A/N: This. Shit. Is. HARD. It's hard to write, hard to edit, and hard to think about in between writing sessions. I honestly don't know if I'm going to be able to get the next chapter up on time next week, guys. I'll try, obviously, but getting the words out is like getting blood from a stone. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there, but this mindset is really, really hard. And I've been going back and reading what I've written and I don't like some of it anymore. I promise I'm trying. I really am. Just don't kill me if the next chapter is a few days late.

A few hours later found Harry curled up in Kurt's bed, the blankets pulled up over his head. Outside the room he could hear quiet voices, phones ringing, but those noises could barely process above the screaming in his head.

It was like every bad memory he had, every painful thought and feeling he was capable of had decided that now was the best time to be heard. With every breath he could hear his mother screaming and begging, could see Sirius fall backwards through the Veil with still-laughing eyes, could feel every hit and curse thrown at him by enemy and family alike... he couldn't filter any of it out. All he could do was curl up as tight as he could and shake and cry and fear.

Voices saying dangerous, monster, murderer rushed around his head, shouted and screamed and hissed and whispered like prayers. Freak, useless, made him leave, made him leave.

I can't do it, he thought wildly every few minutes, so stuck in the vicious loop he couldn't hear his own heavy breathing. I deserve this, I deserve worse, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, so scared so scared can't scream, can't scream, can't wake Uncle so scared-

Kurt had left to let him rest, but Harry had no idea when. He didn't know what time of day it was. Half the time he barely knew where he was, and only the subtle scent of Kurt on the sheet reminded him.

Kurt, Kurt, need Kurt with me, shouldn't be with me not good enough, scared scared so scared I want to die, I want to die-

The sound of the door opening a little made Harry flinch and try to curl up tighter. His shuddering sobs and weak whimpers were, for a moment, the only sound in the room. Then whoever stood in the doorway let out a shaky sigh and spoke.

"Harry?" the familiar voice was a little hoarse, a little hesitant. Footsteps across the soft carpet made Harry shudder, and the sounds paused. "It's Mr Schuester."

Harry felt a painful noise catch in his throat as the footsteps resumed their cautious approach. The teacher's voice remained weak, helpless, "I've - I've been talking to Burt. God, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"He left," Harry heard himself whimper, his hands beginning to tug at his hair. "He took all the medicine and left."

"I know," Mr Schuester sounded oddly choked up, and Harry could feel the bed shift as the man sat down next to him. "I'm so sorry. He was - you did nothing wrong, Harry, you have to know that."

"I made him leave," Harry countered, hands scrabbling for purchase on his scalp. He could feel little pinpricks of pain under his nails, but they seemed so minor, so insignificant compared to the pounding in his head and the burning of his chest.

"No, you didn't, Harry," a hand was resting on Harry's back over the blanket, and the boy found himself being torn between shoving it away, pushing the meddling, comforting man away from him because it was his fault too and I don't deserve his kindness and burrowing against the man's chest, begging the man to hold him like he had in the hallway a few days before. Like Remus used to and Burt did.

Like a father would.

"His illness made him leave," Mr Schuester tried to sooth him, and Harry felt a little of the fear and hurt easing at the sound of his voice. "Nothing more. He was just sick - hurt. He did the wrong thing here, Harry, not you."

"I want to die," Harry cringed as the words slipped out of him again. It felt like no matter what he tried to say that phrase would force its way out. It rested on the tip of his tongue, at the front of his mind, burning him with the truth of it. "I just - I'm so scared and so hurt and I keep hurting people and everyone keeps leaving-"

The blanket was suddenly dragged off of him, and Harry found himself being pulled into strong arms. He found himself weeping again as his teacher folded him into a paternal embrace, desperate, pleading words being murmured into his hair.

