A/N: Hey guys! So I know that the last few chapters have been full of cavity inducing fluff, but no longer—at least for this chapter, haha. For those of who were wondering where the hurt/comfort went, don't worry; those chapters were primarily filler chapters for the time of Kyle's suspension. Prepare for more angst and sadness :( sorry, but I gotta do it, guys. Anyway, thank you soo much for all the reviews, you have no idea how motivating they are.

Was there ever anything in the world as annoying as an alarm clock? At the moment, Kurt didn't think so.

"Ugh…dammit…" he groaned, rolling over on his side and banging on the device repeatedly until it shut off. The silence was almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but the voice in his head nagging him to get up deemed too loud to ignore. With a noise of complaint, Kurt rose from beneath his soft, down comforters and onto the floor, stumbling over to the bathroom to begin his extensive moisturizing routine.

Normally, he was very much a morning person, provided that he had gotten enough sleep the night before. In this instance, he hadn't. He'd spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, fidgeting in his sheets to no end and wishing that the next morning would never come. The suffocating pressure of anxiety had bore heavily down on his chest and, after checking his clock for the fourth time in the course of fifteen minutes, he'd figured that a sleepless night was unavoidable.

Kurt shut the mirror door on the cabinet above his sink after retrieving his skin care products, staring lifelessly at the bluish circles beneath his eyes and the pale pallor of his cheeks. He hadn't looked this awful in a while—not counting his appearance during his hospital stay. His bangs were matted in awkward clumps against his forehead and the rest of his hair stood up in random tufts along his scalp. He would have cared much more, if the circumstances were different. But today, only one thought was running through his mind in a continuous stream.

Kyle is back. Kyle is back- Kyle is back- Kyle is back.

He sighed heavily as he began to exfoliate, his shoulders slumping slightly as he rinsed his skin with freezing water. The temperature change was just enough to jolt him fully awake and out of his hazy stupor, and he shuddered as the memory of his beating appeared uninvited in the forefront of his thoughts. He remembered the way Kyle's face had looked just before the grand finale of punches and kicks ensued, the hockey captain's face sweaty and red and full of sadistic, unadulterated rage. Kurt's breath hitched and his heart increased in tempo; he didn't even realize that the hand holding his washcloth was frozen halfway up to his face until he consciously looked down and saw it, lowering the cloth down onto the counter so he could grip the edge with both his arms and breathe.

A sudden wave of anger washed over him and he slammed the heel of his hand down against the marble, glaring at the extremity until the pain ebbed away. He hated that he was so afraid all the time, hated that he had no control. It was ridiculous that he was frightened of entering his school premises, of walking alone in the hallway without someone to hide behind or cling to. He shouldn't have to look over his shoulder when eating lunch every day. He should be able to go to the bathroom by himself without worrying about getting shoved face first into a urinal.

Kurt growled menacingly in the back of his throat, the sound gradually increasing in volume as the fury boiled under his skin. He struck the counter again, but suddenly the pain wasn't enough to distract him; he needed another physical outlet. Without thinking, he lashed out at the bottles standing upright near the sink, sending them flying across the bathroom and into the wall with such force that they left divots in the plaster. They clattered to the floor one after the other and rolled until apart in different directions until they hit either the baseboard or the shower stall, leaving the bathroom in an eerie silence as the heat in Kurt's chest extinguished and morphed into a painful sorrow. Tears welled up and overflowed down his cheeks and he gritted his teeth against the wracking sobs pushing up past his lips. He tripped backwards as he moved his feet, catching himself against the wall and sliding down until he could feel the cool tile beneath him.

"Kurt?" Burt called from upstairs. "Is everything okay? I heard a crash."

"I'm f-fine, Dad," Kurt replied, his voice breaking as the onslaught of tears pursued. No response came from his father at first, but when it did, Burt's voice was considerably gentler.

"Is everything alright with you, son?" He called cautiously. Kurt didn't bother to answer, curling up in a ball and crying openly into his arms. Another minute passed as his father deliberated, and finally Kurt heard him descend down the stairs and into his bedroom. Burt pushed open the door hesitantly, his face dropping when he observed his son's hunched, grief stricken figure.

"Hey, hey…" He said softly, bending down to place a strong hand on Kurt's back. "It'll be okay."

"N-no it won't." Kurt choked, lifting his tear streaked face to lock eyes with his dad. "Kyle's coming back today. I'm screwed, dad. I'm freaking d-dead, and there's nothing I can do and it's not fair at all a-and…" Kurt broke down again and buried his head in his hands as sobs wracked through his thin frame.

"Kurt, let me tell you something," Burt started, rubbing his thumb comfortingly against the boy's shoulder blade. "That kid won't do a damn thing to you? You know why?"

Kurt shook his head a fraction of an inch.

