Hours passed, and there was no sound from inside Kurt's room. Finn had helped Carole clean up the living room and the kitchen from the chaos left behind by the afterparty, and then excused himself so that he wouldn't have to listen to the phone conversation when she called Burt to let him know what happened. Retreating to his bedroom, Finn shut the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, far too tired for this early in the evening.

Come to think of it, it was probably a mistake to be in a quiet room by himself now, with Brittany's scream echoing in his head over and over again. He felt frustrated and exhausted and guilty and hurt, and it was all making him sick.

He just wanted to plug his ears and block out everything.

There was no way to fix this.

His cell phone buzzed on his bedside table, and he huffed before picking it up, fairly sure that he didn't have the physical space in his head to deal with everyone else's prying questions about Kurt.

Is Kurt going back to the hospital?

Finn frowned. The text was from Blaine, and it was a little odd that he wasn't asking if Kurt was all right. Then again, Finn supposed it was pretty damn obvious that Kurt wasn't and wouldn't be. At least for a long time.

tomorrow morning, he texted back.

Blaine never responded to that.

Staring at his ceiling, Finn finally sighed and scrolled through his phone contacts until he found Santana's number, swallowing as he pressed the call button.

"What do you want, Frankenteen?"

Finn's mouth suddenly went dry. "I just… wanted to call and see if Brittany was okay," he stammered lamely. "Is she?"

Santana wasted no time with a blunt answer. "Your stepbrother practically raped her, Finn. She's not okay."

Finn cringed reflexively. "I – I know, I'm sorry."

"Shut up, I know it's not your fault," Santana snapped.

"Well… if there's anything I can do, just – let me know?" he said, resisting the urge to argue that it wasn't really Kurt's fault either.

"We're good," Santana replied, her voice tight and guarded.

"Okay. I, uh… I'll see you at school."

"Wait, Finn—" she stopped him before he could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"You can tell Kurt that if he ever comes near Brittany again, I snap his neck."

The line clicked and went dead.

When Kurt woke up, he was crouched in the corner of his room, his calves and knees burning from the exertion of being cramped in the same position for however long he'd been out of it. Drawing a deep breath, Kurt winced as he sat back against the wall underneath his window, stretching out his legs and gritting his teeth as he massaged his sore muscles.

He craned his neck to get a better view of the alarm clock on his bedside table, relieved when it told him only a few hours had passed since the last thing he could remember.

A wave of nausea slammed into him like a brick wall as Brittany's face flashed in front of his eyes, and he had to stop himself from breathing for a full minute so he wouldn't vomit.

Fighting tears, Kurt rose slowly to his feet, hissing through his teeth as his sore legs protested. He braced an arm against the windowsill to take some of the weight off until his circulation was restored, watching the evening light gradually fade outside. The sky was streaked with vibrant reds and purples and blues and oranges, an early summer breeze ruffling the leaves of Carole's rosebushes, and it was… strangely calming.

Kurt didn't think he'd heard a silence quite like this in his life.

His chest felt tight.

Turning his eyes away from the world outside, Kurt crossed his floor and reached for the door handle. He knew before he twisted it that the rope was holding the door shut, and was horribly unsurprised when it wouldn't give. "Hello?" he called, banging the side of his fist against the door. "Carole? Finn?"

He couldn't hear anything from the hallway or from downstairs.

"Hello?"

Patting his jeans pockets only to find them empty, he scanned the room for his cell phone, hoping it would be somewhere where he could get it. Yet another reason to hate the alters – they liked to mess with his stuff. He eventually found the phone lying a few inches out of sight beneath his bed (it must have fallen from his pocket and been kicked under) and quickly punched out a text to Finn.

Are you going to let me out?

Kurt held his breath, praying Finn would answer.

His phone buzzed.

coming

The door handle squeaked a moment later as the rope was unwound from the other side, and the door swung open.

"…Hey," Kurt said.

