Two hours later, Burt untied the rope from around Kurt's door handle with his heart in his throat. The door swung open, and Burt frowned as he realized Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing, Burt walked into the room, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Kurt?" he called softly. He bent over and lifted the edge of Kurt's blankets to peer under the bed, and was almost relieved to see that Kurt wasn't there. He hadn't found Kurt under the bed in years, but he didn't know what to expect any more.

Burt noticed that Kurt's closet door was cracked slightly ajar, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled slightly. His fingertips going slightly cold, Burt pulled the door back, letting out a half-relieved, half-pained huff of breath. Kurt was lying almost curled on the floor inside the closet, on top of his extensive collection of shoes and with his neck bent at an odd and obviously uncomfortable angle (after all, the closet wasn't big).

Burt suddenly had to battle the urge to scream and drive his fist into the nearest wall.

"Kurt?" he said instead. "Kurt." He knelt and gently shook Kurt's shoulder. "Kiddo, wake up."

Kurt stirred, blinking in the light as he drew a sharp inhale.

"Come on, get out of there." Burt took Kurt's wrist and looped his own arm around Kurt's back, heaving Kurt onto his feet before Kurt was fully awake.

"Ow," said Kurt as his spine was twisted back into its original position. The vertebrae in his neck cracked loudly. "Ow."

"You okay?" Burt asked, drawing away. He didn't think Kurt was ready to have his personal space invaded yet.

Kurt shook out his arm with a wince, which had presumably cramped along with the rest of his body. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Burt replied, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "It's still Saturday."

Kurt sighed, glaring at the closet. "Hiding in closets," he remarked bitterly. "That's new."

Burt felt his heart stop momentarily. Kurt shouldn't have been this impassive.

"What do you remember?"

Kurt didn't look at him. "Yelling," he answered.

"We've been on the phone with Dr. McManus all afternoon."

"I figured."

Burt shifted slightly on his feet. He didn't know how to do this. How was he supposed to tell Kurt sorry, kiddo, you and the rest of us have all got to deal with a brand new, maybe psychotic, maybe violent, definitely scary personality? How would Kurt react? What would he do if Kurt didn't react, if he stayed maddeningly calm and didn't cry or yell or switch to someone else who could deal with all of this a little bit more easily?

What would he do if Kurt already knew?

"What?"

Burt's attention snapped back into the present. Kurt was looking at him expectantly, not understanding why Burt was still in his room. Burt's eyes fell on Kurt's notebook resting on top of the bureau, and he grasped at the straw.

"Kurt, what does 'red' mean?"

Kurt's features snapped into a frown – whatever he'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. "…It's a color," he replied slowly.

"You know what I mean."

"Uh, no, actually, I don't. What are you talking about?"

Burt swallowed. "You wrote it in your journal," he said.

Kurt blinked, not moving for a moment. "One of the alters must have written it." A shadow flitted over Kurt's face, making his expression almost unreadable. "You went through my journal?" he asked after a beat.

Burt ran a hand over his face, sinking onto the foot of Kurt's bed since he wasn't sure his bones could support his own weight for much longer. "Kurt, I'm at a total loss here," he confessed. "I don't know how to help you. You— You're having panic attacks in the middle of the night, you're angry all the time, you won't talk to anyone… I – I don't know what to do."

Kurt regarded him with a gaze that was far too steady. "I understand why you did it, Dad," he said, his voice sounding strangely like a coiled spring about to burst forward. "But maybe you should think twice the next time you decide to yell at me for betraying your trust."

An electric shock jolted between the walls of Burt's heart and stomach, and he couldn't understand why until it hit him several seconds later… Kurt was threatening him. Burt had been on the receiving end of countless threats from Eleanor and Craig and Truman and even, on occasion, Tyler and Zack, but Kurt had never spoken like that before.

"You're right," Burt said quietly. "You're right, but… we're not doing a good job here. We need to talk, Kurt." He was almost begging, and he was having a hard time keeping his spine from collapsing. "No matter how much you hate me, we need to be talking to each other if you're ever going to get better."

There was a long pause before Kurt spoke, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I don't hate you."

Burt involuntarily let out a breath that was close to becoming a laugh, because he didn't know what else to do. "That's… that's good to know."

Kurt's arms tightened around his chest. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"Kurt, you have a new alter."

It was out of Burt's mouth before he knew he'd said it, and the frown vanished from Kurt's face, his arms dropping to his sides.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt…"

"Who is he?"

Burt sucked in a gulp of air, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed. "I don't know."

"What was he acting like?"

