AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to my fic One In Four, and though One In Four is easily a stand-alone story, this fic cannot be understood without having read One In Four. For those of you who have read One In Four, thank you so much! As you are most likely aware if you followed One In Four while it was being written, there will be several dark themes dealt with in this story, so this is a trigger warning for that as this fic will be revisiting many of the traumas of Kurt's past.

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On A Clear Day

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The first thing Kurt could feel was oxygen slowly passing through his lungs, sitting heavily in his chest like water, and the nerve endings in his fingertips gradually began to prickle. He felt like he'd been asleep for days, and he didn't want to wake up just yet because he was so comfortable where he was… He was sitting up with his head tilted back against a cushion, so he had to be on a couch. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he could see faint light shining through the lids. He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes with his still-half-numb fingers, yawning.

He let out a long breath, then realized with a start that there was something heavy sitting on his lap. He forced his eyes to snap open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light, and he raised his head.

His heart skipped. The something was actually a someone – a very young boy, sitting comfortably on his lap and staring at the TV against the wall, which was playing Tom & Jerry with the volume turned all the way down.

There was a child sitting on his lap.

An unfamiliar child.

Oh, God.

Kurt's heart skipped in his chest like it was jumping hurdles, and as soon as the realization that one of his alters must have kidnapped some poor kid off the street hit him, he jolted to his feet. Unfortunately, he wasn't thinking very clearly and he accidentally knocked the little boy to the ground, who then immediately began to loudly bawl. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do. How was he supposed to treat his own kidnapping victim?

Just then, a man burst in from the doorway to Kurt's left and rushed over to scoop the boy into his arms. "What the hell, Andy?" he snapped, rubbing the child's back and checking over his limbs for bruises. "How do you drop a three-year-old?"

Kurt stared at him, every cell in his body screaming that something is deeply, deeply wrong.

It was Finn.

Except, it couldn't be, because the Finn that Kurt knew didn't have the stubble on his cheeks, or the barely-noticeable lines etched into his brow and the skin around his eyes.

"You okay, bud?" Finn said, hefting the little boy on his hip.

The boy sniffed and wrapped his arms around Finn's neck, and Kurt wanted to vomit, although he didn't know why.

Finn finally turned his attention back to him. "Dude, why are you staring at me like that?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but it didn't feel like his tongue was working the way it should. "I— I—" he stammered. "Wh-what's going on?"

Finn frowned, his hands tightening protectively around the child in his arms like he was subconsciously backing away. Like he was unsure of what Kurt would do. "You all right, man?" he asked, almost suspiciously.

"Why is there a kid here?" Kurt demanded, growing more and more desperate by the second. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and his lungs were rapidly shrinking behind his ribs.

Finn looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"Just tell me what's going on!" Kurt cried, the words snapping out of his mouth like breaking bones.

Finn flinched, and something else crossed his face, a strange sort of shadow that Kurt couldn't figure out. "Hannah!" Finn abruptly shouted, making Kurt jump. Finn turned back towards the door. "Hannah, get down here!"

There was a cascade of footfalls that tumble down from upstairs, and a redheaded woman appeared behind Finn. "What's wrong?"

Finn unwound the boy's arms from his neck and handed him over. "Take Dylan upstairs," he said, and there was an urgent tone in his voice that set the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck upright.

"What's—"

"Just give us a minute."

The woman looked over to Kurt with wide eyes, as if she knew what Finn was about to do, then closed her mouth and carried the little boy out of the room.

Finn turned his attention back to Kurt. "What do you remember?" he asked, his voice hard. His face was unreadable, and that was terrifying.

Kurt swallowed, his mouth dry and his throat feeling coated with sand. "Uh…" he said, the syllable trembling in its uncertainty. "I-I think…" He trailed off, his heart knocking against his ribs as he tried to sort through the fog clouding the back of his head. Blurred, fragmented and hazy memories cascaded across his mind, but none of them were recent enough. He shook his head, feeling like there were snakes twisting and turning in his gut. "I-I don't know."

Finn let out a long breath, his head hanging for a moment. He twisted a ring around his finger. (Why was he wearing a ring?)

Kurt wanted to scream, and he didn't know why. A rock pressed against the walls of his throat as he asked, "Finn, what… what's the date?"

"It's January third," Finn said quietly, not quite meeting Kurt's eye.

January. He'd just missed New Year's.

Kurt swallowed around the rock in his throat, wincing. He was pretty sure he remembered it being July last. Or maybe August. God, had he been gone nearly five months?

