The final chapter! It's here! It's arrived! And...I sort of hate it...a lot...ANYWAY, thanks a bunch to all my reviewers, you guys have been awesome throughout this entire story, encouraging me and helping me; I love you guys! I really want to be all awesome and list your names...but that would take a while and I'm lazy. So, special thanks to those who have reviewed almost EVERY. SINGLE. CHAPTER. You know who you are. Give yourself a hug. Without further ado...here is the final chapter!

Mr. Schue waved away the mug of hot chocolate Finn offered him. "Kurt…are you sure you want to go through with this?"

The small brunette glanced up through his strangely-disheveled hair, then just as swiftly glanced away. Biting his lip, he nodded, his head jerking like a puppet on a string. "I…I just want it to end," he admitted quietly, and Finn, sensing his distress, wrapped a comforting arm around his stepbrother, "I don't want to be scared anymore."

"You'll have to talk to them. Tell them what happened. They'll need evidence," Mr. Schue reminded him gently, leaning forward in his chair slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

Kurt closed his eyes a moment. "I know," he murmured.

"You ready, dude?" Finn asked, arm still wrapped around him, and Kurt couldn't help but let a wry grin slip onto his face at Finn's usage of the word 'dude' even in the grim situation surrounding them. He nodded.

"Come on." Mr. Schue stood up, car keys jangling in his coat pocket. "I'll drive us to the police station."

"Finn?" Kurt asked suddenly, stopping abruptly in front of the door.

"Yeah?"

"Slap me. Hard."

"Wha-"

"This was a stupid idea." Kurt turned to head back into the house, cutting across Finn's question.

"No!" Finn tightened his hold on Kurt's shoulder, football muscles effectively holding the other boy in place. He locked eyes with the smaller teen. "Kurt, dude, you've got to do this. Like you said earlier…it's better than living in fear. It's not just about you right now. It's about us, all of your friends. Don't you get it, man? We all fucking care about you."

They care about him. Kurt looks away from Finn's gaze, not daring to believe the truth he thinks he hears in the words. They care about him. Inside, a voice challenges him to think differently. Inside, a voice reminds him of his dreams, where people pass right through him, where he's bleeding out on a sidewalk and nobody stops, where he's balanced on a window ledge, preparing to leap, and when they look up, they look right through him, seeing only the perfect blue sky and the sun that beats down, warm and pleasing, on their shoulders. Kurt's aware of Mr. Schue's concerned gaze aimed at his back, and even more aware of Finn's hands on his shoulders, anchors holding him to the hope that he'll never be invisible. He remembers all the dreams, all the worries. Remembers after his mother died and he thought about his own funeral; thought that nobody would show up, just the men operating the machinery to dig his grave. He remembers the feeling of disappearing into darkness, of silence suffocating him and terrifying him, unable to speak out, unable to scream out.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" He's not sure who's asking, whether its Finn or Mr. Schue, but at the moment he doesn't care. He remembers the dark shadow stalking him, pinning him down that cold November night, leaving him alone in the scraggly bushes until morning came and dusted his skin with dew. He remembers the cracks spreading, breaking apart. He remembers it all, and that's when he realizes. Dreams can't control him.

"Kurt?" It's Finn, definitely, and he's vaguely aware of a hand waving in front of his face. "Honestly, are you okay?" Yes, he's okay. He's better than he's been in a long time. People noticed, people care. He's not invisible, he's not alone.

"Yeah." He looks up, a ghost of a grin flitting across his face, and he can tell the other two are probably evaluating his mental stability by this point. "Yeah, I'm okay." He gestures to the car.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Mr. Schue asks, one last time, as he pulls into a parking space at the police station.

Kurt sits a moment, contemplating.

"Are you okay?" Finn asks, for what seems to be the millionth time.

"I'm fine." For once, it's not a lie. He steps out of the car, feeling the cold air on his face, the snowflakes that drift lazily down clinging to his jacket, then melting away, a temporary, bittersweet beauty. It's not a lie. "I'm fine."