Finn flinched slightly as his eyes traveled over Kurt's face, taking in the bruise and the swollen lip. "Hey." There was an agonizingly tense pause, and then Finn swallowed. "Well, you're free," he stated, then turned to leave.

"W-Wait, Finn—" Kurt took a step after him.

Finn stopped, waiting for Kurt to speak.

"Is Brittany okay?"

Finn blanched, but it was barely visible. "You remember that?"

Kurt nodded silently.

Looking down for a second, Finn's fingers twitched before he replied. "I talked to Santana earlier. She'll be all right."

Something flitted over Finn's face, but Kurt couldn't quite tell what it was. "Good," he said softly. "I, uh… I don't suppose you could tell her I'm sorry?"

Finn's mouth tightened. "I could, but Kurt… I'll be honest; she's never going to want to see you again. Santana too."

A rock ground against the walls of Kurt's throat. "I know. But tell her anyway?"

"Okay," Finn nodded. "And I'm… sorry about your face, by the way. Things got a little crazy with Truman."

Kurt shrugged. "Someone had to punch him in the face. I'm glad it was you."

Finn let out a strained, rough chuckle. "You think you'll be okay?"

Kurt crossed his arms protectively over his chest, which felt a little like it was shredding itself from the inside. "I don't know," he said, staring at the floor. "Seems pretty unlikely, doesn't it?"

Finn was quiet.

"Does your silence mean you agree?" Kurt forced out in a nervous laugh, his arms tightening over his torso.

"I'm just scared for you, Kurt," Finn said, leaning back against the corridor wall. "I hate that you're like this because it's not your fault and you shouldn't have to be so stuck."

Kurt let out a long, shaky exhale. "Yeah, well… what's done is done," he muttered.

"Oh, come on, Kurt," Finn protested. "Why are you acting like you've got terminal cancer or something? You can still beat this thing."

Kurt didn't say anything, partly because he didn't really know how he was supposed to respond, but mostly because he didn't believe Finn and he didn't have a lie of agreement ready.

"I have an idea," Finn said abruptly, then turned to head down the stairs. "Come on, dude."

Kurt frowned in confusion, but followed Finn down to the living room. Finn snatched a notepad and pen off of Carole's desk in the corner and plopped onto the couch.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked suspiciously, standing uncertainly off to the side.

"Sit down," Finn urged. "I'm not doing anything. You are figuring out everything you want to do after all your crap is under control – which it will be eventually – and then we're going to write all of those things down."

Kurt stared at him. "…Why?"

"Would you just trust me on this?"

"Fine," Kurt huffed, sinking into the armchair to Finn's right. "What, um… what do you want me to do?"

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. This doesn't have anything to do with me; it's your choice. What's something you've always wanted to do?"

Kurt thought for a minute, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. "Travel, I guess. I want to go to France and England. Anywhere in Europe, really."

"Awesome," Finn smiled, tearing a strip of paper off the notepad and scrawling across it. He folded it in half and dropped it on the coffee table. "What else?"

"Perform in a leading role on Broadway," Kurt said.

"I'm actually kind of amazed you didn't say that one first," Finn remarked, scribbling it down. Another folded piece of paper was dropped on the table.

Kurt suppressed a smile at that, still not sure why he was going along with this. Whatever this was. He didn't know what the hell Finn was trying to accomplish.

"What else?" Finn pressed.

"I want to get a 1967 Pontiac GTO."

Finn's eyebrows climbed upwards. "You want a what?"

Kurt leaned back in his chair, folding one leg so his ankle rested under his other knee. "It's a classic muscle car. I want to buy one and rebuild the engine."

"Seriously? You?"

Kurt gave him a look. "I might enjoy fashion and female-oriented TV, but I'm still a mechanic's son and I love cars. Why do you think I had the Navigator?"

Finn snorted. "When you do get it, you and me should take a road trip. It'd be fun."

Kurt blinked, his head tilting to the side in surprise. "Write that down."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, sounds great."

