A/N: This is... something new.
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It started with headaches. Persistent sort of headaches.
He didn't think much of it, until the bottle of Tylenol ran out. And then he was prescribed some more serious headache medicine. And then that bottle ran out.
And then the doctor told him he should probably have a CT scan done, just to rule out any other possibilities. Headaches and migraines were often caused by stress, but just to be safe, the doctor insisted. Though Kurt was sure the heavier homework load at Dalton had caused the stress, and therefore caused the headaches.
Even while moving through the large doughnut shaped machine, all he could think of was the waste of time it was. He had homework to be attending to. He had a project in history that he hadn't even started yet.
And then the test results were in, and he was called to the doctor's office. He thought it was odd, being called into the office for these results. But, again, he brushed it off, maybe he'd checked the wrong box when filling out the initial paperwork, and they weren't allowed to say anything over the phone.
So he went in alone, much to old to need a parent to accompany him to the doctor's office, even though Burt had insisted he come along. The nurse had led him into the small office room, her eyes slightly puzzled when she flipped through his chart. Her lips pursed together, but she simply said "The doctor will see you in a few minutes."
Kurt flipped through the magazines left on the counter, rather bored with the old copies of "Highlights" and "Diabetes Today." They should really update their collection, he thought to himself.
There was a soft knock on the door and the doctor quietly let himself in. He was somewhat short for a grown man, maybe a few inches shorter than Kurt himself. He was balding, with a patch of shiny skin glimmering in the fluorescent light, surrounded by a halo of wiry gray hair. The doctor glanced at Kurt and held out his hand, "I'm Dr. Jason Rhodes. You're Kurt Hummel?"
He nodded and shook the doctor's rough hand, somewhat disturbed by the sweat on the man's palms, "So what's the CT result? I have a really important project to get started, if you don't mind if we hurry this along."
Dr. Rhodes frowned slightly, "Let's just have a seat and talk about this before we start hurrying."
Kurt thought that was an odd statement to make, but complied, "Okay... well, what's the result, then?"
"You have a mass. In the right hemisphere. It's a small mass, but we believe it's the cause of your headaches."
For a moment, the room was silent, until finally Kurt spoke, "What are you talking about? What? Like a... tumor?"
"It may be benign, your next step is an MRI. We can schedule one-"
"No, I mean- are you sure those are my results?" Kurt's hands were shaking, "I just have headaches, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just stressed out."
"Mr. Hummel, I know this is hard news to take, but you really shouldn't panic. There are further steps to take. It may not be cancerous-"
"Wait, cancer?" Kurt stood up suddenly, his body numbing quickly from his toes all the way up to his head. His head. "I might have cancer? I don't understand-"
"Mr. Hummel, this is hard news to handle alone, do you have a parent we can call for you?"
"M-my dad, call my dad. Ah—Burt Hummel. You're making a mistake, I don't have cancer."
"I'm not saying you have cancer, Kurt. We just need to do some further testing."
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So that's what was done. Further testing.
First the CT with contrast. A dye they injected into his blood, showing the same mass in the right hemisphere.
Burt and Carole were less than helpful, fretting the whole time. Burt often disappeared into the bathroom while they waited for this result, Kurt was sure he was crying, but trying to hide it.
Then the MRI, which showed the same mass. The same little dot they'd been watching for a week. A dot. It was so tiny, how could it ever be cancer? How could that tiny dot ever do anything? The MRI was black and white, the dot was a pale gray. It looked different, but... how could it cause any trouble?
This test was somewhat harder for his family to handle, though they all assumed it would bring the same result. Burt and Carole stayed somewhat calm throughout this ordeal, though Finn was the one who lost control during this test, begging and crying for Kurt not to die. Kurt could do little but hug him back and assure him that he wouldn't die, but he could barely force himself to make that promise.
Then came the "stereotactic biopsy." It was terrifying thought, a biopsy of Kurt's brain. They were going to take a piece of his brain. Well, that's not entirely true, he thought to himself as they shaved a small patch behind his right ear. They were going to drill a hole in his head, and take a piece of his tumor. A tumor was what they'd so lovingly started to call it. It was no longer a mass. It was a brain tumor.
The doctors were very reassuring, but Kurt thought they really had no choice in the matter. They weren't going to tell him he was going to die during the procedure. Sure, there were risks he was informed of, but what was the alternative?
He had to stay awake through the procedure, strapped in a barbaric sort of head-holding device. Though, to be honest, the worst part was the numbing shot in the scalp. He was almost certain the hole in his head would hurt quite a bit the next morning, though.