"Harry, don't. I know, I know that things are impossibly hard for you right now but things will get better. You have Kurt, you have the Hummels, you have all your friends in New Directions and you have me, Harry. We're all on your side and we want to help you, god, you're too good of a kid, too good of a person to die. None of us are going to leave you, none of us would want to leave you. Your friends are frantic - half of them are downstairs begging to see you, and the other half are in Finn's room working out how they can make this right again. You're safe here, Harry. It's okay, it's going to be okay."

"I'm scared," Harry wept into his teacher's chest, slinging to the man's vest with trembling hands.

"I know," Mr Schuester responded, his voice cracking just a little. "But you're safe now."

He went quiet then, just let Harry cry on him for a while. When the teenager's sobs tapered off and his trembling lessened, the teacher began talking again, "Everyone is worried about you. The club - they didn't understand, Harry. They didn't understand what you have... had to deal with every day. Artie's frantic with guilt - I saw him crying on Tina's shoulder earlier. And Quinn and Rachel haven't let go of one another's hands. Mercedes keeps switching between threatening to gut anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and praying, and Brittany hasn't said a word in hours. Those kids love you, Harry. They've messed up in the last few days, sure, but that doesn't change that you're one of their best friends."

"I shouldn't be. I hurt people," Harry mumbled against Mr Schuester's vest. The teacher's arms tightened around him.

"You help people," the teacher argued, his voice firm in its conviction even as it trembled with emotion. "You stood up for Kurt when you didn't even know him. You treated him like a person when most people treated him like dirt. I hear what you guys talk about in Glee, Harry. I know you checked on Brittany's cat when she thought it was talking to her. I know you helped Puck with his crush on your friend. I know you carried Quinn all the way from the gymnasium to her mom's car when she twisted her ankle in Cheerio practice a few weeks ago. I know you protect all the glee kids from bullies every day. You're a good friend to them. In the time you've been in America, you've accidentally hurt one person who was attacking you anyway. For someone with PTSD, that's a remarkable amount of control."

Harry just shook his head, the roaring in his ears making it hard for him to hear his teacher, let alone believe the comforting words. The teenager didn't notice when he began to drift off to sleep, nor did he feel himself being lowered back against the pillows and the blankets tucked around him. He didn't feel the gentle hand smooth back his hair, or hear the hushed conversation by the door a minute later ("Please, Mr Schue, we need to see him." "I know you're worried, guys, but Harry needs space right now.") He wasn't aware of anything outside of the dark whispers in his head, the swirling memories of blood and fire, and he dropped into an uneasy sleep. He didn't know that Mr Schuester came back into the room once he'd shooed the teenagers away from the door, sitting quietly at Harry's side as the boy slept fitfully, watching over him with tired, grief-filled eyes.

He didn't mean to break it, his aunt's favourite vase. In fact, he couldn't remember doing it. He'd been facing the other way on the other side of the room when it smashed, when Dudley starting screaming, "He broke it! The freak broke it!" He was tiny, just a little boy, but his uncle had thundered in and slapped him so hard he fell down. The blows kept coming, and an angry, wordless roar all he could hear as he curled up and tried to protect his face. He didn't understand, couldn't understand what he'd done. He hadn't meant to break the vase, hadn't meant to drag Sirius to the Department of Mysteries, hadn't meant to slip and get Kingsley killed... he looked up through his hands to the man raining blows down on him, but it wasn't his uncle anymore. It was Remus, half-man, half-wolf, face twisted in grief and rage as he tore at Harry's clothing, claws digging in to Harry's side, ripping him apart-

By the time Harry awoke in terrified tears, Mr Schuester had been replaced by a red-eyed Kurt. The boy was hovering over Harry, wringing his hands as Harry dragged himself out of his nightmare.

"I didn't want to startle you," Kurt stammered as Harry gasped, green eyes darting around the room to orient himself. "You told me once that I shouldn't try to wake you from nightmares, so I thought - I didn't want - yeah. Are you - how are you feeling?"

