Finn was about ninety-nine percent sure that his heart had completely stopped functioning as he ran after Santana, nearly crashing into her when she skidded to a stop in front of him at the kitchen door. He'd barely absorbed the image of Kurt pressing himself against Brittany with his hand between her legs (GOD WHAT DO I DO) when Santana let out a hoarse screech, seizing Kurt by the back of his shirt. She ripped him away from Brittany, shoving him into the counter island so that one of the stools was knocked to the ground with a loud clatter.

Finn circled around behind them and wrapped his arms around Brittany's trembling shoulders, pulling her back toward the hallway. Her chest was heaving, the air shuddering in and out of her lungs as her fingers clutched at his waist.

"What the HELL is wrong with you?!" Santana shouted, her fists digging into Kurt's chest.

He slapped her arms away. "Get the fuck off me, bitch!"

Finn held Brittany as tightly as he dared, brushing her hair back from her tear-stained face. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, panic clawing at the edges of his skull. "Did he hurt you?"

"He – he hit my—" Brittany sobbed, her palm cradling the back of her head.

Santana was still yelling, her voice cracking in her throat. "If you EVER touch her again, Kurt, I swear to God I'll kill you!" She slammed Kurt into the counter again.

Kurt's lip curled, and he spit in her face. "I'm not Kurt," he snarled.

Finn turned to the others, not caring when or why they'd followed him, and pushed Brittany into Tina's arms. "Take her to the living room," he ordered. "Go!" Tina immediately hooked an arm around Brittany's back, ushering her down the hall with Mercedes and Quinn close on their heels.

"I DON'T CARE!" Santana shouted, out of breath. "You just assaulted my girlfriend!"

"Yeah, I can see why you like her," Kurt smirked. "Kudos."

"SCREW YOU!" Santana screamed, her arm pulling back for a split second before she rammed her fist into Kurt's stomach.

Finn saw Kurt's eyes narrow just in time to lurch forward, wrenching Santana backwards milliseconds before Kurt could swing his wrist up and punch her sharply in the temple. The blow landed instead on Finn's shoulder blade, the force of it sending shocks down the nerves to his fingertips as he tried to hold Santana and Kurt away from each other.

"Back off, Finn!" Santana shrieked, her eyes wild.

Finn struggled to keep Kurt back, raising his voice to match hers. "He's going to hurt you!" he yelled, not bothering to waste time sugarcoating it. Santana's jaw clacked shut. "Go take care of Brittany!"

Santana swallowed, breathing hard and staring at Kurt for a moment, then she raked both hands through her hair and ran back to the living room.

"Let me know if you ever want a threesome!" Kurt growled after her, his teeth still maliciously bared.

"Hey!" Finn snapped, roughly pushing Kurt back into the counter. "Brittany didn't do anything to you! Why would you do that?!"

Kurt's jaw clenched, his eyes boring into Finn's. "Because Kurt was begging for me to stop."

Without sparing himself even a moment to think, Finn punched Kurt in the face.

(He heard Rachel scream, but there wasn't enough room in Finn's mind to pay attention to the others watching on in shock.)

Kurt's head whipped to the side with a grunt, but he seemed unfazed. "Really, Finn?" he asked flatly. "Hitting? I don't think Kurt's going to be too pleased with a black eye fucking up his perfect little twink face."

Finn punched him a second time. "You have NO RIGHT!" he bellowed.

"FINN!" Rachel cried from the door.

Kurt grinned, setting his shoulders back. His lip was split and there was blood on his teeth. "Hit me again."

Finn froze, his heart galloping in his chest.

"Go on," Kurt urged, his voice low. "We'll see how Papa Hummel feels about it when he hears you beat the shit out of his favorite son."

Finn's throat felt like it was ripping apart inside his neck. Burt was in Washington. Carole was out. Kurt wasn't there at all. And Finn was alone.

Taking a deep and painful breath, Finn grabbed Kurt unceremoniously by the upper arms and tried to push him toward the hall. He had to get Kurt up to his room, contain him somehow until Finn could call Carole and get her back home. But as soon as Kurt's back was no longer pressed to the counter's edge, he spun round and drove his knuckles into Finn's esophagus.

