When Kurt opened his eyes, he felt… strangely rested. It took him several seconds to glance around the room and get his bearings, realizing that he was in his own living room on the couch and leaning on Burt's shoulder, but for once he could actually remember how he got there. Burt was snoring next to him, and must have turned off the TV at some point because the last thing Kurt could recall before falling asleep was watching ESPN.

Kurt pushed the blanket away from his shoulders, stretching out the crick in his neck, and gingerly moved off the couch so as not to wake Burt up. In the kitchen, Kurt found Finn making coffee. At least… he was pretty sure that's what Finn was doing. Finn was moving around the kitchen as if he was walking on balloons and trying not to pop them, standing on his tiptoes and wincing when the coffee machine started beeping to let him know it was finished (he flailed to turn it off).

"What are you doing?" Kurt finally broke the silence, crossing his arms. Finn jumped almost a foot off the ground, spinning so fast he nearly fell over.

"Jesus, you scared me," Finn exhaled, his shoulders deflating. "I'm making you coffee."

Kurt couldn't help smiling at that. As frustrating and naïve and stupid as Finn could be on occasion, one thing he never failed to be was endearing. "Were you attempting to be sneaky?" he asked, grinning.

Finn scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake you and Burt up."

Kurt had to suppress a chuckle.

"So, you want a cup?" Finn offered, holding up the coffee pot.

"Oh, uh… I – I can't drink coffee, remember?" Kurt said, suddenly feeling like an ass. He wanted a cup, as much for himself as for Finn, and the smell was amazing, but he knew that if he drank caffeine would mix with his anti-psychotics and cause some pretty bad reactions.

"Oh," said Finn. "Right, I… forgot. Um, sorry."

"I'd love a cup of tea, though," Kurt amended before Finn could look too crestfallen.

Finn smiled. "Okay."

Kurt pulled himself onto a stool at the counter island, resting his chin in his hand as Finn set up the electric kettle. "Don't you have school today?"

"Not for another hour and a half; it's only seven."

"Wow," Kurt glanced at the clock. "You're up early."

Finn shrugged.

"How was the trial?" Kurt asked. "Dad and I didn't really get a chance to talk about it."

"It was a lot less fun than it looks on TV," Finn replied dryly, no doubt trying to lighten the mood a little. The kettle whistled behind him. "It was pretty intense. I'm just glad it's over."

"That makes two of us," Kurt muttered.

Finn slid a steaming mug across the counter to Kurt, then retrieved a glass of orange juice for himself from the fridge. Kurt sipped his tea in silence for a long minute, his stomach suddenly tight.

"What… what was he like?" Kurt finally worked up the courage to ask, hoping he wouldn't have to clarify whom he was talking about.

Luckily, Finn understood, swallowing and turning the glass in his hands. "He was… scary. I'm really glad you weren't there," he said. "I just wanted to run away the whole time."

"Welcome to my world," Kurt sighed.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him any more, dude. He's in jail for at least the next fifty years." Finn downed the last of his orange juice, dropping the glass into the sink. "And you should've seen Hiram, man. He totally killed it!"

Kurt laughed lightly, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was still twisting. "Was it more like Law & Order or Drop Dead Diva?"

Finn paused. "I've never seen Drop Dead Diva, so I'm going to go with Law & Order on that one."

Kurt grinned into his tea as Carole came in from the living room, reaching over to ruffle Kurt's hair.

"Morning, sweetie," she said, making a beeline for the full coffee pot. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Want to help me with breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure," Kurt agreed, jumping down off the stool and realizing how much he'd missed feeling like he was able to contribute to anything besides a round of Connect-Four. Also, cooking.

"I'll get out of your way," said Finn, heading back upstairs to pack his bag for school.

For a while, Kurt and Carole worked in a comfortable silence, the smell of French toast filling the kitchen as Carole manned the stove and Kurt chopped bananas into slices for topping. It was a relief to be spending time with one of his parents and not feeling pressured to do anything besides just be there, and for the first time in several months Kurt felt a little lighter on his feet.