Harry's voice cracked into a moan as the details of the day came back. He curled up into a little ball under the sheets and buried his face against his arms, shivering a little despite the warmth of the room. Kurt sighed and reached out a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over Harry's hair.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question," he muttered. Harry could feel him shifting closer, could feel the weight shift on the bed so Kurt's warmth rested against him. "I'm sorry, I know you're - but it'll get better, okay? Mr Schuester promised to get you cleared from school for as long as you need, and you can stay here - or where ever you want. Just - whatever you need, sweetie, okay? I just want to make you feel better."

Harry's arms relaxed without him noticing, and he found himself reaching over the blanket towards Kurt automatically. Kurt instantly shifted so he was lying alongside his boyfriend, letting Harry cling to his chest and wrapping strong arms around the smaller boy's back.

"I don't know if I can get back from this," Harry whispered, his voice harsh from weeping. His mind was still racing, still clouded, but he felt so safe in Kurt's arms that it all seemed to dull for a moment. Words he had been too hysterical to think of before (ones he had heard during his stay at St Mungos and committed to memory for Remus's sake) began to sink into his mind - breakdown, hysteria, suicidal ideation, major depressive episodes combined with stress hallucinations - and his fingers tightened on Kurt's shirt. "I can't, I'm - I can't stop shaking-"

"You don't have to," Kurt murmured into his hair. "You just have to focus on feeling better. Is there anything you want? Water, food?"

"Water, please," Harry whispered, reluctantly allowing Kurt to pull away to reach for a glass of water by the bed. The wizard curled his arms around himself, eyes flickering around the room suspiciously. His brain, though less hysterical, was still running in helpless circles, making him curl up against himself again. Little snippits of things he'd learned for Remus' sake last year slithered through his panicked thoughts, flashes of words from books and pamphlets Hermione had found for him. Knowing that he was as Remus had been didn't really help.

Magic still isn't working, happened to Remus last year - when under extreme stress, a wizard or witches' magic will suppress itself in order to prevent magical backlash - but I need it, I need it, I'm nothing without my magic. What if they send me to hospital? I don't want to go to hospital, I feel sick, need a draught but I don't have one, can't get one, need one, the withdrawal symptoms for severe Calming Draught dependence are varied depending on level of addiction and the magical strength of the person taking them - Who's voice is that? Outside the door - no. No, no no, don't want anyone in here but Kurt, Kurt is safe, Kurt loves me, he said so. He shouldn't, he shouldn't love me, I'm nothing-

"Hey, come on," Kurt's soft hands pulled Harry's fingers away from where they were tugging on his hair, pressing the cool glass into his hand firmly. "Drink. You must be parched."

Harry's sweaty hand slipped on the glass, but Kurt held it steady as Harry reluctantly swallowed some water. It felt glorious against his burning throat, but he found himself spluttering a little as he tried to breathe in at the same moment.

"Careful," Kurt warned, pulling the glass away and rubbing Harry's back as he choked. "You okay?"

"Can't even breathe right," he grumbled, tugging away from Kurt's side and digging his nails into his arms. "I just - I can't control my body, Kurt. Why can't I control myself?"

"Don't worry about it," Kurt soothed, bringing the glass back towards Harry. As Harry took another tentative sip the countertenor rubbed his arm. "It's just - you'll feel better soon."

"I think I'm beginning to withdraw," Harry muttered, nausea rising in his throat. There was a faint pounding in his head he hadn't noticed in his hysteria, and it was becoming sharper against his forehead. The wizard squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face against Kurt's shoulder unconsciously. "I feel sick."

"Have a little more water and then lie down," Kurt ordered, the hand on Harry's back fluttering a little. "Is there anything that will make you feel better?"

"Nothing," Harry grimaces as another wave of nausea hit him. When Kurt sighed he flinched, pulling back on himself. "I'm sorry, Kurt. You don't have to do this, you don't have to take care of me-"

"I want to, sweetie," Kurt protested. Harry pulled back, beginning to tremble again.