The impact was so sharp that Finn nearly doubled over and vomited onto the kitchen floor, instead gasping for air and clutching his throat. Before Kurt could move in for a second attack, Puck rushed forward and seized him from behind, keeping his arms back. Kurt's legs kicked back, trying to use his weight to offset Puck's hold, but he was smaller than Puck and it wasn't enough.

"Get your fucking hands off me, Mohawk!"

Finn coughed, the air burning as it squeezed out of his lungs. "Shut up!" he begged, grasping at straws. He couldn't do this. Not by himself, and not with everyone watching him like this.

(WHAT DO I DO)

Still struggling, Kurt managed to yank his left arm out of Puck's grip, letting out a harsh growl as he twisted. Finn moved quickly to stop Kurt from giving Puck's throat the same treatment, but before he could, another pair of hands shot forward and grabbed Kurt's free arm instead.

Blaine's mouth was clamped in a grim line as Kurt's head swiveled around to glare down at him, his expression somewhere between surprised that Blaine would dare throw himself into the fray and furious that there was another person trying to keep him restrained.

Kurt's neck lurched forward, his face mere inches from Blaine's. "Fuck. Off."

Miraculously, Blaine didn't react beyond a silent bobbing of his Adam's apple, instead turning to Finn and asking, "What do we do?"

Finn let out the air trapped in his lungs. "Take him upstairs."

The rest of the kids cramping the kitchen and hallway immediately moved out of the way, filtering back into the living room. Finn, Puck, and Blaine pushed and shoved and pulled and dragged, Kurt fighting them every step of the way and spitting obscenities at the top of his lungs.

Brittany curled over and hid her face as they passed, Santana holding her tightly against her chest and running her fingers through Brittany's hair.

"Come on, Kurt!" Blaine cried in exasperation when they were halfway up the stairs. There were more footholds here and it was easier for Kurt to hinder them by simply digging his heels in.

"Fuck you!" Kurt jerked in their grasp, unable to fight all three of them at once but damn intent on trying. His eyes narrowed at Blaine. "Just because Kurt thinks you're his one and only doesn't mean that I won't CAVE IN YOUR FUCKING SKULL!"

Blaine flinched, then gritted his teeth and jammed his shoulder into Kurt's back, driving him to the top of the stairs and into the second floor hallway.

Finn flung open the door to Kurt's room, and the three of them shoved Kurt inside. Instinctively, Finn reached for the rope to tie the door shut, then halted as his intestines curled behind the walls of his abdomen – he couldn't leave Kurt by himself and give Truman the chance to do something to him.

"You guys have to go," Finn ordered, turning to Blaine and Puck. "Right now."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Puck snapped.

"Me neither," Blaine followed suit.

Finn almost let out a growl of his own. "Fine!" he said, lacking the mental space to argue with them right now. He had to manage this. He had to get Kurt to calm down enough so that he wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else again. "Just… please, get the others out of the house. And Puck—" Finn pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Puck before he could rush back to the group. "Call my mom."

Puck nodded once and disappeared down the stairs.

"Aww, you need Mom's help to deal with your little brother?" Kurt spat mockingly, his neck hunched.

"You're not my brother," Finn countered, his voice low and threatening.

Kurt's hands were thrown out to the sides. "Bingo! We have a winner!"

Finn had to repress the urge to throw another punch aimed at Kurt's nose. Truman had spent so much energy insisting he wasn't Kurt that for him to so casually and suddenly refer to himself as such… he was taunting them, shouting that he could use Kurt's body however he wanted.

"Can't you bring Kurt back?" Blaine asked softly, trying desperately to avoid Kurt's piercing glare. "I don't know… call him or something?"

Kurt laughed, a harsh, hacking chuckle like a hyena. "You're adorable, Elijah Wood."

Finn ignored him. "I can't if he's this stressed," he told Blaine, trying to be patient and remember that Blaine didn't have nearly as much context for this as Finn did. "It doesn't work like that."

