Dislaimer: I don't own Glee, The Invisible, or "Big Yellow Taxi."

Before [Wednesday, 5:06 p.m.]

Kurt doesn't understand what happened.

He figures he should, but for the life of him he can't remember who attacked him, who shoved him in the trunk of this car, whose voices he can hear over the rumble of the engine.

It won't matter in a few moments. In a few moments, they'll pop the trunk. They'll drag him from the car and beat him–with pipes, bats, and even a metal chain–until they're sure he's dead, and then they'll leave him. In a few moments, they'll abandon his body in a secluded field, and the last thing Kurt will know is that there's a tree in a field of fog.

He won't know if the fog is real or just in his mind, but it'll be there. In a few moments, they'll leave him sitting against the base of that tree, but they'll make sure he's on the side that doesn't face the road, and it will make it impossible for anybody to see him unless they get out and come looking.

[Wednesday, 9:23 p.m.]

Kurt doesn't understand what happened.

One minute, he was walking home. Next minute, he's lying flat on the side of the road.

He stands, brushing the filth off of his clothes and stretching his arms; sleeping on asphalt is not good for your muscles. The sun is bright, but lower in the sky than he expected.

He starts home, rubbing his arms to work the shivers out of them, but he seems to be permanently cold.

How did I wind up on the side of the road? Kurt thinks. Why would I deem it appropriate to fall asleep there?

He turns into his own neighbourhood and stops in his tracks. Red and blue lights flash around him, illuminating the street in a swirl of fluorescence and sunset, and he breaks into a run. Because the two police cars are pulled up to his house, one parked diagonally in the driveway and the other in front of his house.

Nobody is outside except some neighbours, and none of them look at him. Please, dad, be okay.

He steps through the open door and stops in his tracks again. His dad is fine, but he looks a little shaken up.

"What happened?"

Nobody even looks up, and Kurt steps closer. Carole is sitting on the couch next to Burt, rubbing his back in smooth, measured strokes, and Finn sits in the armchair, rocking himself slowly back and forth.

"Dad?" His dad keeps crying, and a police officer comes through the doorway leading to the kitchen, "Finn?"

Again, nobody answers. Finn doesn't even look up. Burt does though, but not at Kurt. He stares blankly at the police officer, "Did you find anything?"

The officer shakes his head grimly, "I'm sorry, sir. If, in twenty-four hours, your son still hasn't turned up, we'll put out a missing person's report."

What? Kurt stares blankly at his dad, "I'm here, dad."

Burt stands, moving in front of Kurt and blocking his view of the officer momentarily. Carole goes with him, keeping a hand on his arm to restrain him. "My kid doesn't do shit like this. He comes home, and if he doesn't, he fucking calls me!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the officer explains, nodding to their partner as they come down the stairs, "There's nothing I can do. It's our policy to wait twenty-four hours."

"Fuck your policy," his dad says, but he's stopped yelling. He sinks back to the couch and Carole guides the policemen out of the house. "Fuck."

Kurt sits on the couch next to him, trying to touch him, but even when his hand is resting on his dad's shoulder, the fabric doesn't move; his dad feels nothing. Kurt stands up again, staring at the couch and daring there not to be an indent where he'd been sitting.

Nothing. The couch is flat, unchanged.

[Thursday, 5:43 a.m.]

Kurt curls beside Burt while he sleeps, on the side that Carole isn't, but Kurt doesn't sleep; he cries, he punches things, but he can't get tired. He wears himself out, panting and exhausted, but he can't fall asleep.

So he watches his dad lay in bed, crying sporadically and getting very little sleep, until Carole shakes him awake and asks if he wants something to eat.

Burt follows Carole down the stairs, and Kurt stays as close as he can, almost pressed against his dad's side. Finn is sitting at the table, staring blankly at the table; it hurts, because Kurt didn't realize how much Finn would be affected if he… if he died.

I'm dead. Kurt sits at his own chair, which isn't pulled out, but his torso sinks through the table; he wonders faintly if he can walk through walls, but his mind is dominated by it: I'm dead. I'm dead.

[Thursday, 12:42 p.m.]

Finn doesn't go to school.

Kurt watches the three of them mope around the house; his dad chews his nails and Kurt tries to swat his hand away, wincing when his fingers drift uselessly through his dad's arm.

It's too hard, he thinks, so he sits on the curb outside and waits. He waits until he knows he can't watch his dad fall apart, and then walks to school.

He wants to see Mercedes. He's starting to realize that's he's dead, and maybe this is just giving him the opportunity to say goodbye. He wants to see his friends before this weird state of being stops and he truly leaves this world.

He sees her, trailing through the hallway behind Tina and Artie; Quinn is holding her hand, and he realizes that they all know he's missing.

He falls into step beside Mercedes and winds up following them into the choir room, sitting in front of her and desperately trying to meet her gaze, look into her eyes one last time.

"Why's everyone so bummed?" Puck's voice cuts through his mind.

Quinn sniffles quietly, "Kurt's missing, Puck."

"What are–You're joking, right?" Kurt is offended; Puck doesn't sound shocked, he sounds like he thinks they're all crazy. I'm gone. They have every right to be upset. He turns around, and Puck is staring right at him. Kurt's eyes widen in his skull.

"You can see me!" Kurt shrieks, just as Puck says, "He's right fucking there, dudes."

Puck says, "What?" at the same time as everybody else does, and Kurt stumbles forward, dropping off the first ledge to the floor and standing in front of Puck.

"They can't see me, Puck."

"What?" Puck repeats, faint, and everybody else stares at him, mixed stares of confused, horrified, or just offended. "I need to–I've gotta go."

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