"You shouldn't. I'm going - I'm going to be a mess, and so sick and in pain, you shouldn't have to deal with that, deal with me, I'm not worth it, Kurt," Harry began to babble, tugging away from his boyfriend weakly, and turning his face away when Kurt tried to catch his eye.

"You are-," Kurt tried again, but Harry's sharp voice cut over him, an edge of hysteria creeping back into his words.

"I'm not, I'm just not, I'm an ugly drug-addled freak and you should leave me, you should just let me die," Harry began to tug at his hair again, nausea giving way to a deep hurt again, and he felt tears stinging in his already burning eyes. He heard Kurt make a distressed noise and put the glass of water down, but he didn't react until Kurt tried to put his arms around him. The wizard curled away, burying his face into his arms and digging his nails into whatever skin he could reach. Kurt clamped his hands down over Harry's to stop him.

"Harry, stop this!"

"I deserve it, you should let me go, Kurt," Harry barely knew what he was saying, his mind swirling again. Kurt didn't budge.

"I'm not letting you go, Harry. I'm not."

"I deserve this, Kurt, I'm a monster-"

"No, Harry, you're not, you're not. You're not a monst-"

"I've killed people."

The words hung in the air for a moment, Harry's throat choking up at the confession. He stopped pulling away from Kurt and instead just sat and shook, waiting for his boyfriend to react. Kurt let out a slow breath against the back of Harry's neck.

"I kind of figured you would have when I worked out that you were a soldier," Kurt shifted, and he cleared his throat. "Sweetheart, I don't - well, I do care, but only because it's hurting you. I know you don't like talking about it but I've been researching the conflict. The people you were fighting - they were monsters, Harry. They were terrorists who killed and maimed innocent people without a seconds' thought. I mean, they, what, attacked a hospital? A school? They were terrorists, and you just did what you had to do. That you're still suffering after all this time, that their deaths matter to you despite everything - that's how I know you're not a monster. It's how I know you're the bravest, strongest person I've ever known."

Kurt's words didn't really register with Harry. His mind was back on the battlefield, on dodging and disarming and trying desperately not to kill. He didn't want to kill, no matter how hard his trainers pushed him, so for much of the war he didn't. Until he did.

The wizard twisted around to face Kurt suddenly, grabbing his boyfriend's arms in small, trembling hands, "I didn't - for so long I didn't, I tried really hard not to k-kill anyone. I'd disarm them and hurt them but I didn't - I didn't kill them. I didn't want to be a murderer."

"You were a soldier, Harry, I know you didn't choose it," Kurt assured him, eyes wide and shocked as Harry looked at him wildly, desperately. Even though a part of him wanted his boyfriend to run, to leave the wizard before he got hurt, he just couldn't bear the thought of Kurt thinking he was evil.

I'm not evil, I'm not, don't want to hurt people it just happens, I just wanted to be normal but they made me do it, they made me become their killer, their murderer I didn't want it, I didn't want it-

"I had to kill him, the leader, or it wouldn't have ended," he babbled desperately, the words tumbling over one another and pouring out of him like a flood. He'd held them in for so long, tried to forget and move on, but he couldn't hold them back any longer. "I had to. I didn't want to, Kurt, I didn't, even though he hurt so many people but I had to I had to I had to-"

"I believe you, sweetheart," Kurt was obviously trying to sooth the smaller boy, but there was a tremble in his voice that belied his horror. "It's okay-"

"But I didn't have to kill her," Harry choked out, not seeing the confusion in Kurt's expression, his mind a thousand miles away, back in a dark rooms with knives and pain and cruel, mad laughter. "Her, the one he - the right-hand - Bellatrix..."

"The right - the woman who did this?" Kurt reached up a hand to run his fingertips over the scars on Harry's face. Harry pulled away from the touch, his hands compulsively clenching on Kurt's sleeves.

"I could have disarmed her like the others," he whispered, whimpered, pulling himself closer to Kurt and pushing away again. "I could have broken her arm or knocked her out or something but - I was bleeding so much and she had Ginny and Luna, I just - I just killed her."