Blaine opened his mouth again, presumably to suggest another course of action, but Kurt smugly cut him off.

"And you can't tie the door shut and leave me like usual because you're scared I'll give Kurt a few more burns to remember me by."

"Like he'd have any trouble remembering," Finn snapped, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Kurt's weight shifted from foot to foot, like a Doberman pulling at its chain. "I'm touched you think I'm so memorable," he said smoothly. "What are you going to do, pat me down for cigarettes?"

"What is he talking about?" Blaine wanted to know.

"Nothing," Finn brushed him off.

Kurt grinned, a touch of excitement tugging the corners of his mouth outward in a way that didn't appear natural. "Want me to tell him?"

Something clicked in the back of Finn's brain.

"I want you to SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Kurt's eyebrows quirked in mild surprise.

Finn let out a heavy breath, drawing a new one through clenched teeth. "After everything you've done, the least you can do is shut up."

"Why don't you make me?"

Finn was only a couple of steps away; it wouldn't take much for him to just charge forward and pound his fists into Kurt's body over and over and over again until Truman was gone. It wouldn't take much.

And Finn wanted to.

But there was already blood on Kurt's teeth, and his eye was slowly and surely swelling blue, and Finn realized he wasn't willing to inflict any more damage.

At least, not on Kurt. Finn's frustration and rage and terror still boiled up in his gut and it hurt and demanded to be released, so Finn lashed out and kicked the bedroom door so that it smashed backward into the wall with a violent bang!

And Kurt's mouth dropped open, an ear-piercing, almost unearthly scream roaring out of his chest as his spine curled and his limbs pulled inward. Finn and Blaine jumped, freezing in place. Kurt's face had shifted into something nearly unrecognizable – horrible and twisted and in so much pain.

"Wh-what is that?" Blaine stammered, his eyes wide and unable to look anywhere besides Kurt. "Why is he doing that?"

Puck came running back up the stairs just then, skidding to a halt behind them. "Everyone's gone and your mom is— Holy crap. What the hell happened?"

Kurt had sunk to an odd, hunched-over crouch on the floor, the scream having faded to a low guttural groan continuously humming in his throat. His fingertips dug into the sides of his head and his palms covered his ears. His teeth were clenched, his breath hissing unevenly through them.

Finn edged forward, the floor feeling less than solid beneath his shoes. "Red…?" he ventured, his voice wavering. He didn't know if Red was even able to respond, but Finn had to try something.

"What the…" he heard Puck mutter.

Kurt's jaw jutted forward, exposing his teeth and tightening the tendons in his neck. Finn knelt in front of him, feeling dizzy as his heart still raced inside his ribcage.

(WHAT DO I DO)

Kurt's breath hitched in his chest.

"Red," Finn repeated, feeling clumsy and not at all sure of anything.

Another scream ripped out of Kurt's mouth and he lashed out, his fingernails clawing across Finn's face. Finn nearly lost his balance, scrabbling back to the door and pushing Blaine and Puck into the hall. Kurt screeched, lunging after them, and Finn barely managed to yank the door shut in time, grabbing the rope off its hook and pulling it tight around the door handle.

There was an out-of-breath growl (halfway to a sob) from the other side of the door as it rattled in its frame, Kurt's arms pounding against it. Finn backed into the hallway wall, bracing himself on it as he slid to the ground with his head spinning. After a moment, Kurt's feet scraped across the floor, retreating, and the air quieted.

"…What the hell was that?" Puck breathed a second later, dropping onto floor across from Finn. Blaine followed suit, looking exhausted and unable to speak.

Finn rested his head in his hands. He couldn't handle this any more. "Kurt switched again," he said, not wanting to explain any further than that.

"Your mom's on her way home," Puck offered, as if it would make the situation easier.

Finn nodded silently.

"Has… that ever happened before?" Blaine tried, hugging his knees.

Another nod. Finn didn't want to talk about this, but he didn't have any space in his head to fight them in addition to Kurt.

"We're going to stay with you 'til your mom gets here, dude," Puck promised.