A wide grin spread across Finn's face. "Awesome. It's a plan."

Kurt swallowed. "Is that what all of these are supposed to be? Plans?"

"Yep," Finn said, ripping the most recent page off the pad and adding it to the pile. "You're going to think of as many as you can, then we'll put them in a jar, and they'll all be waiting for you when you're ready."

"I don't understand…" Kurt admitted, his stomach squirming. "Why are we doing this?"

Finn sighed, his pen resting on top of the notepad. "We're always spending so much energy on you, Kurt."

…Okay, that hurt.

"We're always worried about you and trying to get you better and trying to keep the alters from destroying all this crap," Finn continued, not noticing that Kurt's muscles had gone rigid. "But none of us – including you – ever take a second to think what it might be like once you are better."

Kurt kept his mouth shut, his tongue clamped between his teeth.

"I mean… do you even think about that?" Finn asked, his tone oddly quiet.

It was a long minute before Kurt worked up the courage to reply, picking at his nails. "I try not to."

"Why?"

"Because, Finn—" Kurt shook his head. "It's exhausting. Going to college, getting a job, getting married, having a kid – or at least being stable enough to know that it's a possibility – all those things that are normal… Just the idea of getting out of my own head feels like it's never going to happen and I don't want to keep hurting myself by imagining some kind of fantasy life."

"Who says it's just a fantasy?" Finn argued.

Kurt huffed, raking a hand through his hair.

"You see? You're stuck, and I don't get why you're not willing to try anything and everything to get unstuck. If you don't have something to look forward to, Kurt, then how the hell are you ever going to get out of this?"

Kurt swallowed, feeling his chin tremble slightly. He sniffed, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. "You're right," he conceded, trying to push away the nerve-wracking panic worming its way through his intestines. "You're right."

Finn nodded. "Yes, I am," he said. "So, what else do you want to do?"

Kurt sat up with a cough, squaring his shoulders and forcing everything back – all the fear and apprehension and frustration. He would deal with all of that later.

"I want to convince Mr. Schue to never rap again," he said, driving a smile onto his face.

Finn snorted and added it to the pile.

Kurt went to bed early with a headache gnawing on his brain. Finn had found a large clamp-lid jar in the kitchen that wasn't being used and together they had shoved the pile of paper slips into it, filling it halfway and snapping the lid tightly shut. Kurt had then placed the jar on an empty spot on the shelf by the TV, chewing his lip and staring at it for several seconds before Carole called for dinner. Kurt was hungry, but he still felt like his insides were churning and he wasn't willing to eat just yet.

Flopping onto his bed upstairs and refusing to turn any of the lights in his room on, Kurt lay there in the dark and prayed that his stomach would settle.

It was quiet. Too quiet, like just after a storm had passed.

Kurt didn't trust it.

He didn't know how long he'd just laid there waiting for sleep when there was a soft knock on the door. "Kurt, sweetie?" Carole called gently, leaning her head into the room. Kurt twisted around to look at her. "Your dad's on the phone."

Kurt immediately sat up, and Carole stepped over to hand him the cordless. She planted a kiss on his head before bidding him a good night and promising to see him in the morning. The door shut again behind her.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt greeted him, somehow sounding sad and hopeful at the same time. "How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," Kurt answered, tugging on a loose thread on the knee of his pajama pants. He leaned back against the headboard.

There was a mumbled noise of agreement from the other end. "Carole told me what happened."

Kurt's insides clenched, a rock settling into his esophagus.

"I'm sure Bethany will be fine."

"Brittany, Dad," Kurt couldn't help correcting him.

"Right."

The silence seeped into the air again, dragging its fingers down Kurt's shoulders and making him shiver.

"Are you okay?"

Kurt's lungs abruptly recoiled inside his ribcage, his eyesight blurring. "…No," he admitted, his voice thick and thin and stretched out all at once. He clamped his free hand over his mouth, preventing himself from breathing, and pulled his legs up to his chest.