"I…" Burt started, his heart beating against his eardrums. "I'm not sure. He didn't talk."

The frown reappeared, Kurt's eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Is he like Schism?"

"No, he's—" Burt cut himself off, shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't know how to do this. "Dr. McManus says it's animalistic."

"Anim…" Kurt breathed, unable to finish even the word. His mouth was hanging open slightly, the muscles contorting around his eyes. "What, like— like, growling, walking-on-all-fours…?" he asked, incredulous and terrified.

Burt didn't say anything.

"Oh my God." Kurt pulled his fingers through his hair, his chest caving in slightly as he backed up against the wall for support. His knees wobbled slightly before he sank to the floor.

"Kurt, you—" Burt started, scrabbling for something – anything – he could say to fix this, even if it was just a little bit. "You're going to be okay, Kurt."

"How do you know?" Kurt's voice was soft, quiet and shaking.

Burt swallowed, his jaw clenching momentarily. "Because no one pushes the Hummels around."

As the hands on the wall of Hiram's study rounded past midnight, Burt leaned back in his chair and rubbed exhaustedly at his eyes.

"You all right?" Hiram asked, glancing up from the papers sprawled across the desk between them. They'd been going over their case for the trial for close to five hours now, and Burt's brain had felt like it was full of static for at least the last three.

"I'm just tired," Burt said, his voice so flat that it almost didn't sound like it was coming from his own mouth.

Hiram sat back as well, his eyebrows pulling together over his glasses. "Did something happen?"

"Kurt has a new alter," Burt replied. He didn't have the energy to try to keep it a secret.

"Oh, god," Hiram said. "I'm so sorry, Burt."

Burt shook his head. "I'll be better once the trial's over with and that asshole's rotting in a jail cell," he muttered.

"How's Kurt's treatment going?"

"Too slowly." Burt propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, resting his head in his hand. "Just feels like he's getting worse every day."

Hiram pulled his glasses off his face, dropping them onto the desk in front of him. "You know, Rachel stopped breathing when she was little," he said, and Burt blinked, thrown by the oddly placed statement. "I got up in the middle of the night to check on her – she was only seven months old – and she… she was just lying in her crib, not breathing, and I-I panicked. I mean, I reallypanicked." Hiram shifted in his chair, like just the act of remembering the story was uncomfortable. "Luckily, I had been working as a lifeguard a few years before and I had CPR training, so I got her breathing again before we took her to the hospital, but… I don't think Leroy and I slept again for two weeks."

Burt didn't say anything, not knowing how to respond.

"Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that I don't understand exactly what you're going through," Hiram continued. "But every parent on Earth knows that panic when your kid isn't okay. I can't imagine feeling it constantly, but you're not on your own there."

Burt nodded, though it was more than a little difficult to agree.

"You ever need anything, let me know," Hiram said. "I'm happy to help outside the courtroom."

"Thanks," Burt replied, wishing he could say he felt better when in reality he just felt heavier. "Let's just get the trial over with."

Blaine parked his car on the curb in front of Kurt's house on Sunday morning with his heart knocking violently against the inside of his ribcage. He didn't know why he was really doing this, but he didn't think it was entirely because Rachel had pressured him to. Maybe he just really, really wanted to see Kurt.

Steeling himself for the possibility that Kurt (or even Burt or Carole) wouldn't want him there and would turn him away at the door, Blaine climbed out of the car and started up the path to the house. He stopped short when he realized Kurt was sitting on the porch steps, almost like he'd been waiting for Blaine to show up.

"Kurt," he said. Apparently Kurt hadn't even seen Blaine arrive, because his head jerked up in surprise and he looked almost startled that Blaine was there. How much was Kurt out of it if he hadn't noticed Blaine's car pull up? "Hi."

"Hi."

Blaine's heart lurched. He hadn't seen Kurt in person since the pool party back in February, and the difference was unsettling. Kurt's face had hollowed out, the circles under his eyes darker than Blaine remembered, and every part of him just seemed… thinner. There was less of him there. Kurt was sitting on the step with his arms crossed and resting on his knees, leaning against the porch railing as if it was the only thing keeping him in place.

"You look terrible," Blaine blurted out, mentally smacking himself for opening a conversation like that.

Kurt let out a flat chuckle. "Don't I know it."

Blaine's mouth felt dry. He shifted on his feet, his mind blank.

"You can sit," Kurt said, gesturing to the step beside him.

Blaine sat a few inches away from him, detecting an almost palpable wall around Kurt. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to cross it. "How come you're sitting out here?"

