It was lucky someone found him in time. Lucky that Mr. Schuester forgot a stack of papers he was supposed to grade in the classroom. Lucky that he just happened to notice the suspicious marks on the dusting of snow that was on the ground.
Will shakily described the scene to the policemen at the hospital while the boy was being admitted into emergency surgery. "It was… it was horrible. His bag had been emptied and his things were all over the place; pages torn out of the schoolbooks, cell phone smashed, everything was just… There was blood all over the place; you could barely see him under all the blood. There was a bone sticking out of his leg and his arm looked smashed to pieces. He was pale… so pale. I couldn't tell if he was breathing and couldn't find a pulse. I was so terrified he was… The ambulance got there and they told me that he was alive, but they didn't seem very hopeful that it was going to get better."
Kurt spent almost an entire day going in and out of surgeries. Internal bleeding had to be stopped before it became fatal. Damage had been done to a handful of his organs; it was unclear as of the moment whether he would need any transplants.
His hair had been completely shaved off to deal with the amount of head injuries he'd received. Parts of his brain were dangerously swollen; holes had been cut into his skull to remove excess cerebrospinal fluid to try and help relieve the pressure and hopefully reduce the swelling.
The surgeons were unsure if his right arm could be repaired (it was assumed he tried to defend himself primarily with that arm); the option of amputation was discussed before being ultimately dismissed. They would do their best on his arm.
The number of stitches total was astronomical. The bruises seemed to melt together to form one giant bruise that covered his entire body. The poor boy was broken almost beyond repair.
After countless hours of surgeries, the head surgeon walked out into the waiting room. The tension and anxiety was more than tangible. As he entered, multiple pairs of red and swollen eyes turned to meet him. A man who could only be the boy's father immediately rushed to his feet.
"How is he?" he asked desperately, pain and worry evident in his expression.
"Mr. Hummel, we've done everything we can for your son…"
There was a chorus of choked sobs throughout the room at his statement.
"For the moment his condition is critical, but stable."
"S-so he's okay?" asked the father.
The surgeon shook his head. "I wouldn't call it 'okay'. He's not out of danger yet. There are a number of things that could happen in the next day or two. The swelling in his brain is the main concern right now; it hasn't started receding yet. If he manages to pull through, there will likely be lasting effects due to possible brain damage."
If he manages to pull through….
"Doc, you gotta be honest with me," choked Burt. "What are his chances?"
The surgeon hesitated, well aware that everyone in the room (there had to have been at least six or seven people there – quite a few for 5AM) was hanging onto his every word and gesture. "I can't confidently say…"
"I need to know," demanded Burt through clenched teeth. "Please."
Another pause and then, "Not good."
The expressions changed throughout the room. Heads shook, unwilling to accept what was just said. Eyes started to well with tears and one girl openly started crying.
"He's done well in all the surgeries so far," continued the surgeon, doing his hardest to keep himself professional in front of so many heartbroken people. "I've lost people from less. It's possible he may pull through."
"So there's a chance?" asked Burt, hands now clasping those of a woman who was standing next to him. "You're saying there's a chance?"
The surgeon didn't want to fill these people with false hope, but from years of experience he knew that sometimes a little hope went a long way. "A small one, but yes, there is a chance."
Burt looked determined and gave a hard nod. "If there's a chance, he'll pull through. My boy's good at defying the odds. He'll pull through," he repeated, as if saying it enough times would make it true.
The doctor gave a small nod, touched by the father's determination. "We have him in a room in ICU. We can only allow family back…" he said, looking at the assortment of people in the room. The young man who had been comforting the crying girl got to his feet. He turned to the others and promised to keep them all up to date. Slowly, the others began to file out, giving encouraging words to the family. Another young man remained behind.
"Are you family, son?" the surgeon asked the dark-haired boy.
The boy looked up, a lost expression on his face. "Uhm, no. No. I'll just…" He got to his feet, eyes confused and hurt. He turned to the other boy. "Let me know if…" His voice caught in his throat as he spoke.
The brother nodded and squeezed the other boy's shoulder. "You'll be the first if anything changes."
