A last set of tests the next morning showed no change in Finn, so he was cleared to go home. His mother brought a duffel bag of his for his things, and he carefully packed his clothes around his xBox. It was an old bag, one he remembered, and he was glad she'd brought something he knew. It was certainly a lot more beat-up now, though.

He looked around idly as she drove, enjoying finally being out of the hospital and able to see more. Lima still seemed mostly the same, nothing special. Maybe a few new developments built, but not exceptional, just Lima being Lima the way it had always been. There were a lot of cars on the road, especially for late morning; he asked his mom about that and was told it was just a normal Saturday morning. Saturday. Right. I don't think I knew that.

"Here we are," his mom said eventually, breaking into his reverie and bringing the car to a stop in front of a house, 415 Whitman. Finn wished he'd paid more attention to the street, before; he'd have to go out and look around soon, get used to the new neighborhood and find out where he was. For now... he looked over at the house. So this is home, huh? Looks good, I guess. And well taken care of.

Finn followed his mother into the house and stopped to take off his shoes as she did.

"Hey Finn, welcome home," Burt said. He stood in the entrance to the living room, smiling at Finn, Kurt next to him. He couldn't see the room that well behind them, but saw a big-screen TV on the wall.

"Ah, hi," Finn replied, giving them a quick smile in return. "Thanks."

"Why don't we go up to your room," Carole said. "We'll sit down with the others later."

"Okay, thanks Mom." Finn followed her up the stairs, carrying the duffel bag with the things he'd had in hospital. She opened the door of the leftmost room and smiled at him, gesturing for him to go in.

"You can come down when you're ready," she said, and left him alone.

Finn stepped into the room, putting his bag down, and looked around. Not bad. Definitely bigger, space for a full bed and a desk and... he looked over to his drum kit and grinned. That was his all right. He wasn't used to having it in his room, it had been in the garage before, but he'd always wanted it closer to hand anyway. He walked over to it and tapped the toms, the snare, the cymbals and hi-hat. He'd kept it in good condition. If he had some unconscious gaming skills maybe he had some unconscious drumming skills too, he'd have to try playing soon.

There were a few empty spaces: a place next to the closet where the bag probably went, and a spot right by the computer that after a moment he realized was where his xBox had been, along with the empty spots in the stack of games next to it. Might as well put those back, he thought, and opened his bag to get the xBox. He'd hook it up later, but for now he could at least arrange it, make the place feel more like his. He brought the games out too and added them to the stack, then reorganized them a bit just to do it.

There were also some spaces on the wall with a few holes, and an extra space behind the alarm clock on the table next to his bed, and he frowned. Looks like some pictures are gone. I wonder why.

He opened the closet – seems normal. Same for the dresser drawers: regular tees, jeans, polo shirts and plaids, and some sweaters. Nothing that didn't seem like him, and some clothes he even recognized. The place did feel like home, like him, even though it didn't really look or feel like his old cramped bedroom with the aged cowboy wallpaper. Nothing like that here though, the walls were painted and plain except for where he had a few pictures up, drumming and football stuff. A Buckeyes poster, not the old one he'd had before but a newer one, much the same though and in more-or-less the same spot. He lay back on the bed and looked over at it, enjoying that consistency, that familiarity. The bed wasn't familiar at all, though he couldn't mind, since it certainly had the space he'd needed in his old long-outgrown one. He stretched his legs and arms out, enjoying the extra room, glad not to have to break out of the old bed like he'd had in his nightmare.

This would do, he supposed. It would take a while before it felt like home, and he might move things around a bit just because, but this did feel like a room that he'd set up himself, his place. Except that that felt spooky, having it feel like him without him remembering it, that alien walled inside his head making itself felt again.

He lay there for a while, maybe ten minutes, and then headed downstairs to see the others, quietly exploring the upper hall as he went. He found the bathroom, which looked pretty much like any other bathroom. Tub's still too short. He descended the stairs slowly, a bit intimidated by knowing that the others were sitting in the living room waiting for him.

"Hi," he said uncomfortably, stepping to the room's entrance. And yes, there they were all sitting waiting for him, his mom on the couch, with Burt and Kurt in chairs on either side. His mom beckoned him over to sit by her, which put him next to Kurt as well.

"So, Finn," Burt said, breaking the silence. "Are you thoroughly uncomfortable yet?"

Finn blinked at the directness and accuracy of Burt's question, and smiled sheepishly. "Pretty much, yes."

"I figured." Burt made eye contact with Carole. "Come on, Carole," he said. "Let's not gang up on the boy. Kurt, how about you stay here and get reacquainted, we'll go get lunch ready. Okay?"