Kurt didn't say anything. He just curled his arms around Harry's shoulders and rested them there, waiting to let Harry breathe. After a long moment, when it became apparent that Harry was waiting for his reaction, the countertenor sighed.

"Harry, if you're looking for condemnation for any of this you're not going to find it here," he shrugged a little, smiling weakly at Harry's still desperate look. "I love you. I know you. You're one of the best people I know. You're generous and kind and loyal, and just because you were forced to do bad things because of bad circumstances in the past... I'm never going to hate you for that. I'm never going to blame you for that. I mean, heck, what you're describing right now is you killing the person who tortured you in a panic because you were injured and scared and she had some of your friends, did I hear that right?"

Harry shifted a little and nodded, dropping his gaze to Kurt's chest and curling towards the boy unconsciously. Kurt's arms slipped around his waist and tugged the boy closer, almost into his lap. It soothed Harry a little, some of the guilt and pain edging away in favour of the warmth Kurt always brought him.

"I feel sick," Harry mumbled again, curling his fists in Kurt's shirt. Kurt nodded a little, reaching down to wrestle his phone out of his pocket. His fingers flew over the screen for a few moments before he dropped it to the bed, pressing a light kiss to Harry's head.

"I've asked dad to bring up a bucket and a cool wash cloth. We're going to try and make this as easy as possible, okay?" he soothed, and Harry nodded against his chest. The wizard allowed himself to be shifted so he was leaning against the pillows, nausea and pain exhausting him. The constant flitting between hysteria and clarity, between hatred and guilt that made him want to pull away from Kurt and not let the boy near for his own sake to wanting to cling on to his boyfriend and never let go was so exhausting, so mind-numbingly exhausting that he just wanted to curl up into a ball and not wake up. He heard movement outside Kurt's bedroom door and tensed, grabbing Kurt's arm and staring at the door through blurry vision - where did my glasses go?

"It's okay, it's just someone with the things I asked for," Kurt patted Harry on the hand and pulled away gently, slipping off of the bed to his feet and towards the door. Harry tugged the blankets up around him, finding a childish sort of safety in their weight on top of him, and he flinched as Kurt opened the door.

"Brittany, what are you-?" Kurt's confused voice drifted over to him, and Harry peeked over to the open door. Brittany stood in silhouette in front of Kurt, a dark shape that was probably Santana just behind her.

"Calm down, Lady Legs, we're not coming in," the Latina girl's voice was gentle despite her words. "Your dad was on the phone, so we volunteered to bring you the stuff you wanted."

"Can I see him?" Brittany's voice was small and sad, and Harry felt a pang in his chest. She sounded like a little girl, confused and scared but trying so hard to be brave. His panic subsided a little, just a little, and he sat up a little straighter. Kurt was hesitating in the doorway.

"Brit, sweetie, I don't know-"

"She can come in," Harry said softly, pulling his blankets up a little higher. He could feel himself begin to tremble a little, the idea of someone other than Kurt getting close terrifying, but the watery smile he could see on her face in the doorway gave him strength. "Just - for a minute or two. I think I'll be okay."

"If you're sure," Kurt agreed reluctantly, stopping Brittany from rushing in with one gentle hand and whispering something in her ear. She crept forward more carefully after that, Santana slipping in afterwards to hand Kurt a bucket. Brittany paused over Harry in the bed, tall and blonde and innocent, and he couldn't help the tremble in his voice.

"I'm okay, Brit," he tried to assure her, but the hoarseness in his voice, the hitch in his breath made it obvious even to Brittany that he was lying. The cheerleader (now dressed in Tinkerbelle pyjamas and fuzzy unicorn slippers) bit her lip.

"Santana says your brain is sick," she blurted out, wringing her hands. "She said that - that you're gonna be away for a while."

"Yeah," he agreed, tugging his blankets nervously. "Yeah, I am."