Kurt closed his eyes, tilting his head up toward the sunlight. Somehow, the light made his skin look even paler. "They're taking me back to the hospital in a couple hours instead of waiting until tomorrow," he replied. "I figured I'd get as much fresh air as I could."

Blaine swallowed, studying him. "Kurt, are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know."

The statement was so simple and honest that it nearly made Blaine's brain stop functioning for a moment. "You know you can always call me, right? Whenever you want, I'll always pick up."

Kurt nodded, opening his eyes again to watch a hummingbird hover at the birdfeeder Carole had hung from the porch eave. He was silent for several seconds before asking, "Who sent you to talk to me?"

Blaine paused. "Rachel."

Kurt seemed unbothered by the admittance. "What did she say?"

"She just told me what happened at the Lima Bean and said you needed someone to talk to."

"I have plenty of people to talk to."

Blaine's jaw clamped shut.

Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry, Blaine, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just…" He trailed off for a second, his eyes unfocused and looking at nothing in particular. "I'm just tired."

"I can leave if you want," Blaine offered.

"No, it's… it's nice having you here."

"Really?" Blaine asked, genuinely surprised.

Kurt didn't speak for a long time. "I don't know what's happening to me," he said softly, almost to himself as he watched the street.

Blaine struggled to figure out what to say, but Kurt spoke again before he had the chance.

"I read your letter, by the way," he said, finally turning to look Blaine in the eye.

"Sorry it was so short." Blaine forced a sheepish smile, hoping Kurt would take the apology as self-deprecating humor.

"I really appreciated it, Blaine. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Kurt shook his head. "I don't want to talk about me anymore; it's depressing," he said. "What have you been doing at school? Finn told me you guys won Regionals."

"Yeah, we did," Blaine answered, grateful for the change of topic. "We're really just getting ready for Nationals."

"Did the National Show Choir Board assign a really cheesy theme like they usually do?"

Blaine chuckled. "Yes, they did. The theme is 'truth'. Good luck interpreting that with a show circle," he remarked, relieved when it elicited a light laugh from Kurt.

"When's the competition?" Kurt asked, letting his cheek rest on his folded forearms. (Blaine didn't miss how it sort of looked like Kurt was too exhausted to hold his head up.)

"A week from today. We're heading to Chicago on Saturday."

"I wish I could be there."

"Yeah, me too." Blaine drew a long inhale and let it out equally slowly, willing his heart to stop beating so quickly. "Kurt, do you need or want me to do anything…?"

Kurt frowned slightly. "Like what?"

"I don't know. You just seem like there's something else bothering you besides the… the…"

"The split personalities," Kurt finished for him.

"Yeah, that."

Kurt let out a breath, staring at Carole's rosebushes for a few minutes before responding. "They caught him," he said finally. "The guy who made me split."

"Yeah, I heard."

"Well, the trial's on Tuesday."

"Are you going?"

Kurt shook his head resolutely, his expression hardening. "No," he said, his voice tight. "No, I – I can't be in the same room with him." He coughed, looking almost sick at the thought. "Even if I wanted to go, it wouldn't be a good idea. My dad will call me when it's over."

"Would it be okay with you if I went?"

Kurt blinked, his gaze whipping back to stare at Blaine in surprise. "You want…"

Blaine shrugged. "I'd like to be there for you, but only if you're all right with it."

"Y-yeah, I guess," he said, stammering slightly. "But, um… they'll probably talk about what – what happened, and—"

"Kurt," Blaine cut him off, reaching over to put a hand on Kurt's forearm. "It's okay."

"Okay." Kurt swiped the cuff of his sleeve over his eyes. "Blaine, I'm so sorry I never told you what was wrong," he said, his voice cracking near the end of his sentence. His eyes were threatening to spill over, but Blaine still didn't draw his hand away from Kurt's arm. "I just… I'm so used to people finding out, and then looking at me like I'm about to fall apart, and even if that's true I was terrified you'd look at me the same way."

Blaine swallowed, his fingers tightening around Kurt's arm.

"I was so relieved that you were mad at me," Kurt said, making Blaine blink in confusion. Kurt was crying now, but at least it was restoring a little color to his face. "Nobody else that found out was mad, and it was like they immediately thought I couldn't control anything, let alone myself. It's like… I'm a burning building, and even if they wanted to put out the fire they were still too scared to get close."

"Does that make me the fireman?" Blaine asked, cracking a tentative smile.

A laugh that was halfway to a sob wrenched out of Kurt's throat. "I don't know what you are."