"All right," Carole said, getting up. She looked back down at Finn. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"We'll be in the kitchen, Carole. And they're not kids, they'll be fine." Burt escorted a reluctant Carole away, leaving Finn and Kurt alone.

Kurt smiled at their departing parents. "She doesn't mean to baby you, she's just been very worried," he explained to Finn. "We all have been."

"It's memory loss, it's not crippling," Finn said. "Or so they keep telling me."

"After four days of coma," Kurt stressed. "We're all very happy you woke up."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that was bad," Finn admitted. He snorted. "At least I have an excuse for not remembering that."

"That's the spirit." But they fell back into silence and looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Kurt cleared his throat. "You know, Finn, there really isn't any point in us pretending this isn't awkward, that just makes it more awkward," he said. "I know that you don't remember me, you know that I'm now your stepbrother, let's just..." he waved his hands. "Go from there and muddle through."

Finn smiled tightly. "Okay, let's give it a shot," he said. "So... Kurt. I do remember you a bit from school, though you've, uh, grown up I guess."

"It happens to us all."

"You were in my freshman bio class, right? With Ellis, second period?"

"That's right," Kurt answered, surprised. "It's been a while, I hardly remembered."

"Not as long for me," Finn shrugged. "You were behind me for the first week, weren't you? Until Ellis found out I blocked your view."

"Um, yes. I didn't complain to him, though."

"You should have, I was happy to move back. I hate sitting at the front, I stick out too much and I feel even bigger."

Kurt smiled. "Mr. Ellis's fetish for alphabetical order seating plans may make it easier for him to learn students' names, but it's educationally counterproductive."

"Uh, yeah." Sounds about right. "I just hate feeling like I'm in the way, that's probably why I remember you from then."

"I think that's a thing of the past," Kurt stated. "You being in the way, I mean. The class is also over and done with, as is high school, at least for us."

"Yeah, that's really weird. Not that I liked it that much, but finding out that I'm done is a shock, when I don't remember finishing. And it did make life simpler, everyone just tells you what to do. Classes, sports, that sort of thing, I don't know what I'm doing now." Finn saw Kurt cock an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Let's just say that you turned out to be less interested in doing what people told you to do than what you just said would indicate," Kurt sort-of explained. "You're much more individual than you gave yourself credit for."

Oh. "That's... good?"

Kurt chuckled. "I think so. And it didn't bring on anything you couldn't handle." He paused. "So, lunch? Your mom has been worried that you've been starving in hospital."

"Not exactly starving. But I could certainly eat now."

"Then let me show you to the kitchen." Kurt got up with some ceremony, and gestured to Finn to go with him.

Finn rose. "It's on the right. I saw it when I came in."

Kurt snorted. "Yes, fine, just... let's go have lunch."

Lunch proved to be simple, sandwiches and salad (mostly sandwiches as far as Finn was concerned; Burt had more salad, under Kurt's watchful eye). Finn sat in the chair that was apparently his usual spot, left for him by the others. It felt okay, facing Burt, his mom on his right and Kurt on his left. The side was long so he had plenty of space.

Finn spoke little, preferring to eat quietly and try to get used to the sound of the others talking. But he brightened when Burt mentioned that he might be able to get tickets for a Reds game soon and asked if Finn would like to go. "Brewers next Friday, maybe."

"That'd be great, thanks," Finn answered. "I've never been to a game before." He caught a quickly cut-off chortle from Kurt on his left. "Okay, that I remember," he finished, rolling his eyes a little. Glad someone finds this funny.

"Sorry," Kurt said. "But look on the bright side, you get to have that special first experience all over again."

I guess, Finn thought. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just nodded and smiled his thanks to Burt.

Lunch over, he helped clear a little; the fridge organization was basically the same, which made sense because that was how his mom liked it. There was much more of a variety in it, though, including three kinds of milk: their usual 2%, some 1% (which seemed silly, though it could be for Burt) and even some soy (which he didn't understand at all).

"I was going to head out a little this afternoon," Kurt said behind him, talking to their parents. "There's some shopping I need to do and Blaine has some as well." He looked tentatively at Carole.

"Dinner's at six," Carole stated. "Family." She looked meaningfully at Kurt. "Just family."

"But -" Kurt frowned. "All right, for tonight," he nodded.

That afternoon Finn went through more of his things, finding nothing particularly unexpected. His desk had his papers from the last year of school, some with grades that were pleasant surprises, though a little less pleasant when he started worrying that he couldn't really do that well himself, not now. Some of those papers – how had he understood English class that well? Or History? One History paper seemed to have actual original ideas, things that made sense, except that he'd come up with them somehow. But at least school was done, though he didn't know anything about what he was going to do next.