Kurt's brain was so frantically trying to sort out where he was in time that he jumped when Finn suddenly reached forward and engulfed him in a hug, holding so tightly that Kurt could barely breathe. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do.

And that's when he saw it over Finn's shoulder, hung on the far wall of the living room. A family-made calendar with a photograph of Finn, the redheaded woman, and the little boy – all smiling for the camera as they stood in the shallow end of a swimming pool. The little boy was wearing floaties on his arms and riding on Finn's back, and below the photo was a banner reading HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE MACKEY-HUDSON FAMILY!

And below that, the year.

Kurt stopped breathing, his skin running cold so quickly that he felt like he'd been electrocuted. "That – that's not real," he shook his head, yanking himself out of Finn's hold. "Finn, tell me that's not real."

"…Kurt," Finn said. Why did Kurt's name sound so heavy, like Finn hadn't said it in ages?

"Finn, please—"

Finn's face was pinched, like he was trying so hard to speak but had no idea what to say. "It's okay," he forced out, and it sounded like the biggest lie Kurt had ever heard.

Burt shivered in the driver's seat of his truck, blowing into his hands to warm them up as he waited for Carole to come out of the hospital. He kept meaning to get the heater fixed, but that particular chore regularly found itself amidst the thousand minor tasks that always ended up on his to-do lists but never quite got done. Running the tire shop was a full-time job and required an irritating amount of micromanaging, but one of the benefits of being the boss was that he could take off early to go pick up his wife from work.

The hospital's automatic doors slid open and Carole, bundled up in her winter pea coat, blue scarf and green gloves, strode toward him. She opened the door and slung her shoulder bag onto the floor by her feet as she sat in the passenger seat.

"Hi, sweetie," Burt said, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the mouth. "How was your shift?"

"Well, I had to remove about six dollars in loose change from a kid's stomach today, which was fun," she replied brightly as he pulled the truck away from the hospital entrance.

"Sounds expensive."

Carole chuckled. "Ray doesn't mind you taking time off to pick me up?"

"He doesn't if he wants his paycheck," Burt grinned. "Besides, we've got a date tonight, and you're going to spend a ridiculous amount of time deciding what top to wear even though you know you look hot in every one of them, so I'm getting you home early."

Carole reached over and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Well, at least Andy said he'd be fine making dinner for everyone else. He's got something good planned, I'm sure."

"You sure you want to go on our date tonight, Car?" Burt had to ask. "I mean, you're always saying we don't see the kids enough."

"Finn and Hannah don't have to get back to work for another week, Burt," Carole said. "We have plenty of time. Unless, of course, this is a thinly veiled way of asking me if we can postpone because you want to stay home and play with your grandson."

Burt feigned a look of shock. "What— That is a serious accusation! I'd never pick a night of watching Sesame Street over you!"

Carole giggled. "Come on, watch the road," she said. "I promise I won't take too long to get dressed."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," Burt countered. He turned the truck off the main road, driving down their snowy street. The plows had been through early that morning, but snowflakes were just beginning to come down again in time for sunset, dotting the pavement ahead.

He parked in front of the house, not bothering to pull into the driveway since he and Carole would be leaving again for dinner soon. They climbed out of the truck, Burt swinging his keys in a circle around his index finger as they walked up the little stone path to the house. Burt made a mental note to thank Finn for shoveling it.

Inside, Burt hung his coat on the rack by the door and stepped into the kitchen, where he found Finn, Kurt, and Hannah all at the counter island. "Hey, guys," he said, reaching for the fridge to grab a beer.

"Where's Dylan?" asked Carole, unwinding her scarf from her neck.

"I put him down for his nap," answered Hannah.

Burt glanced at the clock, reaching into the fridge for a cold beer. "Kinda late for a nap, isn't it?"

"Burt," Finn said, and for the first time Burt noticed the expression on his face. The muscles in Finn's forehead and cheeks were tight, as if the pressure in the room was making it difficult to breathe. Burt glanced at Hannah in confusion; she was worrying at her lower lip and looking just as nervous. He placed his beer on the counter.

"What's going on?" Carole asked.

Finn looked to Kurt.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Burt's heart stopped. It was the first time Kurt had called him that in ten years.

If he had still been holding his beer, Burt would have dropped it.

"You…" Burt started, but his voice faltered. His mouth had gone dry. "Y-You're back?"

There was a glassy film over Kurt's eyes, something so familiar and so unbelievably strange all at once. Burt's lungs felt starved for oxygen – he managed to drag a heavy breath into his throat, the air burning his insides.

