Finn remained in his room for the next few hours, still feeling sick to his stomach. He was nauseous enough to be sure that if he saw Kurt, he'd throw up on the spot. Logically, Finn understood that none of this was really Kurt's fault, but it was hard not to blame him when it had been Kurt's hands and Kurt's mouth and Kurt's face.

But who really knew?

The more Finn thought about it, the more his head hurt. He wasn't much of a deep thinker, but when it came to Kurt he usually ended up stretching his ability of understanding. By now it had slowly dawned on the Hudson-Hummels that whatever had happened to Kurt had been of… that nature, and Finn guessed it was possible that one of the ways Kurt's brain figured out how to deal with it was to believe that it was okay to do that, but at the moment that was just a little much for Finn to process, and he put it out of his mind.

Outside of his room, he could hear his mom and Burt getting ready to leave for Athens, double checking and making sure Kurt had all the necessities, but he didn't know where Kurt was. Judging by how violently he'd been crying earlier (after he'd found out what Truman had done, no doubt), he'd probably switched to Tyler and was now curled up with Raleigh on the couch, Finn thought bitterly.

He was just sick of it.

Around noon, there was a soft knock on his door. "Finn?" Kurt's voice was barely audible through the wood. "Finn, please open the door."

Finn stayed right where he was, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

"Finn, please—" Kurt's breath hitched audibly, and Finn kept his eyes trained on a spot on one of the rafters above his head. "I want— I need to… I'm so sorry, Finn, you have to believe me. Please. I'm so sorry."

Rolling over, Finn purposefully turned away from the door, trying not to listen. His stomach was churning.

"Please— Can you open the door?" Kurt's voice cracked, and he knocked again. "Finn?"

Finn let out a long breath. "I'll see you in a couple weeks," he said, just loud enough for Kurt to hear him.

In truth, Finn didn't know when he would next see Kurt. He didn't know if he'd be ready to visit the hospital next week or next month or if he wouldn't be ready to face Kurt again until he was all better and not turning into different people. He couldn't help feeling like maybe that might be a good thing.

There was a long silence from the other side of the door.

Eventually, Burt's voice called Kurt downstairs, saying they were ready to go. There was a shuffling sound as Kurt began to move down the hall, but then stopped and turned back.

"Just…" Kurt trailed off for a moment, his voice shaking. "Just please don't hate me for too long, okay?"

Then he was gone.

Burt sat in the back seat of Carole's sedan with Kurt as the car pulled out of their driveway. Kurt was silent, watching as they turned a corner and the house vanished from view. Burt squeezed Kurt's hand and didn't say anything when Kurt seemed to not even notice the touch.

That morning had been undoubtedly one of the worst times any of them had experienced in regards to Kurt's illness. For Kurt especially, though, so Burt couldn't really say he was that surprised when Kurt began to slouch in his seat before they'd even passed the Lima city limits, propping his knees up against the back of the passenger seat and glaring out the window with a familiarly half-bored and half-irritated expression.

"Hey, Robbie," Burt sighed, recognizing the posture instantly. He let go of Kurt's hand.

"Not really in the mood to talk, Mr. Bearenstein," Kurt replied dryly without looking away from the window. Carole glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Is Kurt okay?" Burt pressed.

Kurt head twisted to give Burt a scathing, are-you-kidding-me scowl. "What do you think?"

"Is he going to be okay, then?"

Kurt shrugged and looked back out the window. "That's not up to me."

Burt blinked, frowning in confusion. "Who's it up to, then?"

Kurt didn't speak for the rest of the three-hour drive.

The ward the hospital had placed Kurt in consisted of six rooms (each with two beds separated by a curtain), a TV and computer room that the doctors had explained was available to patients that were actively working to make progress, and a sizable common area that was actually quite welcoming and comfortably arranged. There was also a "quiet room," which was located at the side of the common area opposite to the bedrooms and had no windows and a rather solid-looking door. Burt asked what the room was used for, and the orderly giving them the quick tour replied with, "That's where he can go if he feels like he really needs to be alone in order to calm himself down. It's basically a voluntary solitary confinement."