"I'm really sorry this happened," Burt said softly.

Kurt couldn't hold his breath for very long, and his lungs betrayed him, forcing out a shuddering sob from between his teeth.

"Talk to me, Kurt. Please."

Wiping his face on his pajama sleeve, Kurt coughed, inhaling sharply. "I-I, um…" he tried.

There was a staticky breath on the other end. "Kurt, please be honest with me…" Burt started, his tone heavy as iron. "Are you having suicidal thoughts again?"

Kurt bit his lip, attempting to swallow around the boulder in his throat. "I don't want to die…" he said.

"Okay." Burt sounded like he didn't entirely believe Kurt, but he was relieved just the same. "Okay, good."

"I just, um…" Kurt started again, tugging more anxiously at the loose thread on his knee. Every part of him felt like it was shaking on a cellular level. "…I'm just kind of feeling like it'd be better if I did."

Burt didn't say anything for a long time. Kurt's hand tightened around the phone, and he tried not to listen to his heartbeat pulsing surely through his ears.

"Tell you what, kiddo," Burt broke the quiet suddenly after several lengthy seconds. "This Saturday I'm going to drive down to Athens and get you a day pass, and then you and me are going to find some cheap little diner in town, and we're going to eat the cheesiest, most fattening food on the menu."

Kurt blinked in the dark, his eyes still burning. "Dad, what are you talking about?" He hiccoughed. "You can't eat stuff like that."

"For one day, I'm not going to worry about that," Burt countered fiercely, cutting him off. "And you're not going to worry about the alters. We're going to have a goddamn great father-son day like all the rest of the normal families out there."

A choked-off laugh jumped from Kurt's throat, his eyesight blurring again. "I wonder was normal feels like…" he mused aloud, sniffing.

"Boring as hell, probably."

Another laugh, hoarser than the last, made Kurt's esophagus ache.

"You think you can hold out until then?" Burt asked, his tone softening.

Kurt drew a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his mouth. "Yeah, I think so."

"Great. And afterwards, you'll just hold out until the next Saturday, and the next, and the next, and you'll just take it one week at a time until you don't have to any more."

Kurt held the phone tightly to his ear, the skin prickling beneath his anchor tattoo like the ink was trying to remind him it was there. His insides were no longer twisting in his gut.

"I love you, Dad," Kurt said, wrapping his free arm around his legs.

"I love you too, Kurt. Get some rest."

Kurt fell asleep with his fingers still clutching the phone.

Blaine spent the night tossing, tangled in his bed sheets and unable to sleep. It was too quiet in his room, but even plugging in his iPod and drowning out the silence with angry music didn't help. His mind was spinning, his brain heating up in his head, and after everything that had happened at Kurt's house he just wanted to lay still and sleep.

But every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was Kurt's face looming inches away with his features distorted. All he could hear was the rattling of the door as Kurt pounded against it, shrieking to be let out.

Eventually, the sky outside faded from black to grey, and the early morning sunlight spilled into Blaine's room. He shut his alarm clock off ten minutes before it was set to ring, took a shower hot enough to scald him, and got dressed in a daze, his brain prickling from exhaustion. His eyelids scraped across his pupils like sandpaper.

"You're up early," his mother commented as he sat down to breakfast.

He made a grunt of agreement in his throat, too tired to think a response beyond that.

"Well, your dad's still upstairs," she said, sitting at the table with a mug of tea.

Blaine yawned, stirring his coffee and trying to keep his eyes open.

"Are you not eating?" she asked, watching him a little too closely for comfort.

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something, Bumble."

Blaine said nothing, sipping his coffee and keeping his gaze locked on the table.

"Is this about what happened at Kurt's yesterday?"

He nearly choked, blinking in surprise. He hadn't told her anything; maybe Finn's mom had called the house? "I-I didn't…" he stammered.

"Blaine, I'm not stupid," his mother said flatly. "You came home yesterday and you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

Blaine swallowed, his fingers wrapping around each other.