Brittany looked around despondently, "I don't want you to be away. I like having you in Glee."

"I like being in Glee," Harry murmured back, unsure of what he could say to comfort her. I'll be back soon, I'll be okay, it won't take long... it all sounded so insincere. I don't know if I can get back from this. I don't know how I can ever feel okay again.

Brittany sniffled a little, shifting next to the bed as though she wanted to hug him but was holding herself back. Her expression hardened a little, becoming determined and brave, and she spoke a little more firmly, "You have to let Kurt take care of you, okay? He made his dad better when his heart was sick so I know he's really good at it. And he makes really tasty soup, too."

A hysterical little giggle bubbled up in Harry's chest at the girl's solemn words, but he managed to nod even as he laughed, "Y-yeah, I know."

She frowned a little, confused, "Why are you laughing?"

"I have no idea," Harry said honestly, his face stretched in a painful, twisted smile. He was still laughing, but his eyes were beginning to water too. "I don't know, my body just keeps - I don't know what I'm doing-"

"Okay, Brit, time to go," Santana interjected, moving forward to grab Brittany's arm and tug her away from the suddenly distressed Harry. Brittany grabbed onto her girlfriend, her eyes wide and frightened as sobs began to wrack Harry's body. He watched with blurry vision as Kurt crawled over the bed towards him, the bucket sitting forgotten on the other side of the room, and the two cheerleaders began to leave. The wizard was dragged into Kurt's arms and muffled his cries against his boyfriend's chest. He could faintly hear Brittany asking Santana what she'd done in a small voice, but he didn't hear the other girl's reply. He did hear the door click shut, and pulled away from Kurt to curl a hand over his heaving stomach.

"I feel sick," was all he could say, and Kurt quickly slipped off the bed to go and grab the bucket. Harry soon found himself with a wonderfully cool wet washcloth over his forehead, soothing the throbbing behind his eyes and taking away some of the nausea.

"Does that feel any better?" Kurt asked as he gently stroked Harry's hair. Harry nodded minutely.

"Uh huh," he muttered, shutting his eyes in the vain hope it would stop his head spinning. "'snice."

"Good," Kurt sighed a little, sinking down so he was curled up next to Harry. "The bucket's next to your hand if you need it."

"I will," Harry admitted in a grunt, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. "Jus' not yet."

Kurt sighed again, scooching closer to Harry's side and resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, "You poor thing. I wish there were something I could do."

"Just be here," Harry pleaded, curling one hand around Kurt's strong arm. He turned his head to the side, making the washcloth slip and pain and nausea spark behind his eyes, but it felt worth it when he saw Kurt next to him. "You make me feel better."

"I'm not going anywhere," Kurt promised, fixing the washcloth back onto Harry's forehead and gently pushing his head back to where it had been. "And if I have to leave for a little while at any point I'll always come back. I promise you, Harry, I'm not leaving you."

"Everyone leaves," he whispered faintly, green eyes staring hopelessly at the ceiling. "Everyone always leaves me."

"I won't," Kurt responded firmly. "Ron and Hermione - no matter how far away they are - haven't left you. Hell, do you realise that the entire club is downstairs, sleeping in my living room?"

Harry's eyes flickered over to Kurt in shock, and the countertenor nodded with a grim smile, "Every single one of them. I don't know if you realise it but it's nearly midnight. They all got their parents to bring their pyjamas and they're refusing to leave."

"They have to leave some time," Harry pointed out, a little kernal of warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of the teenagers downstairs. It never occurred to him that they would care that much, so much that they would stay for him. Kurt was shaking his head, an affectionate smile dancing around his lips.

"I know. They have to go to school tomorrow at least. But they feel so guilty, Harry, that you were hurting so much and they didn't realise. They just want to be there for you, to let you know that they love you."

Harry smiled a little, letting his eyes drift shut again. They snapped open when his stomach revolted, and he barely managed to get his mouth over the bucket at his side before he was throwing up violently.