"Because he's not stupid enough to get into more trouble. Even though I have absolutely no faith in that principal of yours, I know that, at the very least, he and the rest of the faculty are going to be breathing down Kyle's sorry neck for a long time coming. And if he does try anything," Burt paused, fighting to keep his face neutral. "He'll have to answer to me. And at that point, I won't care whose kid it is; I will beat on him like any good parent should."

Kurt sniffled and leaned into his father, taking comfort from his solid, protective hold.

"T-thank you." He whispered, wiping his face on the sleeve of his pajama shirt.

"No problem, bud. Are you okay to go to school though? I can't imagine you got that much of a rest last night. Maybe I could write a note so you can stay home."

"No, you don't have to do that for me," Kurt mumbled, sniffing and reaching for his tissue box. He took a moment to properly clean his face before standing up again, wobbling on his unsteady feet. He got another glimpse of himself in the mirror and groaned internally at how the salty tears had wreaked havoc on his face. "I have to buckle down and be brave, for once."

"Kurt," his father countered. "Don't feel like you have to prove yourself. You're one of the bravest people I know; I wouldn't think anything less of you if you decided to wait a day before going back, and neither would any of your friends."

Kurt shook his head solemnly. "I know that. But what do you think would happen if Kyle realized I wasn't there? He would think I was too scared to face him," he said, cringing at the thought of more abuse. Burt looked long and hard at his son, calculating and weighing options, before conceding with a short sigh.

"Alright, if that's what you want, it would be foolish of me to say otherwise. I'm proud of you, Kurt," he said with a small smile. "You're strong. Much stronger than I was at your age."

Kurt grinned weakly in response and let himself be pulled into a hug, taking a small, steadying breath in preparation for the day.

"Hey 'Cedes."

"Hey hun, how are you holding up?"

"Actually," Kurt began, sitting down next to his best friend as the bell signaling the beginning of Spanish erupted through the speakers. "Pretty well. I expected worse, to be honest, but luckily I haven't seen…him yet, or any of his minions. Maybe the suspension taught him a lesson. Maybe he's being more careful, now."

Mercedes' expression twisted skeptically but she caught herself, forcing her signature smile before Kurt turned to face her again. "That's great, Kurt! I'm happy for you."

Kurt raised one eyebrow sardonically, not buying her façade in the slightest. "But…?" A moment passed before Mercedes let her smile fall, wringing her hands guiltily.

"But…I wouldn't get your hopes up too soon," she said quietly, looking down into her lap. "I'm sorry, Kurt, but Kyle is just not the type of guy who gives up easily. None of the other bullies are. The same guy who throws slushies at me has been doing it for over two years and he's not stopping anytime in the near future. Sure, there's still hope that maybe Kyle's turned good, but I doubt it…I just don't see it happening."

Kurt didn't feel as disappointed as he thought he would. He had been careful about not getting his hopes up, but there was still a small sliver of it there that he could not control, and the feeling of it being crushed to bits was inescapable.

"Hey, don't feel bad," he told her, draping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a short squeeze. "I know the reality of it; it's okay. You don't have to handle me like a piece of cracked china." Kurt smirked lightly at his own comparison, wondering whether or not he had truly hit the mark with his identity. Mercedes gave him a pouty, half-smile leaning into Kurt's embrace.

"I love you, boo," she said vehemently, rocking the two of them back and forth. Kurt felt a bubble of laughter form for the first time that morning, and his grin widened until it was borderline painful.

"Love you, too."

The rest of the day passed quickly; no problems arose in the transitions between classes thanks to his very own chauffer service. Puckerman and Sam had insisted on walking him to every one of his rooms, as well as the cafeteria, glaring at anyone who dared to even look at Kurt the wrong way. After the initial embarrassment wore off, Kurt began to like the idea of having personal body guards. He knew that in no way would they last past a week, but he decided to enjoy the luxury while he could, seeing as how the glee kids' overactive concern would simmer down after a few days.

There was probably a large chance that Kyle knew this too and was waiting for the opportune moment to strike again, but Kurt decided to push this from his mind for the moment and bask in what was, up to that point, one of the least torturous school days in years.

The problem arose at the very end of the day as the New Directions were exiting the choir room. He'd broken away from the rest of the group to retrieve something from his locker, fully aware that he was alone and vulnerable in the empty hallway, just as he had been moments before Kyle and his thugs had cornered him outside. He could still hear his friend's voices as he made his way down the row of dented metal units lining the wall, his hand ghosting over the locks until latching onto his own and twisting the dial frantically.

He glanced over his shoulder frequently as he fumbled with the combination, starting over at least three times before the latch clicked and he yanked open the door.

Oh…Oh my god…

Kurt's stomach lurched and bile forced its way up through his throat. He found himself dashing down the hallway to the nearest bathroom, throwing open a stall and falling to his knees as he emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl. His palms were slick with sweat and they slid against the porcelain rim as his body heaved violently, choking on small bits of frantic breath that bordered dangerously on hyperventilation.