Unfortunately, Carole didn't seem quite as comfortable in the lack of conversation as he was, and she eventually cut through. "So, how's life been in the hospital? Have you made any friends?"

While Kurt could appreciate that she was actively not asking him about his treatment and instead just wanted to know about his life, the inquiry still made the muscles in his neck and spine tighten slightly. "Sort of," he responded. "I guess. There's a couple of guys I hang out with." He left out the fact that Dustin still refused to talk to him since their shouting match.

"What about your roommate?" Carole asked. "Is he nice?"

Kurt tipped the mound of banana slices off the cutting board and into a bowl, avoiding Carole's eye. "Scott can't really put a sentence together ninety percent of the time," he replied, probably coming across a little shorter than was necessary. "I don't really talk to him."

"Oh," Carole faltered. It was a long minute before she worked up the courage to say, "How about your sessions with Dr. McManus? How are they going?"

Kurt took a deep breath; that was where he drew the line. "Carole, no offense, but I really don't want to talk about the hospital when I'm at home," he said. "Can we just… leave it? Talk about something else?"

"Sure. Of course." She nodded, and Kurt could easily hear the hurt in her voice. He felt like a complete and total asshole.

Carole heaped the stack of French toast onto a plate and slid it onto the counter island, dropping the bowl of banana slices next to it. Kurt was pretty sure she was more nervous than anything else, which made him feel even more like an ass, because she shouldn't have to feel nervous around him.

Carole tucked her hair behind her ears, chewing on the insides of her cheeks for a moment before placing a hand on Kurt's arm. "Kurt, you know I love you very much, right?"

Kurt smiled, relieved that she didn't seem to have taken his straight-arm too much to heart. "You put up with all my crazy as much as Dad does," he said. "Message received."

After breakfast, Finn headed off to school and Carole left for work, leaving Burt and Kurt to clean up the kitchen. Once they were done, Burt suggested that they go for a walk, and Kurt eagerly seized the opportunity for fresh air. Yet another thing he'd been sorely missing – the outdoors.

They ended up going to Schoonover Park and walking along the lake, and Kurt was relishing in the feeling of the sun on his skin. His jacket was pulled up tight around his torso despite the fact that it wasn't cold, even in the spring breeze – he just seemed to be having a hard time keeping himself warm. Kurt blamed the weight loss.

Burt dropped an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they walked (it was the first time he'd done so in months without the immediate intention of keeping Kurt from falling apart). "You seem like you're feeling better," he said.

"I am," Kurt nodded, looking up at the trees as they rustled in the wind. "I mean, I know I'm not and I know the alters are still here, but today just feels like a good day, and I'm going to try to keep it that way."

"Good."

The two of them eventually sat on a bench overlooking the lake, Kurt shivering slightly as the breeze tugged on his hair. He ran his fingers through it, making a mental note to ask Carole for a haircut later.

"You cold?" Burt asked, noticing Kurt's hunched shoulders.

"I'm fine."

"We can head home if you want."

Kurt shook his head. "I like it out here." He closed his eyes, leaning his elbows on his knees and allowing the sun to soak into his skin and hair. He drew a long breath through his nose. The warmth wasn't quite reaching deep enough to make him stop shivering, but it was nice just the same. He could tell that Burt was watching him, and for once… Kurt didn't feel scrutinized.

He desperately hoped this would last.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry I left you."

The apology came out of nowhere, so abruptly that Kurt wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it. He opened his eyes again, turning to look at his father in confusion. "Dad, I don't blame you—" he started, but Burt cut him off.

"Stop it. Let me finish," Burt said gently. "You do blame me, Kurt."

Again, Kurt opened his mouth to argue, and again Burt stopped him.