Finn leaned his head back against the wall and wished that Kurt had just stayed in the hospital for good.

This was probably the most fun Truman had had in ages, including the numerous nights of sneaking out and stealing Kurt's car to go pick up a few casual fucks at his favorite bars (sometimes men, sometimes women, sometimes not caring enough to double-check). And hey, what Kurt's little fuck-toy boyfriend didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

But oh, man. Just the fact that nobody had even noticed he was there in the first place – except for the porky black chick, but whatever – was hilarious. Truman really hadn't given a shit one way or the other about the blonde girl in the kitchen, but Kurt had been pissing him off for way too long and listening to him scream and beg in the back of his own head as Truman felt her up was so fucking gratifying.

What a fucking twink.

Not that Truman wasn't into twinks, of course. He was an open-minded guy.

But, then again… when Truman opened his eyes in Kurt's boring little dream playground and the first thing Kurt did was throw him to the ground, Truman had to admit that Kurt was going above and beyond the title of 'annoying'. This was crossing the line.

Kurt shoved Truman into the gravel near the swing set, his fists blindly pounding into Truman's chest and head and abdomen over and over again (and seriously, this kid had no fucking clue how to handle himself in a fight).

"What the fuck is your problem?" Truman snarled, only to be met with a solid punch to the jaw.

"How DARE you!" Kurt screamed at the top of his lungs (did he really have to yell with his face literally inches away?) as he pinned Truman down.

And it did not escape Truman's attention that, for once, Kurt was straddling him rather than the other way round.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" Kurt cried, his chest heaving.

Truman rolled his eyes. Kurt was acting like a child. "What's the matter? Afraid of a little fooling around with a girl for a change? Quit being such a fucking prude."

"SHE was afraid of YOU!" Kurt screeched (and okay, Truman was pretty sure this was damaging his eardrums).

Truman quirked his eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Mr. Me, Myself, and Irene?" he grunted, Kurt's hands almost trying to strangle him. "'Cause I'm pretty sure that bimbo was actually scared of you."

Kurt's knuckles slammed into Truman's nose, making him growl in pain. Jesus, this kid had emotional problems.

"You molested her!" Kurt screamed (and volume-control problems too, apparently).

"Oh, come on!" Truman spat. Kurt was really ticking him off. "Don't think I wasn't there for when you used to make out with Little Miss Malibu Barbie in sophomore year. I wasn't doing anything she didn't want."

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER!"

Was Kurt crying? For fuck's sake, this kid was a wimp.

Truman swiped his arm across the gravel to his side until his hand closed around a rock slightly larger than his fist. "Listen, Jekyll, you're fun to have around," he said, almost smiling in amusement when Kurt's watery eyes blinked in confusion. "But you're not that fun."

Truman swung his hand up, and the rock collided with Kurt's temple with a resounding crack.

Carole had been in the line at the bank when her phone had buzzed with Finn's number illuminating the screen. "Finn, I will get your Pop Tarts when I go shopping; please stop reminding me—"

"Mrs. H?"

Her heart had immediately skipped at the sound of the panicked voice on the other end of the line. "…Puck?"

"Yeah, I, uh… Kurt's having some kind of freakout. I don't know what's going on, but you've got to come back here," Puck had rushed, sounding terrified and slightly winded. "Like, now."

It took Carole an agonizingly slow twenty minutes to get back home, jumping out of her car and running into the house to find all of the kids gone. "Finn?" she called. "Kurt?" The living room was empty, the Apples To Apples cards strewn chaotically across the floor and coffee table.

Carole rushed up the stairs, stopping short when she found Finn, Blaine, and Puck all sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of Kurt's room, with Kurt's door tied tightly shut behind them.

"Oh, God…" she sighed, sinking onto her knees next to Finn. "What happened?"

Finn's face was contorted, like he was having trouble speaking and breathing at the same time. After a moment's silence, Blaine softly answered instead.

"He attacked Brittany."

Carole swallowed, running a palm over her face. "Is she okay?"

Puck scratched nervously at the nape of his neck. "She looked pretty shaken up but I don't think she got hurt."

Small miracles.

