breakfast in the hospital was noisier than one would generally expect. The patients were allowed to sleep late if they really needed to or if they'd had a rough time the day before, but the nurses usually got everyone up and out into the common room by seven-thirty. Kurt sat with Dustin, Bruce, and Robin every morning unless he was feeling particularly irritable or anxious, and none of them questioned it (which, frankly, was sort of nice).

"Charlie, please tell me they're giving us something other than the usual shit," Dustin drawled as Charlie delivered trays of food to their table, each with a tiny pill cup sitting idly by the toasted English muffin. "The eggs you guys use are fucking horrible."

"I told you, if you want something special, you've got to tell me ahead of time so that I can make a request to the kitchen staff," Charlie said. "Come on, guys, meds first."

Dustin stuck his tongue out, but dumped the contents of his pill cup into his mouth, making a show of swallowing loudly. Kurt chuckled and followed suit, allowing Charlie to look inside his mouth to confirm that he'd taken the medication, then reaching for his orange juice box as Charlie moved on to Bruce and Robin.

"Kurt, I want you to stay at the table for at least the next thirty minutes, okay?" Charlie said before he left, making Kurt's eyebrows snap together. "If you need to use the bathroom, tell me."

Kurt frowned, startled. "Why?"

"You have an appointment with Dr. McManus after you finish eating," Charlie replied, as if that explained everything, and then moved on to the other residents.

"Somebody's in trouble," Bruce remarked with a lopsided grin.

Kurt didn't respond.

To make matters worse for Kurt, Dr. McManus looked less than pleased when Kurt finally entered his office after breakfast (and Kurt had noticed Charlie watching him closely throughout the meal, which only made him more nervous).

"What's going on?" he asked as McManus shut the door behind him.

"Have a seat, Kurt."

Kurt took his usual spot on the couch, sinking onto the cushion slowly. He wasn't entirely sure why it felt like he'd just sat on a mousetrap.

McManus sat in the chair opposite, as per the usual. "Kurt, I need to ask you something, and it's paramount that you tell the truth here."

Kurt swallowed, his mind racing. "What's going on?" he repeated.

"You've been rejecting your medication."

Kurt froze, inside and outside. "…N-no, I haven't."

"Charlie told me you threw up the meds from yesterday evening—"

"What?"

"—and we don't know how long that's been going on."

"B-But I haven't!" Kurt cried, his heart thudding like a rabbit's. "I've been taking them every day, I swear!"

McManus let out a breath, setting his glasses on top of his head. "Then it's one of the alters," he sighed.

Kurt twisted his fingers together to keep them from shaking. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered. "I've been taking the meds. I haven't been switching as much. I—"

"Kurt," McManus cut him off gently. "You haven't been switching as much, but you're still switching more often than you should be if you were on the meds."

"But I haven't!" Kurt tugged at his hair, his fingers twitching in his lap. "I haven't been switching that much!" he repeated desperately.

"If someone in you is rejecting the pills, then you've been having transitions without noticing the blackouts, Kurt," McManus countered. "I'm sorry, but it happens. There's nothing we can do except figure out how to stop it."

Kurt's teeth gritted of their own accord, his intestines tying themselves into knots.

"I need you to stay with me, Kurt."

"I'm here," Kurt snapped, grappling for control.

"Why don't you want to take the medication?"

Kurt glared at the doctor in astonishment. "It's not me—"

"Forget the alters; the alters don't exist," McManus pressed, flapping a hand. "If they're all a part of you, then they do what you would do – you just don't know it because you can't connect the different parts of your mind. So, why don't you want to take the meds?"

Kurt said nothing, his heart jumping hurtles beneath his ribs.

"Have you written in your journal at all?"

"Not yet."

McManus watched him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable and enough to make Kurt's stomach curl. "You really have no idea why you'd try to fight integration?"

"No," Kurt insisted, his voice wavering. "Do you?"

"I've got a few theories. Other people have gone through the same thing," McManus answered, sitting back in his chair.

"And what… what did they say?"

"That they were scared."

Scott was taking a nap when Kurt returned to his room, having ignored Dustin's invitation to hang out and instead retreating to what he'd hoped was a quiet spot. Instead, Scott was loudly snoring with his arm hanging off the side of the bed, and Kurt wished he had a pair of earplugs.

He flopped down onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. Dr. McManus had insisted that from now on Kurt stayed out in the common room for at least an hour after every dosage, so that the nurses (namely Charlie) could keep an eye on him and make sure the pills stayed down. Kurt didn't like it, but he knew there was no point in arguing.

It had to be Truman.

Truman was making him throw up the medication every time he took them (and he had been taking them). Kurt didn't know why, but he couldn't think of anyone else it could be.

More than anything, Kurt felt uncontained, and that was terrifying.

Huffing a sigh, he sat up again and grabbed the notebook and markers off the top of his small bureau, sitting back against the wall behind the bed with his legs crossed and the notebook propped against his knees. He chewed on the end of the black fine-tip marker for a few seconds before forcing himself to begin writing.

I hate being here, he scrawled. I feel like I'm going to literally fall apart at any second. Even with Craig gone it's still too crowded in my head and sometimes I want to just take a knife and cut them all out of—

Kurt stopped, startled by what he'd just written, then quickly crossed out the second half of the sentence. He wasn't that insane.

I miss Craig. I think he kept us all together. Sort of, anyway. He was an asshole but at least he stood up to Truman. Now I just feel like Truman's constantly sneaking up behind me. Eleanor's always shaking like a bomb waiting to go off, and I keep feeling Zack trying to hide. To be honest, it's starting to hurt and I don't—

Kurt jumped, blinking as he sensed a lapse in time. He was pretty sure he'd only blacked out for a couple of seconds, though, since Scott was still snoring in his bed. The jolt from coming back so quickly was still fading from his limbs, and he glanced down at his notebook. There was nothing there that he couldn't remember writing, no unfamiliar scribbles in someone else's penmanship.

He swallowed, his joints feeling loose and filled with static, then shut the notebook and tossed it onto the bed beside him.

He stopped short, picking up the notebook again and staring at the cover.

Just below where he'd written his own name in blue, ELEANOR was scrawled in bright red.

He smiled.