"It's okay. There's no point in dancing around it; that's already caused enough damage." Burt sighed, glancing out over the lake as it rippled in the wind. "And I accept that. But I still want you to know, because I don't want you to think for a second that you can't trust me now."

Kurt swallowed. "Okay."

Burt reached up and ruffled his hair. "I love you, kiddo; don't ever forget it."

Kurt was at a loss for how to respond, so rather than react verbally he simply leaned over and allowed Burt to wrap his arms around him. He didn't feel like he needed the physical support – at least, not at the present moment – but maybe Burt did.

"Truman threatened me again," Kurt admitted after a minute, not because he wanted to add tension but rather because he just didn't want to hide anything anymore.

Burt didn't react immediately, and it was a few moments before he responded, his hands tightening slightly around Kurt's frame. "To kill you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know."

"Do I have your permission to kick his ass?"

Kurt snorted, beyond relieved that this wasn't turning into an argument. "If you can get him out of my head, I will help you beat him to a pulp."

Burt sat back against the bench, leaving one arm looped around Kurt's back. "Finn and Carole should know about this, just so they're on guard," he said.

Kurt nodded. "I'll tell them when they get home."

"You want to head back now?"

Kurt sighed, watching a few clouds float by, showing no signs of rain or thunder. "Not yet," he said. "I like it here."

Blaine wasn't entirely sure why, but he'd spent the entire day on edge. He'd been tense, quick to irritate, and just generally not fun to be around since he'd woken up that morning, and he may or may not have snapped at a couple of freshmen who were walking too slowly in the hallways after lunch. Glee rehearsal was more exhausting than usual with Nationals coming up in three days (well, technically four, but Saturday would be spent traveling to Chicago and so there were only three days left for practice). Blaine's dance steps had all been too sharp and jerky and Santana had yelled at him for stepping on her toes more than once, and he just wanted to punch a wall but he didn't have time to pay a visit to the boxing bag in the weight room.

So, after rehearsal was finished, he walked to his car and was about to go home and tackle his homework (and undoubtedly end up throwing his books at his bedroom wall) when his phone blasted Rio from his pocket.

He let out a heavy breath, resting his head against the rim of the steering wheel to calm himself down for a second before answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Bee!" Cooper greeted him from the other side of the country. "How're you doing?"

"I'm – I'm okay," Blaine said, wanting nothing more than to just go home and bury his head under his pillow and not wake up again for a week.

"Uh-oh."

Blaine's eyebrows snapped together at the tone of Cooper's voice. "What?"

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?" Blaine was going to reach through the phone and punch his brother if Cooper didn't stop acting like such an all-knowing ignoramus (and yes, Blaine was aware that was an oxymoron).

"You know, that thing you always do when you don't want to talk about bad stuff because you're afraid of Mom and Dad reacting."

Blaine blinked at his windshield. "I…"

"I'm not Dad, Bee," Cooper assured him. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

Blaine huffed. "Don't you have auditions to go to, or something?"

"Not until tomorrow and I want to make sure my little brother isn't going to explode from pent-up stress," Cooper replied smoothly. "So open up before I come up there and drag your ass back to L.A. for some much-needed relaxation."

Blaine paused, the insides of his cheeks clamped between his teeth.

"What's going on?"

"I was at the trial yesterday," Blaine forced himself to say. "Of – of the guy who attacked Kurt when he was a kid."

"Oh," Cooper's voice softened a little, bearing the gravity of the situation. "What happened?"

"Nothing, it's fine, we…" Blaine trailed off, uncertain of where that sentence had been headed. "He's in jail, so everything's fine."

"But…?" Cooper pushed.

Blaine felt a rock stretch the inside of his throat, and the fingers not currently holding the phone gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. "I— God, Cooper, the things they were talking about…"

Why was it suddenly hard to speak?

Blaine swiped the heel of his hands over his eyes, swallowing. "I just feel so bad about everything."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't there for him, Coop!" Blaine cried, his voice cracking. "I ran away! Again!" His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding against each other and his eyes squeezing shut.