Carole put a hand on Finn's shoulder – his muscles were rigid underneath his skin. "Sweetheart, what happened? Who did he switch to?"

Finn's jaw clenched. "Truman," he replied. "Then Red."

She couldn't help glancing at the door, listening carefully for any sounds from the other side, but it was silent.

They shouldn't have listened to Kurt when he said he wanted to stay for the party. They should've sent him back to the hospital this morning like usual.

"Mom, I hit him."

Her attention snapped back to Finn. "What?"

Finn sniffed, his arms hugging his chest. "I – I hit him," he repeated, his voice cracking. "H-he… Truman kept saying all these – these things and I j-just kind of lost it and… I hit him. I'm sorry."

Carole quickly moved a little closer, wrapping an arm around Finn's shoulders. She turned to Puck and Blaine, who each looked even more lost than she was. "Boys, thank you for staying, but maybe you should head home now."

Puck coughed awkwardly, pulling himself to his feet and nudging Blaine to do the same. Carole tried to give them a smile as they walked downstairs, Blaine casting a reluctant but panicked glance over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.

"I'm sorry," Finn said again.

She should never have left them alone. They were just kids.

Stars exploded in front of Kurt's eyes as the rock smashed into the side of his skull, jarring his teeth. Momentarily blinded, his shoulder crashed into the rough gravel as Truman kicked him away, and Kurt felt blood trickle into his ear. The ground spun underneath him.

He spat out bits of sand and grit as he tried to dizzily sit up, blinking the shadows away from his vision just in time to see the iron crowbar in Truman's hand swing down in a deadly arc toward his head. Kurt quickly rolled out of the way, the crowbar landing with a thunk in the dirt.

Before Kurt's still-reeling brain could process it, Truman was on top of him and the crowbar was pressing hard into Kurt's trachea. Truman leaned down, his entire weight braced on the iron bar and his face hovering dangerously close to Kurt's with his teeth bared. Far above them, the sky was brewing a storm, blackened clouds boiling and blocking out the sun.

Kurt's mouth opened as wide as it could, gasping for air as he felt the blood pool under his skin.

"You should have stayed in the fucking woods," Truman snarled under his breath, thunder rumbling from somewhere overhead. Rain began to patter the ground.

Kurt couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His skin was tingling as the oxygen was slowly drained from his limbs, the edges of his vision going dark again. He reached up and pushed at Truman's chest, but the attempt to fight him off was feeble at best.

It probably wouldn't be that bad, though, he realized fleetingly in the back of his mind. If he were to wake up in the woods again, and just… stay there. He wouldn't hurt anyone else then. At least, he didn't think…

There wasn't enough oxygen left in his brain to finish that thought.

A small rock suddenly flew from outside Kurt's shrinking visual field and struck Truman in the side of the neck, immediately followed by a crisp shout of "Hey!"

Truman's attention whipped up and away from Kurt.

"Leave him alone!"

Kurt sucked in a desperate gasp of air as the crowbar was abruptly lifted, the lack of oxygen and Truman's weight on top of him still keeping him mostly immobile. The rain was coming down harder, soaking into his hair and clothes and pooling beneath him.

"Let the grown-ups talk, Zack," Truman said lowly, his lip curled. He turned back to Kurt, pressing the bar down on top of the already-formed bruise on Kurt's neck (Kurt could only let out a strangled gurgle).

Another rock smacked Truman in the ribs, making him growl in frustration (the crowbar once again lifted). "Zack, I will fucking burn you if—"

"Leave. Him. Alone."

Zack was standing only a few feet away, his fists clenched and his clothes already soaked from the rain. Lightning flashed across the sky overhead.

"Zack, what are you doing?" Eleanor called from behind him. She looked… frightened. Tyler was hugging her side, Robbie standing nearby and watching anxiously.

"Take the toddler back to daycare," Truman spat, gesturing angrily to Zack.

Before Truman could do anything else, Kurt thrust his arms upwards and shoved Truman off him, the movement sloppy and uncoordinated since he was still dizzy and breathing too hard. Truman caught himself on one hand, the other snapping the crowbar back and landing another blow to the side of Kurt's skull. Kurt yelped, clutching his head as his nerve endings were set on fire.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Zack screamed.