When he finally realized nothing was coming out anymore, he slumped back against the stall, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Kurt?" he heard Rachel call from somewhere. The building was silent enough that he could hear the symphony of footsteps as his group made their way down the hallway to look for him. He figured they must have come across his locker too, because every girl in the group shrieked and every boy yelped and let loose a stream of four-letter obscenities.

The image was so grisly, so horrible that it had been branded permanently in his mind.

At first, his brain hadn't registered what exactly the red stains were lining the inside of the space. Only until his eyes focused completely did he realize how nightmarish and gruesome it really was.

His locker had been ransacked and trashed, the only thing remaining inside of it too mangled and terrible to describe in detail. In fact, Kurt couldn't even tell what kind of animal it had been; whatever had massacred the poor creature had torn it to pieces, leaving only short, bloodstained tufts of tawny fur sticking through layers of innards and shredded muscle. Later when Kurt considered it more, he concluded that it was obviously a piece of road kill someone had picked up and stuffed in his locker. He was used to seeing things like it every once in a while during road trips with his dad because it was practically unavoidable in Lima, Ohio, where wildlife was more abundant than in larger city areas. If it had just been the road kill itself, however, he might not have gotten sick to his stomach.

What had truly done him in, though, was the perpetrator's attention to detail. Intentionally placed in the middle of the mass of fur, blood, and sinews was the picture of Blaine he'd kept on the inside of the locker door. In that picture, Blaine had been standing in front of the statue of liberty during one of his trips to New York City with his family, smiling broadly as a boat passed by in the periphery and the wind tousled his wild curls.

Kurt had cherished that picture.

Now, Blaine's beautiful face was marred with blotches of congealed blood. He couldn't handle that.

"Kurt! Where are you!"

He looked up just as Finn burst into the bathroom, his face pale but intensely angry.

"Here," Kurt croaked, his throat stinging from remnants of stomach acid. His face screwed up disgustedly at the residual taste. Finn saw him crouched in the stall and he let out a sigh of relief.

"How…how could somebody…?" Finn started, his voice breaking midway through.

"I don't know."

"It's…so…sick…"

"Y-yeah…"

The two of them stood in a numb silence before the quarterback stepped over to the sink and splashed some cool water on his face, smacking his cheeks to retrieve some of the life that had been sucked away.

"Finn!" Kurt heard Rachel call from outside the door. Her voice was strained and wavering. "Did you find him?"

"Yeah, he's in here with me."

Kurt watched as Rachel pushed through into the boy's room, her face shining with frightened tears, and made a b-line straight for him, diving to the floor and pulling him into a suffocating hug.

"Oh my god, Kurt," she blubbered, burying her face in his shoulder. "That's so…awful…I can't even begin to …why would someone…?"

Kurt didn't have the energy to return the hug. He let his hands rest at his sides and he stared at the wall across from him. Every part of him seemed…dead. He couldn't get a grasp on any real emotion, even though he knew he should have been screaming or crying or passing out or something. He couldn't get past this void, this lack of anything and everything. This total emptiness.

Before he knew it, all of New Directions had filed into the bathroom, each of them with a similar, disturbed expression on their face. They gathered outside of the stall and looked upon him with such pity that Kurt wanted to shrink into a ball.

Each gave their two-pence of consolation before stepping back and letting him exit the small space, all giving him a gentle pat on the back or arm. Puck was the first to speak up again, and his voice was eerily calm.

"That's it. I'm killing him. I don't care about the jail time; I'm killing him."

"Kurt, we need to talk to Figgins about this." Quinn murmured, her normally smooth voice uneven and rough.

Kurt nodded silently, his eyes dry and lips still drained white.

"What is Figgins gonna do? Think about it; what has he really done to help Kurt?" Santana piped in, the edge in her voice evident as she fell back into the same defense mechanism she used when she was scared.

"I say we just take care of this ourselves and beat the shit out Kyle." Sam growled, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Guys, guys! We can't beat the shit out of anyone." Tina said, calming the riled crowd. She quickly turned to Kurt, adding, "not that we don't want to, of course, but we would just get into tons of trouble. For now, at least, let's just get Kurt to Figgins, and then we'll figure it out from there."

The glee kids grumbled their agreement and began to leave the bathroom. Mercedes stayed behind and linked her arm in Kurt's, her eyes trained sadly to the floor and not saying a word as she pulled him along beside her. They made sure to take an alternate route to the main office in the opposite direction of his locker.

Kurt could almost see the formation of a cycle happening. Was it always going to be this way? He would get hurt, and then run straight to Principal Figgins only to be placated and brushed away, returning there when the next problem arose just to get the same result. Why couldn't the system be on his side for once in his life? Was it destined to be this way until he left high school? He didn't know if he could survive that way. At some point, it would become too much to handle. He knew his limits.

A thought passed idly through his head as he was dragged along, a question as to how much more he could really take before he went under. He was already treading on thin ice; he just didn't know what event would be enough to break the surface.