Once the boy left, the surgeon led the family to the room where Kurt was being kept. "I'll leave you alone. The call button is next to the bed," he explained before walking off down the hall
Burt's hand hesitated for a moment on the door handle, steeling himself for what he was about to see, before softly opening the door.
If the doctor hadn't told him this was his son, he wouldn't have recognized him. His head was buzzed and bandaged. His face was swollen and purple and there were tubes in his nose and down his throat. His chest was bandaged, one arm was wrapped up tightly and in a sling, he had tubes attached to his other arm which led to bags of saline and blood. A thin blanket covered his lower half, but it was obvious that one leg was in a cast. The only signs of life coming from the boy were the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the pumping of the ventilator.
The moment Burt saw his son, his Kurt, he rushed over and grabbed his good hand, sobbing unashamedly. He studied his face, trying to find his boy underneath all of the cuts bruises.
"Oh God, Kurt. Kurt, son, I'm so sorry," he cried, stroking the boy's hand as tears fell from his cheeks. "You've gotta make it through this. You're so strong, so strong. You always have been." He paused, gingerly stroking the side of his son's face. "I'm not ready to let go of you. You can't leave me, Kurt, you can't. I'm not ready. You can do this."
He looked at the face of his baby boy, his courageous boy, his beautiful boy. Kurt's face remained motionless, eyes closed (partly from the swelling), giving no sign that he was aware of his visitors. Burt couldn't even say that his son looked peaceful as he slept (he's just sleeping it off); he just looked so hurt and broken.
He squeezed Kurt's hand and kept his eyes on his face, ready to catch any sign of movement. "Kurt," he said softly. "Kurt, can you hear me? I'm right here, son. No one else is gonna hurt you while I'm here. You're safe now. I've got ya."
At that point, Finn disentangled himself from his mother's embrace and walked for the door.
"Finn, where are you…?" she asked him, voice catching in her throat.
"I-I can't…" Finn didn't know how to finish the sentence and just walked out of the room. He couldn't handle the atmosphere. He couldn't stand to see Kurt like that or to see Burt so broken-hearted. Kurt had always seemed fragile but now with all those tubes and bandages and machines, he looked like he was just waiting for Death to come and take him.
Finn walked down the hallway, unsure of where he was going, just knowing that he needed to be away from that room. He ended up outside in the brisk, pre-dawn air. His breath formed clouds in front of his face as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to protect himself from the both the cold air and the numbness in his chest.
That's when he noticed a familiar figure sitting on a bench. It was Blaine. His head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. The Dalton boy was shaking slightly.
Finn walked over and sat next to him. "Thought you'd left," he said conversationally, as if nothing was wrong.
Blaine looked up momentarily, meeting Finn's eyes briefly before looking back down at the ground. Finn noticed how red his eyes were and knew that his couldn't look much better. "Didn't think I should be driving. Needed to clear my head." There was a long silence where neither boy spoke. They were both lost in their own thoughts of the current situation.
"This is all my fault," croaked Blaine.
Finn shook his head. "It's not your fault, man," he replied.
"Yes it is," he said firmly. "I told him… if I wouldn't have… and now he's…" He let out a choked sob and started crying in earnest.
Finn put his arm around the other boy, trying to withhold tears of his own. "Not your fault," he repeated. "He's gonna make it through this. He's one of the strongest, most determined guys I know. He's gonna be fine. He's gonna make it."
He was unaware how long the two of them sat there, comforting each other. Neither of them cared that it was below forty degrees outside. When the horizon began to glow with the rising sun, Finn decided it was finally time to move.
"C'mon, you can stay at our place," offered Finn as he got to his feet.
Blaine nodded numbly, mumbling a thanks as he stood up slowly (his joints were more or less frozen in place).
"We'll come back a bit later to see him," said Finn, leading Blaine to his car. "After he rests for a little bit I'm sure he'll be totally psyched to see all of us," he rambled, trying to convince himself that this was truly going to happen in just a few short hours. "We'll catch him when he wakes up."
When he wakes up. Not if. Finn wouldn't allow there to be an if.
righty, this is my first Glee fic so I'm still trying to get in the groove of the characters. Sorry if they seem a little off. Also, I'm no med student so sorry if I didn't go into extensive details about the owies and hospital stuff. Next chapter should be up later today or tomorrow. Reviews make me write faster! =D