God, he just wanted to go home.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Blaine…" Cooper stopped him. "Take a second and breathe, okay?"

Blaine sniffed, forcing a swallow (the rock in his throat stayed where it was). "Sorry," he said as evenly as he could manage.

"You know that none of this is your fault, right?"

"But it is, Coop!" Blaine argued, unable to stop himself. "I mean – Kurt only started getting really bad after I freaked out at him. I don't know what to do."

"Bee, you've got to stop trying so hard," Cooper told him firmly. "Listen, maybe Kurt just needs some space to do what he needs to do to deal with all his crap; it's not the end of the world if you're not a part of that."

Somehow, that statement hurt more than any barrage of guilt Blaine had thrown himself underneath up until this point. He hung his head, fighting tears and feeling childish. "I want to help him," he said.

"I know," Cooper sympathized. "That's what makes you a better man than me, bro. But like I said, it's not the end of the world, so try and remember that, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine lied (because it really did feel like the end of the world and he still had no idea what to do about that).

"I've got to go; my agent's calling me," Cooper said, already sounding distracted. "I'll talk to you later, Bee."

The conversation was over as quickly as it had begun, leaving Blaine with just as much guilt as before and not enough relief.

In the middle of the night, Finn woke up hungry. This wasn't by any means an unusual occurrence, and within a few moments of dragging himself out of bed he was in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for a midnight snack. The fridge light was the only thing illuminating the kitchen, and as he pulled a Jell-O pudding cup out and shut the door, the room plunged back into darkness.

Fumbling to turn on the light over the sink (he didn't know why he never remembered to turn on the lights first when he came down to eat), Finn's attention was caught by a second light out of the corner of his eye. He paused, turning to see a just-fading orange pinpoint outside the window, on the front porch. He frowned, setting his snack on the counter and heading for the front door, wondering if he'd been seeing things.

Leaning to peer through the door's glass pane, Finn spotted the light again, flaring and glowing orange before dying away, and he realized with a jolt that it was the burning end of a lit cigarette. His stomach churning, he pushed the door open.

"What are you doing out here?"

Kurt was leaning over with his elbows propped on the porch rail, the cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers. He glanced at Finn for a second over his shoulder, entirely unperturbed, then tapped the ashes into the rosebushes Carole had planted beneath the porch.

"Carole throws a fucking tantrum whenever I smoke inside and I don't want to listen to her screech," was his flat reply.

Finn tensed. "Don't talk about my mom like that."

Kurt snorted, taking another drag from the cigarette. "Mama's boy," he said, his face glowing in the orange light for just a moment.

Finn didn't move, his toes gripping the hard wood floor of the porch.

Kurt blew his last inhalation out through his nose, the smoke curling up and around his ears as he turned around to lean his back against the rail. "What do you want?" he prompted, sounding mildly annoyed that Finn was talking to him.

Finn shifted his weight from foot to foot, not knowing if the movement was a result of being cold in the night air or nervousness due to the fact that he couldn't really see Kurt's face.

"Are you really going to try to kill Kurt?" he blurted out.

Kurt regarded him with an unsettlingly even stare. "What makes you think I won't?"

Finn's gut twisted so sharply that he nearly doubled over.

"Let me ask you something," Kurt said, blowing out another billow of smoke. "If I did kill him, what would you do?"

Finn gritted his teeth, his fists clenching by his sides. "I'd get him back."

"What if you couldn't?"

"I could."

Kurt's eyebrows quirked slightly, and he dropped the cigarette butt onto the porch, stamping it out beneath his heel. "Uh-huh," he said lightly, disbelievingly. "Well, good luck with that."

He brushed past Finn and headed back into the house, leaving Finn on the porch with goosebumps on his arms and a still-smoking flattened cigarette butt. It took Finn nearly ten minutes of standing in the night chill before he was willing to brave being in the same house with Kurt again.