"I-I think so," replied Kurt. It was his voice. Not Andy's. Not Eleanor's or Robbie's or Tyler's. Kurt's.

Burt's sinuses were abruptly tight, as if he was trying to breathe underwater. "Nine years, eight months," he choked out. "Nine years and eight months. You've been gone. You – you disappeared. You just didn't come back." The words were escaping him faster than Burt could think them through, and his blood was boiling from his sternum all the way to his fingertips. "You just – just stopped coming back."

Kurt's face contorted in something akin to grief. His eyes were threatening to spill over. "Dad, I—"

"Why didn't you come back?!"

Kurt lurched off his stool, crossing the short distance between them and wrapping his arms around Burt's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Kurt was repeating over and over again, and Burt could feel Kurt's entire frame shaking (or was it his own?).

But Kurt was back. He was here and he was looking Burt in the eye and talking to him like a son.

The air rushed from Burt's lungs, and he did the only thing that made sense – he hugged Kurt back and held him as tightly as he could. His son was finally home, and any questions as to what that could mean or what it entailed could wait for all Burt cared.

None of this made any sense to Finn. For nearly the last decade, his family had somehow maintained a semblance of stability without completely falling apart. The years prior to Andy's appearance had been fraught with stress and fear and especially uncertainty. Even during the months when Kurt had seemed to be doing better and making progress in therapy, they still had never known when the alters would show up again. Kurt's illness had always been lurking just out of sight, following him everywhere like some kind of malevolent shadow. And then, as Andy gradually took over, the shadow was slowly pushed away and locked up tight where it didn't feel like it was constantly about to pounce. They had adjusted. They adapted for Kurt, like they always had, and they had gotten used to a certain amount of peace – the kind of peace they had never felt safe enough to trust before.

Finn wasn't sure what had prompted Kurt to spontaneously come back after so long, but he was mostly worried about what it could mean for the rest of them. Whether his priorities made him a bad person or not, he couldn't tell, but now he had a wife and a child to take care of before Kurt. Finn remembered all too well the days when his home felt like hell, with Kurt caught in the throes of a transition and Burt unable to do anything to help. Even through the days when Kurt was himself, the anxiety of the entire situation had weighed on them all, and Finn knew just how destructive that anxiety could be.

Carole had called the restaurant to cancel the reservation for her and Burt's date, and they had all stayed up late in the kitchen, the five of them crowded around the kitchen island. Coffee and tea had been brewed, and brewed again. Hannah made grilled cheeses, which Finn only picked at. For hours, the conversation mostly consisted of Burt asking repetitive questions about what Kurt could remember, although Finn honestly had no idea where Burt expected to get with that line of questioning. Hannah eventually yawned and went to bed, giving Finn a quick kiss and telling him not to stay up too late.

Finn didn't miss the look on Kurt's face when he saw the kiss, and he shifted his weight awkwardly to his other foot.

"I can't believe you're married," Kurt said, his tone somewhere between sadness and awe.

"You were at the wedding," said Burt gently.

"Really?" Kurt seemed genuinely surprised.

"You were my best man," Finn added.

Kurt chewed on his lip, swallowing. "I wasn't… I don't know, I didn't freak anyone out?"

Burt leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced on top of the counter island. "Kurt, you haven't had any serious transitions in years."

Kurt's eyes widened, and his gaze jumped back to Finn, looking for some kind of confirmation that Burt was telling the truth.

Finn nodded, leaning back against the counter by the sink. "You haven't really been switching a lot since I was in college."

"Y-You're kidding," Kurt stammered.

"Kurt, the last time you transitioned was in March," Carole said, warming her hands around her mug of tea. "And before that… I don't even remember. August, I think?"

"June," Burt corrected.

Finn let out a heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. "Actually…" he started, feeling slightly guilty for even opening his mouth when Burt frowned at him. "There was a really brief switch while we were in New York."

Kurt blinked. "When were we in New York?"

"A few weeks ago, before Christmas. But we're pretty sure it was you, not one of the alters."

Before Kurt could react to this, Burt straightened up, his eyebrows pulled tightly together. "Wait a minute. You're telling me that Kurt came back while you were in New York? And you didn't tell us?"

"Burt, we—"

Burt shook his head. "No," he snapped. "No, you don't have a right to do that."

"Burt!" Finn raised his voice only slightly, forcing Burt to allow him to respond. "We didn't know for sure, okay? He was only there for a minute, and we honestly didn't know that it wasn't just Tyler or Eleanor."