Tears poured down his face as stomach acid burned his throat, the feeling of his body jolting and burning destroying whatever peace he'd temporarily found. He could vaguely feel Kurt at his back, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder blades and resting the damp cloth over the back of his neck. He gasped in ragged breaths between heaves, choking and spluttering as his body began to panic.

"Come on, Harry, deep breaths," Kurt tried to comfort him, but the wizard found himself shaking and gasping as his body rebelled, a sudden irrational fear shooting through him and making him sob.

Dangerous, body is failing, need to hide and hide and hide but I can't, can't move can't hide unsafe unsafe unsafe -

"I'm gonna die," he moaned between retches, digging his nails into his palm. Kurt made a distressed noise behind him, still petting Harry's hair helplessly.

"No, you're not. I know you might kind of feel like it right now but you're not," Kurt told him firmly, his hands slipping down to rub Harry's back as he choked. "Come on, just slow that breathing down for me, okay?"

"I can't," Harry gasped out, voice strangled and weak. His stomach heaved again and he gagged, but what little he had eaten in the last 72 hours was already out of him. He ended up dry heaving over the bucket, choking and coughing as Kurt tried in vain to sooth him.

A noise by the door made Harry flinch and cringe away, panic clouding his vision. He kept retching over the bucket as Kurt spoke up.

"Dad."

"He's not doin' too well then?"

"Not great, no."

"Okay. Harry, kiddo?"

Harry flinched and pressed closer to Kurt's side, the heaving subsiding for a moment and allowing him to catch his breath. Burt was standing next to the bed in black sweatpants and an old sweater, looking like he'd been awake for days. Harry looked up at him with blurred vision, his breathing slowing and his panic subsiding as the nausea abated for a moment. Burt waited for a second to make sure the teenager wasn't going to panic before giving him a weak smile.

"That's better. This the drug getting out of your system?" he asked calmly, his voice easy and casual as though he did this all the time. Harry nodded weakly, and Burt nodded. "Okay. Is it okay with you if I go and get Will Schuester? I just want to ask you what we need to expect about this withdrawal stuff, and he should hear it too."

"He's still here too?" Harry rasped out, fingers loosening on the bucket as Kurt tugged it away, putting it beside the bed before pulling Harry close again. Burt chuckled, his smile becoming a little more natural.

"Yeah, he is, and so is half o' Lima! The whole club is here, crashing in the living room. Most of 'em are asleep now, though."

"I don't understand why," Harry whispered, barely aware of the words leaving his lips. He didn't notice the look shared between the father and son, weak eyes staring blankly into space in the dimly lit room. "They shouldn't care."

"But they do," Kurt protested, arms tightening around Harry's narrow body. "You-"

"They shouldn't," Harry hissed, beginning to pull away. Before his dark thoughts pulled at him, before he could dissolve into panic again, large warm hands were grasping his face, forcing him to look up. Burt stared down at him with pained compassion, looking so worried and paternal that it cut through Harry's fear like a knife.

"Hey, now, you gotta keep it together for a minute," he was saying, but Harry barely heard him. "I know you're scared and everything, and you can cry all you want to in a little while, but I need you to hold it back for just another minute so we can take care of you, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered hoarsely, shrinking back against Kurt as Burt let him go and stepped back. "Yeah, I - sorry."

"You got nothing to be sorry for, kiddo," Burt shook his head as he turned around, heading back to the door. "I'm sorry I need to ask you to do this. But it'll only take a minute, okay? Then you don't need to do a thing."

"I need to live," Harry murmured non-sensically. He twitched a bit as he shifted in Kurt's arms, staring into space. "I promised Kurt."

"Yes, you did," Kurt agreed softly, fondly, and Harry suddenly found his glasses being slipped onto his nose. The dim room became clearer, and a glance down showed that he was still in his clothes. "And you'd better keep that promise, sweetheart. I'm holding you to it."