The drums in the corner started calling his name, and after a while he went over to them, wanting to play. He checked them over carefully first, everything apparently in working order, and then pulled out a pair of sticks from his same usual spot by the bass drum and warmed up. Light stuff first, but he soon got more into it, feeling himself relax into the movement, enjoying the familiar reaction of the drums. Finally he noticed the iPod speakers set up directly behind the kit, plugged his iPod in, and played along to the first couple of songs on his drum playlist. All that made him feel more... himself, more real. Of course those ones he'd been playing for years even as he remembered it, but it was a start.

Finn looked around the room again, still bothered by the empty spaces on the wall. Maybe he should ask, at least so it would stop bugging him. He found his mother in the kitchen, making his favorite spaghetti sauce, the kind with her special meatballs.

"Hey, that smells great, Mom," he said appreciatively. "I still like this, right?"

His mom turned to smile at him. "You always like this." She sighed a little. "You really need to stop worrying so much that you've changed, Finn," she said. "Your tastes may have expanded a little by being exposed to other things, but they're still basically the same."

"Yeah, well – all my stuff looks pretty normal, like mine," he replied. "So I guess so. But..." he trailed off.

"But what?" she looked at him with concern.

"What's with the spaces on the wall? It looks like I had something there. And there's a spot for a picture by the bed as well."

"Oh."

Finn frowned, trying to voice his worry. "Did you take some stuff away?" Does it just seem like my stuff is normal because it's been edited to look that way?

"A little," his mom admitted. "Nothing from your closet or your drawers, I didn't get into your clothes at all," she said hurriedly, seeing his frown and trying to allay his fears. "But there were some things, pictures, a few books, that were things you've only been doing more recently and I thought they'd just make you uncomfortable. Including Glee, and people from Glee; there's a big picture from Nationals of the group winning the championship, everyone has it. I'm not trying to hide things like that, and you can have them back if you want them, I just thought it would be more of a shock if you saw them there and make you feel less at home."

Finn still frowned, but he could understand, he thought. His mom turned back to her cooking for a quick stir to stop the meatballs from sticking, and then back to him. "So do you?" she asked.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want them back."

Oh. Hmm. "Not yet, I guess," he said uncertainly. He really didn't know what he wanted, but he supposed that having people he didn't know stare at him in his bed would probably make him uncomfortable. Especially if he thought about it like that. And the one from the bedside, he didn't even want to think what that had been of or whether he'd want to see it first and last thing, every morning and night.

Trying to distract himself from these thoughts, he looked around the kitchen, and he spotted a plastic container of homemade cookies on the sideboard, iced sugar cookies in circles and stars. "Hey, where did these cookies come from? I love these," Finn said, going over to them, suddenly much happier. He smiled as he took a big round one with orange icing.

His mother turned to look at him, stunned. "You do?"

"Yeah, they're great." He took a bite. "Mmmm. I've missed these." His mother stared, ignoring the pot on the stove behind her as she watched her son eat.

Finally Carole found her voice. "Kurt?" she called out to her stepson in the living room. "Could you please help me in the kitchen for a moment?"

"Sure," Kurt called back. He came in through the doorway and saw Finn finishing the last of his cookie. "Ah, stuffing your face as usual, some things never change." But Kurt's smile at him took some of the sting out of his words. "Luckily with you 'spoiling your appetite for dinner' never seems to apply."

"Hey, these are special," Finn protested, helping himself to another cookie, one of the yellow star-shaped ones this time. He saw Kurt look at his mom, puzzled; she raised her eyebrows and shook her head, showing disbelief.

"Yes, they are special," Kurt said haltingly. "But how do you know that?" He sounded excited.

"They're really good," Finn replied, trying not to lose any of the crumbs as he ate. "I didn't know if I was ever getting these again. Where'd you find them, anyway?" He saw them both staring at him, and became uncomfortable. "Have we had these for years? What is it?"

"Finn... where do you remember them from?" his mom asked.

"Bake sale at school," Finn answered, shrugging. "Back in May. Uh, May freshman year I guess. Fundraising for some weird club, I had some at lunch then went back for the rest, ate them over the next few days." He bit off another point, pausing as he chewed and swallowed. "They've got to be the same ones, the icing's all flavored just like them and I remember the yellow stars, they're the best. Did I track them down or something? I know I liked them but I wouldn't've thought I'd bother that much." He looked over at Kurt, who was still staring at him. "Or are they yours?"