Burt huffed, scratching irritatedly at his temple.

"And on top of that, I wasn't even there when it happened," Finn continued. "Only Hannah saw it, and you know she's not as good at telling them apart as we are."

"You should have told me," Burt repeated.

"We didn't know," Finn insisted, a small wave of anger fluttering in his stomach. "There was no point in telling you Kurt was back if we weren't even sure that it was him. Alright? It would have killed you and you know it."

"Stop it!" Kurt interrupted, his spine going rigid. He rubbed anxiously at his forehead. "I'm back for a couple of hours and we're already fighting?"

"Kurt's right," Carole said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt's hand. "It's getting late. We should all get some sleep."

Kurt let out a small huff, sounding exhausted. "The last thing I want to do is go to sleep," he said.

"I don't blame you," Carole concurred. "But this conversation is better suited for tomorrow."

Finn nodded, though he wasn't sure if he agreed with her or if he was just looking for an escape route. A temporary one, anyhow. He knew there was no running away from any of this.

"I'll make up the couch for you, Kurt," Carole said. Normally, Kurt would have just gone back to his apartment on the other side of town, but it would have been cruel to insist he stay there tonight.

"Thanks, Carole. I'm going to stay up for a little while longer."

"I'll stay up with you," Burt said.

Finn yawned, dragging his hand over his hair. "Okay, I'm going to go crash," he said, dumping the cold remains of his coffee into the sink. "I'll see you all in the morning." He circled around the counter island toward the door to the living room. "And Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

Finn reached forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, realizing suddenly that the gesture was completely unreserved. For nearly ten years, Finn had felt as though, despite Andy being perfectly friendly and helpful and part of the family, there was always a certain amount of distance. Finn had never gotten the impression from Andy that he was all that welcome to express affection, and for the first time in a very long time, Kurt returned the hug with sincerity.

"I've missed you, man," Finn said, letting go after several seconds.

A nervous but grateful smile tugged at Kurt's mouth. "I missed you too," he replied.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Finn promised, clapping Kurt's shoulder lightly.

None of this made any sense, and Finn was terrified of what it might mean. If Kurt was back to his old cycle of switching between alters with little warning or protection, or even if Kurt was only here for a short period of time and tomorrow he was going to vanish for another ten years, then Finn had no clue how any of them would handle it this time around. But the most important thing now, outweighing the slew of frightening possibilities and questions and uncertainties, was that Kurt was back. Kurt was home, and Finn had missed him. And even if Kurt did disappear again, at least now they knew he'd have a chance of coming back.

When Finn returned to the guest bedroom, feeling heavy and exhausted and like he'd been pushed off a cliff with no warning, he found Hannah still awake. She sat propped against the headboard, reading the latest issue of National Geographic with Dylan fast asleep in the crook of her arm. She let the magazine fall onto the bed beside her when Finn entered, brushing a curl of hair out of her eye and tucking it behind her ear.

"Hey," she said softly. "How is everything?"

Finn let out a weighted exhale as he unbuttoned his shirt. His shoulders felt tight, like a fist was clamping around his spine just below his neck. "I have no idea how to answer that."

Hannah was quiet for a moment, carding her fingers gently through Dylan's hair. "Do you suppose it means he's getting better?"

Finn shook his head as he undressed to his undershirt and boxers, leaving his clothes piled on the chair in the corner. "I honestly can't even think about it," he replied wearily, sliding under the covers next to her. "My brain is maxed out."

Hannah carefully shifted to lie down without waking Dylan. For the duration of their visit to Lima, Dylan had been sleeping on the foldout couch downstairs, but tonight was a worthy exception. Hannah switched off the reading lamp, and the room dove swiftly into darkness.

"Do you think Kurt will be okay?" she asked in a whisper.

Finn didn't reply immediately. His chest was tight. "The last time Kurt was around, he was twenty-four years old," he said slowly. "He's thirty-three now. How the hell do you even start to adjust to something like that?"

Hannah sighed, reaching across Dylan to brush her hand over Finn's forearm. "Try to get some sleep, okay? We'll deal with all the questions tomorrow."

"I might have to ask for a few extra days off from work."

"Worry about it tomorrow. Whatever this family needs, we're putting first."

Finn's spine finally relaxed slightly, his head sinking deeper into his pillow. He lifted his arm and wrapped his hand around Hannah's. "I love you."

"I love you too," Hannah said, squeezing his fingers. "Now get some sleep."