Today had been the longest day of his life. The hours bled away, blurring one into the next as he agonized, waited and hoped, too frightened to believe the reassurances of Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury that everything would be okay.
Not that they knew what he was feeling. He kept his emotions in check with iron control, only cracking a little when the doctor had come to report on Dad's condition and refused to allow him immediate access. The teachers had both seemed surprised by his lack of tears and overt grief. They had each taken him aside at some point and told him that it was okay to be upset, as if he somehow needed to be told, or given permission.
He had simply nodded and thanked them for their concern, assuring them that he was all right. For he could not be weak. He had to remain strong while his father could not be.
The only time he had allowed his mask to slip was during those few minutes alone with his father, when he had asked, encouraged, and finally begged Dad to wake up and squeeze his hand. To give him a sign that he would be okay.
Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. And Kurt's wall against the battering outside pressures had hardened.
It was after just midnight now and he had finally reached home; only leaving the hospital because the staff had promised to let him know the moment there was any change, assuring him that he could come back tomorrow during visiting hours.
Miss Pillsbury had left hours ago but Mr. Schuester had stayed by his side in the silent waiting-room until he finally, reluctantly, agreed to go home. Kurt wished he had the words to thank his teacher for that. To let him know how much he appreciated the mostly-silent strength of his presence.
Shue had insisted on dropping him off personally and he would almost certainly have spent the night, or forced Kurt over to his place, if Kurt had not assured him that he had called Aunt Mildred earlier and had someone available to stay with him.
It wasn't a complete lie. The old lush probably was available. She might have even agreed to come if he had actually asked her to, but Mildred Hummel was currently located somewhere in Omaha, and probably still drunk off her ass. When he had reluctantly phoned to let her know about Dad's heart attack, she had spent the entire five minute conversation weeping and slurring prayers to Jesus for her nephew's recovery and her great-nephew's salvation from sin. He had not needed that kind of bullshit on top of everything else so he had cut her off with a terse promise to let her know how things were going and hung up.
Not that he would be mentioning any of that to Shue. He could take care of himself. He was seventeen now, not a baby in need of a sitter.
Of course, Kurt knew that the reason for Mr. Schuester's concern was not his inability to take care of himself, but the feeling that he should not have to. That he should lean on others in his time of need. It was a nice thought and in his heart, he knew that he could have asked to stay with Finn and Carole, or Mercedes or Tina; probably just about any of his friends from Glee, and they would have agreed without hesitation.
What no one would understand was that he was not yet ready for concerned questions, vague reassurances, noises of sympathy and a lot of well meaning but useless prayers. He was not ready for anything that would force him to feel the reality of this nightmare any more than he already did.
Kurt simply did not want company right now, however kindly meant. If he could not be with his dad, then he wanted to be alone, where he could surrender to the darkness, and just stay numb for a little while longer. He would tell everyone tomorrow, at school.
Not that anyone would blame him if he failed to go to school, but the very thought of spending more empty hours staring at blank hospital walls, just waiting and waiting and waiting, all alone, filled him with a kind of sick dread. He doubted he would be able to pay attention in any of his classes but at least he would not be alone.
He would be ready for a little comforting by then.
Trudging down to his own room just long enough to wash up and put on his favorite pajamas, a red and black pair that he had stolen from Dad's Goodwill donation box long ago, Kurt went upstairs to his father's bedroom. Taking a pillow and quilt off of Dad's bed, he wrapped himself up and laid down on the thick carpeting, pulling open all of the drawers on the old broken dresser and snuggling next to it, letting the mingled scents of his mom and dad wash over him.
For a few minutes, it was pleasant and peaceful, but then the darkness and surrounding silence became too much to bear.
Burt Hummel was not a quiet man by nature. He had a tendency to fall asleep in front of the television set, to stomp around in his heavy work-boots settling the house for the night, or thudding back and forth on bare heels as he conducted midnight fridge raids. And his snore was a thing of legend. Sometimes it could be heard all the way down in the basement, if Kurt had not remembered to shut his door all the way.
Kurt listened hard, straining his ears for those familiar thumps and creaks and snores, but there was nothing. Nothing at all, and he suddenly felt more alone than he had in his entire life. When Mom had died, he had had the comfort of knowing that Dad was still here, strong and steady and constant, willing and able to take care of him.
But now…
Kurt had tried to shy away from the thought all day, to tell himself that such a thing would not, could not happen, but the heavy silence now whispered otherwise. Dad actually might die; and then Kurt would be all alone . . . forever.
Burying his face in the pillow, the protective walls around his heart crumbling into dust, a flood of hot, agonized tears broke through his defenses at last. Harsh, choking, agonized sobs beat back the silence for nearly half an hour, then exhaustion finally overtook the heartbroken teenager as he cried himself to sleep.