Kurt coughed, wincing, and opened his eyes just in time to see Zack launch himself at Truman, tackling him on the ground and beating him with hysterical thrashes. Eleanor shrieked and ran towards them, calling Zack's name.

Another crack of thunder shook the playground, causing the swing chains to rattle.

"Zack, don't!" Eleanor shouted.

Kurt staggered to his feet, wanting to vomit. He knew he had to pull Zack away, but with blood dripping down to his shoulder from the wound on his head, it was difficult to keep the earth steady beneath his feet.

Kurt heard the crack before he understood what happened.

Truman's hands had found their mark, twisting with a single deft wrench of his arms, and Zack fell backward onto the gravel, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. The air rushed from Kurt's lungs, his heart coming to a full stop.

"ZACK!" Eleanor screamed. Kurt could hear Tyler crying.

Truman glared at Kurt as he stood over Zack's crumpled body, the wind whipping at their clothes as the rain came down in sheets. "Sorry, Kurt," he shrugged. He shouted to be heard over the storm. "Game's over!"

Rage, more than he'd ever felt before, boiled up in Kurt's stomach, pulling all of his muscles taut inside his skin. His eyes landed on the crowbar, lying only a couple feet away. Truman had dropped it during Zack's assault, and now, Kurt made a lunge for it.

Truman saw what he was doing and scrambled to grab it first, but Kurt's fists closed around the bar and thrust upward, jabbing the sharp end threateningly into Truman's stomach. A bolt of lightning tore across the clouds.

"Get on your knees," Kurt growled.

A muscle in Truman's jaw twitched, his eyes darkening. "I think we're a little past the point of friendly blowjobs, don't you?" he sneered.

Kurt lifted the crowbar over his head, poised to bring it down on Truman's skull. "On your knees!"

Truman had the nerve to smile then, his eyebrows raised. "Or what?"

Kurt answered him by breaking his collarbone.

With her breath held in her lungs, Carole bit her lip, untying the rope from Kurt's bedroom door. She'd sent Finn downstairs (he'd dealt with enough for today), and despite the fact that she was terrified of Red, she had to at least make sure that Kurt wasn't physically hurt. Her heartbeat thudding solidly in her eardrums, Carole pushed the door open, stepping into the room to find that Kurt had pressed himself into the corner beneath the window.

"Sweetheart?" she called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Kurt had folded himself as tightly and rigidly as possible, his knees drawn up to his chest and his shoulder hugging the wall. His breathing was hitched and at an oddly rapid pace, quick and uneven as if there was a dangerous amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins. There was a dark bruise that had formed over his eye and some of his cheek, and his lower lip was swollen after having been split.

He didn't look up as she knelt beside him, and even though his eyes were wide, she wasn't sure he could see her.

"Kurt…" she whispered. "Sweetie, can you hear me?"

Praying for some sign that he would respond, Carole reached out to tentatively touch his knee.

A low growl hissed through Kurt's teeth, his lips pulling back and his muscles stiffening under Carole's fingers. She quickly drew her hand back.

Swallowing and bracing her jaw against a sudden onset of tears, her throat aching and her eyesight blurring, Carole sat back on her heels. She drew a breath as deeply as she could, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, then exhaled and set her shoulders back.

"I love you," she said, forcing down the rock in her esophagus. "I'll be right downstairs when you wake up."

Steeling herself, Carole stood back up and left Kurt where he was. She watched him for a moment longer than necessary before closing the door and re-tying the rope around the handle.

Kurt felt drunk, dizzy, and way, way out of control. He was acting purely on instinct now, his body doing all the work for him as the crowbar cracked down again and again and again, beating Truman into the ground. Kurt was seethingly angry and unsteady, and there was a frightening amount of strength in each of his blows as the thunder continued to roll through the black clouds.

Truman had curled with his arms protecting his head, the rest of him a bloody mess. His collarbone was snapped, along with at least two of his ribs, and his clothes were torn and stained red in splotches.