"No, they're -" Kurt exchanged another look with Carole, whose face had fallen. "I'll check," he told her, pulling out his phone and making a call. "Hey, I have a strange question," he said into the phone. "Your sugar cookies – did you make them for a bake sale at school back in freshman year?" Pause. "Think back, it's important." Pause. "Oh. Damn. Thanks." Pause. "Apparently he had some then. Sorry about this." Pause. "Yes he's here at home, settling in. Family only. I'll tell you more tonight." Kurt hung up and repocketed his phone. "Renaissance Club bake sale, May of freshman year," he told Carole.

"Damn," she responded, frowning. "Oh well."

"What is going on about these cookies?" Finn asked, frustrated. "Am I not supposed to like them? Mom?"

"We didn't think you'd recognize them or remember that you liked them," his mom explained. "We know they're your favorite, and Rachel certainly does, that's why she made them for you. But we didn't know you'd had them before you met her."

Oh. Rachel. Well they are really good cookies. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's not your fault, honey," his mom said. "We just got overexcited when we thought you remembered something."

Finn finished the last bite of his second cookie. "Well, um... thank her for me, please?"

"You could -" Kurt started, but was interrupted by Carole.

"Sure, honey, we'll tell her."

The four of them reassembled in the kitchen for dinner, which started uneventfully, though the meatballs were even better than Finn remembered. Tastier somehow. He mentioned this to his mom, who smiled.

"I've worked on them a bit," she said. "Better ingredients, more herbs, that sort of thing. Glad you're happy with it."

"And the sauce is from our own tomatoes," Kurt put in.

"We have to grow our own food?" Finn was puzzled, did all the money go to the house or something?

"Not have to, honey," his mom replied. "It can actually be more expensive to grow your own, especially putting time into them, but we like them better. This sauce is from last year, the new ones should be ready in a few more weeks if we get enough sun."

"Carole got the idea from Rachel, actually, since you liked hers so much," Kurt said. "And anything we can do to get my dad to want to eat more vegetables is worth it. Even if it is more expensive than buying the industrial ones from the supermarket."

"So it's like a weird rich-person thing." Quinn's family hadn't done that, though, and they're really the only sorta-rich family I know. Knew. Whatever.

Burt laughed at this. "Oh we're not rich, son. Not by any stretch of the imagination, even if I am in Congress now. But we're comfortable, we can afford the things we need and a bit extra, and we don't have to worry about the bill payments for next month."

"Like we used to." Finn glanced over at his mom. Suddenly he wasn't so appreciative of the bigger bedroom, or the big-screen TV on the wall of the living room, it all seemed like a slam against his old life that he knew. They'd made do okay, before. But he regretted his comment a moment later when he saw the hurt look on his mom's face. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Now seriously, do I look like a guy who came along and swept your mom off her feet with all his money, flashy clothes, and suave charm?" Burt chuckled, but looked across at Finn seriously. "The shop is well established and solid, even in this economy, your mom's career is still going well with good seniority, and it helps to share expenses. We're equal here. Plus we did want to give you boys some space and a few things, especially since you're growing up and you may not be at home much longer to benefit."

"We briefly had to share a room at first, before we bought the bigger house," Kurt put in. "Not a good idea, we were both too used to our own ways. And the tomatoes aren't weird, they're 'awesome', and that's your word for them. We just don't care that much what others think, if we like something ourselves, and in a few weeks when they start being ready you can try them for yourself and see how 'awesome' they are."

"It's not so strange anyway, the Obamas have a vegetable garden at the White House," Carole said.

"Yeah, that's right," Burt said, grinning at her. "Hey, maybe if you get a chance to meet Michelle you can talk about that."

Carole laughed. "I suppose we could," she said. "I'm still not used to the idea that my husband is in the U.S. Congress."

I'm still not used to the idea that you have a husband, Finn thought. And yeah he's a nice guy and pretty normal but this whole situation just isn't.

Burt nodded at Finn. "Don't let your food go cold, son. If you start not eating we'll have to call the hospital because then something really would be wrong with you."

Finn mustered a smile at that, and returned his attention to his food. He had to admit to himself that the sauce did taste great.

That night Finn tried to relax in his bedroom to go to sleep. Certainly the larger bed was good. The Buckeyes poster felt the most like home, and he did his best to focus on it, that and his drums.

He looked over at his clock to check the time, trying not to think about the picture that his other self had put there. Something to look at first thing in the morning and last thing at night... pretty obvious what that would be, from what he'd been told. But he hadn't made that decision, any of the decisions about her, including having her picture there. Even though she did apparently make his favorite cookies.

I'm not that shallow, am I, to have been with her for the sake of her cookies? I hope not. Finn snorted and turned over, trying to get comfortable. Welcome to the first night of the rest of your life, Finn Hudson.

A/N: Henrietta Line enthusiastically supports growing one's own tomatoes.