Throughout the whole procedure, he had to answer degrading sorts of questions, "Who's the current president?" "What color is this?" "Ten times four?" Some sort of neurological test, evidently, to make sure they weren't destroying his brain during this biopsy.
And then they had to wait. Biopsy results took time to get, apparently. Even when there's a family falling apart at the seams waiting for them.
Burt didn't hide his tears anymore, often turning on the waterworks at the sight of Kurt lately. Carole gave him hugs randomly, often assuring him everything would be okay. Finn failed to make eye contact anymore, usually hiding himself in his room and losing himself in his Xbox when Kurt was home.
But Kurt was mostly numb. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel upset or scared, or even angry. Maybe it just hadn't hit him yet. He still got out of bed in the morning and continued his moisturizing routine at night. He still ate healthy and avoided sweets and carbonated beverages. He still called Mercedes for an occasional chat.
He hadn't told her, though. He hadn't told anyone, and had forced his family to keep it to themselves as well. He didn't need the whole school bursting into tears when they saw him.
He hadn't even told Blaine. He actually hadn't seen Blaine since before the biopsy. He wasn't sure how to hide the small spot behind his ear where they had cut into his head. It was easier to claim to be busy, or not feeling well, than to admit to Blaine what was going on in his life.
And then the test results had come in.
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"Hey, Puck."
"Hummel?"
"Yeah. I just. Um. I need you to get something for me." He shifted the phone against his ear, fiddling with a pen on his desk.
"We're not even friends, dude, what do you-"
"I want some drugs."
"What?" the voice on the other end was doubtful, "What are you talking about, are you recording this or something?"
"No, Puck. Just... hook me up."
"Dude."
"Just... Just meet me somewhere. Uh... Breadstix. Meet me there. Can you do that today?"
"Nuh-uh, not meeting up with you in a public place, Hummel. That doesn't turn out good for anyone."
Kurt let out an exasperated sigh, "I'm picking you up, now. Put some clothes on, I'll be there in ten minutes."
"What-"
Kurt hung up, grabbing a long red scarf on his way towards the stairs.
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"Are you wearing a wire?"
"No, Puck, I'm not trying to get you arrested." Kurt's hands gripped the wheel to the Navigator tightly, his knuckles white, "I just... I have stuff going on. I need... something to deal with it."
Puck laughed, "What? I'm supposed to give you drugs because your boy toy broke up with you?"
Kurt's grip tightened on the wheel, but he shook his head, "Puck. Please."
But the laughing only continued, "Dude. Shut up. Your life is perfect, you have a nice family and you go to some fancy school with fancy uniforms, I'm not giving you drugs-"
"I have cancer," Kurt interrupted, his eyes connecting with Puck's.
For just a moment, Puck was silent. He ran a hand across his mohawk, the stubble surrounding it rough against his palm, "What?"
"They're giving me twelve months to live. That's the average, I guess." Kurt shrugged and flicked his blinker on towards McDonald's, "Listen, I'll buy you a Big Mac or something, on top of paying for whatever you'll give me, I just..."
"Dude, what, uh... What kind?" Puck's eyes had yet to wander from Kurt, and it was making him rather uncomfortable.
"Brain cancer. Uh, Glioblastoma multiforme, I guess, is the medical name. I start chemotherapy and radiation next week." Kurt pulled the large vehicle into a parking spot and turned to look at Puck, "Just don't tell anyone. I just want to be normal. For as long as I can."
"Dude, this... this sucks."
"You're telling me." Kurt pulled his wallet from the center console and tossed it to Puck, "Take whatever you need to hook me up."
Puck tossed it back, "Don't worry about it. Are you sure, though? I mean, what are you looking for?"
At this, Kurt had to think. He hadn't given it much thought. He wasn't a kid that did drugs. He didn't know what he wanted, besides drugs. "Just, uh, whatever. I don't know."
Puck unbuckled his seat belt and dug deep into his back pocket, then handed Kurt a small Ziploc bag, "Uh, this is all I've got on me, dude.
"Um... Uh, thanks. I don't... I don't know what to do with it." Kurt looked closer at the contents, they were sort of fuzzy and green. It doesn't look anything like oregano, he though to himself.
Puck laughed again, "Listen, uh, come over tomorrow, around noon, my mom will be at work."
"But, we have school-"
"Dude, forget school. We're going to have a good time."
Kurt nodded uncertainly, why not? I only have a year left to live, anyway.
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A/N: I don't really know what I'm doing with this.
I'm thinking this will be Kinn, or even Puckurt eventually?
We're going to start off with Klaine, but I'm going to put a quick end to that.
Reviews, please, I love even cruel critiques.