Every time the crowbar connected with easily damaged flesh with a crunch, Kurt wanted Truman to physically feel and be unable to run away from the horrible, agonizing, disgusting pain he'd inflicted on every single person he'd met inside and outside of this body.

Crunch. That one was for Brittany. Crunch. For Mercedes. Crunch. For Santana. Crunch. Rachel. Blaine. Craig. Crunch. Carole. Finn. Zack. Dad.

The sound of the crowbar tearing Truman's skin apart was so loud in Kurt's ears that he didn't even realize he was screaming, his lungs almost ripping in two until, at long last, he couldn't anymore. His arm dropped to his side in exhaustion, the bloodied iron dragging across the gravel. Some of the blood was washed off by the rain, turning the pebbles red.

Truman coughed, red spattering the ground beneath his head, and Kurt stood slumped and breathing hard. He was tired. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Eleanor and Robbie watching him in shock, Tyler clutching Eleanor's waist with one arm and Raleigh with the other.

Kurt exhaled heavily, still winded. He gestured to Truman. "Grab him," he ordered.

None of them moved.

"Eleanor. Robbie." Kurt nodded more pointedly to Truman, who was still lying on his side and trying to breathe through the broken ribs. "Grab him."

Eleanor gave Tyler a squeeze around the shoulders, then followed Robbie and reached down to gingerly grasp Truman's shoulder. "Jesus, Kurt," she said quietly, her hands instantly stained bright red.

She and Robbie pulled Truman up onto his knees, making him growl in pain. There was a wet rattle in Truman's chest, and Kurt was fairly sure the lungs had been punctured, but he couldn't exactly say he was worried about that.

"What the fuck are you going to do, huh?" Truman spat, his words a little slurred through the blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. He struggled against Robbie and Eleanor's grip. "You don't have the balls, asshole. You came back weeks ago and you haven't done shit. You're weak!"

"I made you a promise," Kurt said lowly, ignoring the curling of his gut as he reached forward, digging around in Truman's jeans pocket and pulling out a lighter. He left the crowbar discarded on the ground. "And now I'm following through."

Truman spat a dollop of blood onto the ground at Kurt's feet. "Fuck you," he snarled.

Kurt only flicked the lighter, holding the flame in his hand. The rain didn't douse it – didn't even touch it. "You killed Craig," Kurt said. "And Zack. I can kill you."

Truman grinned, his teeth cracked and slick with red. "You think it's that easy?"

"You're not real."

Kurt grabbed Truman by the hair, wrenching his head back to expose the soft underside of his jaw, and he let the flame lick across the skin. Truman twitched as it bit into him, blistering and angry red, but Kurt didn't let up. Truman's nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and unclenching as Eleanor and Robbie held him down.

A strange calm settled over Kurt like a wave as he watched the patch of Truman's skin burn and crack and, slowly, turn black like charcoal.

Wait…

There was an abrupt and pungent stench of grilling meat, tendrils of smoke curling up. Truman's flesh was charred, little by little by little.

Just wait…

And, finally, Truman seemed to lose a battle with himself, his twisted face snapping, giving way, and his mouth dropping open to scream. He writhed, his feet kicking up the gravel as he desperately tried to pull away despite the broken bones grating in his torso. His spine bent and turned, his screams growing louder and louder until they echoed across the playground.

Thunder trembled through the air, lightning shooting down to stab the dirt a few yards away.

Kurt took his hand away, Truman's body thrashing in Robbie and Eleanor's grip. The fire was burning on its own now, moving across Truman's skin like paper held over a candle, and Truman was still howling as it rapidly ate across his chest, arms, down his torso, up to his ears. Robbie and Eleanor dropped their hold before the fire could singe their fingertips, quickly backing away. Truman collapsed on the gravel, the flames surging up and erupting from his back almost like wings. Before long, his entire body was engulfed, the fire roaring and ripping down to his bones.

As the rain continued to beat the ground around him, Kurt exhaled slowly and sank down to sit cross-legged, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. Truman had stopped screaming.