"What's going on?" she pressed.

"Kurt's going back to the hospital this morning," he admitted, studying the details of the stitching on the tablecloth.

"I thought he was already in the hospital."

"I mean… I don't think they're going to let him out again for awhile," Blaine amended, feeling sick. He took another gulp of coffee, but it only succeeded in making him feel even worse.

"Because of what happened at the party?"

Blaine nodded, and she was quiet for a long time. His fingers clutched the warm ceramic of his coffee mug, bracing for… however she was going to react.

"Blaine, if he's leaving, you should probably go talk to him before you lose your chance."

For the second time, he blinked in bewilderment. He didn't know what reaction he'd been expecting, but that was not it. "I…" he started. "I thought you told me to stay away from him."

She let out a sigh, brushing her hair back. "I just wanted you to be safe is all, Blaine." She gave him a smile. "Besides, since when did that stop you?"

Blaine stared at her.

She nodded toward the front door. "Go on."

He barely had time to thank her before he ran out the door, grabbing his car keys on the way.

Kurt hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder as he followed Carole down the porch steps to the van sitting in the driveway, glancing up at the clear sky and allowing the early summer air to fill his lungs, the sunlight soaking into his skin. Finn had already said his goodbyes and left for school, promising to visit soon, so it would just be Carole bringing Kurt back to Athens. But as much as he wanted Finn and Burt to both come along, he was relieved to realize that… he didn't feel like he needed them to be there.

"Ready, sweetie?" Carole asked him as he shoved his duffel into the trunk.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good," he replied, and for the first time in what felt like years, it was an honest response.

Carole squeezed his hand and was about to walk over to the driver's side of the car, but a sedan suddenly pulled to a crooked stop by the curb in front of their lawn. Kurt's heart lurched when Blaine jumped out, leaving the engine running as he jogged toward them.

"Kurt!" he called.

Carole patted Kurt's shoulder and climbed into the car, silently giving them their space.

"Blaine?" Kurt took a step toward him as Blaine nearly skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Hey," he said, slightly out of breath.

Kurt's eyebrows knitted together. "What are you doing here?"

Blaine shifted from foot to foot, running a hand over his hair. "I just… wanted to see you before you left."

"Why?" Kurt's throat was suddenly burning, the pit of his stomach ice cold. "I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"That's not true," Blaine insisted with a shake of his head.

"It's not?"

Blaine's mouth clamped shut for a moment, but his eyes remained locked on Kurt's face, finally looking without avoiding. "I…" he started. "I miss you."

Kurt didn't respond immediately, the simple statement somehow carrying so much more weight in the present tense. He swallowed. "I miss you too."

Blaine's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, his jaw anxiously biting the insides of his cheeks. "When you get back, let me know, okay?"

"Okay."

Catching Kurt completely by surprise, Blaine abruptly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders in a painfully familiar embrace. And yet, at the same time, it was horribly different from before. Kurt returned the gesture, his fingers pressing into Blaine's shoulder blades as Blaine rested his chin on Kurt's collarbone, their arms clutching each other as if they hadn't met in decades. Kurt knew it would never go back to the way things were before – it would never be familiar again, not for them – and the fact that he'd known it for ages sat heavily in his blood.

Taking a deep breath and trying (and failing) to ignore the warm smell of Blaine's raspberry hair gel, Kurt felt the ice in his stomach crack as he pulled out of Blaine's arms. He held onto Blaine's shoulders for a second longer than necessary, looking him straight in the eye.

"Goodbye, Blaine."

And then Kurt let go without sparing himself any time to see Blaine's reaction, turning and walking as quickly as he could to the car. He climbed in beside Carole, leaving Blaine standing in the middle of their front lawn. Carole guided the van out of the driveway without a word.

As they drove down the street, Kurt couldn't help watching in the rearview mirror until Blaine had disappeared.

It's dangerous to confuse children with angels.
Magnolia