Burt swallowed. "Where's the room for involuntary confinement?"

"Down the hall, outside the ward."

Kurt, who was still under the control of Robbie, barely batted an eye and regarded the entire setting with mild distaste.

The room that Kurt was given was painted a soft glowing orange and a window was set into the back wall, the pane frosted so as to allow sunlight in without giving a view of the outside (the orderly said it was to keep visual triggers to a minimum). Burt hefted Kurt's small-ish suitcase onto the foot of his assigned bed, and the orderly pawed through it, withdrawing only Kurt's iPod.

"He needs that with him," Burt protested immediately. "Music helps him calm down sometimes."

The orderly shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, but he's not allowed cords or wires of any kind. If he's making a visible effort towards integration, then he'll be allowed to use the iPod under supervision, out in the common area. Until then, we have to keep it at the nurse's station."

"Good thing you didn't pack shoelaces," Kurt remarked, surveying the room as if he was subtly looking for an escape route. Burt wondered if Kurt could hear or see anything going on, or if Robbie was blocking all of that.

Finally, a doctor in his fifties knocked on the doorframe and came into the room, wearing a hospital ID card on a strap around his neck and carrying a red file in his hand. His hair was grey but he'd obviously been ginger-haired in the past, and he had a stomach that bulged slightly over his belt. He wasn't wearing a white coat, which for some reason Burt was grateful for.

"Hi, I'm Ted McManus," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm one of the residential doctors for this ward."

Burt shook his hand. "Hi."

Dr. McManus glanced over the file. "I have to say, this is sort of an unusual case," he admitted, glancing toward where Kurt was leaning back against the wall by the window with his arms crossed, glowering. "Can I ask why you didn't apply for an inpatient setting at a facility that specializes in DID?"

"We wanted Kurt close to home," Burt replied. "A three hour drive was about as far as we were willing to compromise."

"I see." McManus closed the file and turned his full attention to Kurt. "So, Kurt, it looks like you'll—"

"It's Robbie," Kurt snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry," McManus said, appearing unfazed. "Where's Kurt now? Can I speak to him?"

"No."

McManus nodded, accepting the blunt answer. "We'll work on that later, then." He stuck the file under his arm as he talked. "Okay, so, we follow a fairly regular schedule here every day for the patients. We're not the Army, obviously, but we do like to keep the patients from sitting around all day with nothing to do. They can choose whether or not to partake in the activities, though, apart from individual and group therapy. If you'd like, I can have Paul print out a copy of the schedule for you at the nurses' station."

"That'd be great," Burt said.

"You have any other questions?"

Burt held his breath for a second, then shook his head. "Uh, no, I think that's it."

McManus pulled a business card out of his pocket and scribbled something across the back of it, then handed it to Carole. "That's my personal contact information, so feel free to call me any time, day or night, to check up on Kurt's progress. I also wrote down the direct number to the phone that the patients use here, so you can use that number to call Kurt, anywhere between eight in the morning and seven at night."

Burt swallowed and nodded, beginning to feel something akin to panic clawing at his intestines. Carole picked up on this, and reached down to clasp his hand.

"Okay, I think we're good," said McManus. "You can have a few minutes before you leave, and Robbie, I guess I'll see you again pretty soon, if you're around."

Kurt only scowled at the doctor's back as he left the room.

Carole squeezed Burt's hand tightly before he steeled himself and stepped towards Kurt. "I, uh…" he trailed off, searching for the right words.

"We're not doing the whole hugging-goodbye thing," Kurt drawled. "That's where I draw the line."

Burt nodded, the base of his throat working to stretch around a boulder the size of a bowling ball. "Okay."

"Are you leaving or what?"

Burt had to swallow a second time before he was able to mutter a rushed, "I'll see you soon, kiddo."

Carole took his hand again, not even loosening her grip until they reached the car.