Kurt watched until the finally fire died away, leaving nothing behind.

Eventually, the rain petered out, leaving the playground half-flooded. The clouds kept rolling across the sky, thunder constantly rumbling in the distance, and Kurt remained sitting on the ground by the swings with his head in his hands, too weary to move. Zack was still lying splayed on the gravel where he'd fallen, his eyes open and his body half submerged in a puddle.

"Kurt?"

Kurt glanced up to see Eleanor standing next to him. She was holding the still-bloody crowbar in her hand. "Where's Tyler?" he asked.

"I told Robbie to watch him." She sat down beside him, resting the crowbar on her knees. "Are you all right?"

Kurt nodded, staring at the place where Truman had burned into nothing. "Yeah," he said. "I think I am."

Eleanor's mouth pressed into a thin line, her chin trembling slightly. She looked… afraid. Kurt was about to ask her what was wrong, but before he could, she took a deep breath and placed the crowbar in his hands.

"Kill me," she said.

Kurt dropped the bar like it was on fire. "What? No."

She grabbed it again and pushed it back into his lap, her eyes threatening to overflow. "Do it. Please, you have to."

"No!" Kurt argued, quickly lurching to his feet and stepping back. "Do not make me do this."

Eleanor's teeth clenched, rage seeping into her voice as her fingers curled into fists. "You don't have a choice!" she cried, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "You have to kill us!"

"I'm more than this!" Kurt shouted, his heart desperately racing in his chest. "I'm more than you!"

"No, you're not!" Eleanor insisted, sobbing now. "Until you get better and get rid of all of us, you'll never be anything more than a piece!" She was on her knees on the wet gravel, her lungs heaving. She was begging. "If you want to be more than a 'we', you have to kill us. Otherwise, you'll be stuck like this for the rest of your life."

Kurt shook his head. This was way too much; he couldn't do this. He was going to be sick.

"You said it yourself!" Eleanor cried, her voice breaking. "We are a disease! Your white blood cells aren't going to kick us in the ass for you – you have to do it. So take the crowbar and kill me."

The breath rushed out of Kurt's chest, his heartbeat thudding in his ears and fingertips. She was right. He knew she was.

Unable to breathe, Kurt reached down and picked up the crowbar, his fingers tightening around the cold iron. Eleanor closed her eyes tight, and Kurt raised it over his shoulder, bracing himself to bring it down on her head.

He had to do this. One blow – maybe two – to the right spot, and Eleanor would be gone. She'd never scream and swear at Kurt's family again. She'd never cut his hair. She'd never fight with him. She wasn't going to fight him now.

Kurt's hands were shaking.

His eyes flickered to Zack's body, neck twisted like a rag doll discarded on a dirty street.

The crowbar dropped, falling harmlessly to the ground by Kurt's feet with a thunk. Eleanor's eyes snapped open.

"I… I can't," Kurt said.

Eleanor gritted her teeth, snatching the crowbar and pulling herself to her feet. "Kill me," she pressed, trying to shove it back into Kurt's hands.

Kurt only shook his head, refusing to take it. "No."

"You have to!"

"I CAN'T!" Kurt shouted, his heart twisting between his lungs.

"Why not?!"

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but his words died in his throat. He blinked back a sudden rush of tears, his jaw tightening, and his hands raked through his hair. This was too much.

"H-How am I supposed to live without you?" Kurt asked, because he genuinely didn't know. "How am I supposed to function? I don't want to be alone!" A sob wrenched out of his chest. "I don't want there to be nothing but space in my head!"

"Having us here is worse!" Eleanor yelled hoarsely. "You can't control us!"

"YOU ARE ME!" Kurt screamed, feeling dizzy and sick and like the earth was crumbling underfoot. "I don't want to die!"

Eleanor stopped short, staring at him.

"I'm sorry, I… I can't."

The corners of her mouth pulled tight as she collected herself, a few stray tears making their way down her cheeks. "Fine," she snapped, throwing the crowbar to the ground. "Fine."

Without another word, she walked away and left Kurt desperately, painfully alone.