"Mr Hummel?"

"Yeah," Burt managed to grunt. It was two am in the morning, and who the fuck ever called that early. Unless…

"It's Constable Stuart, I'm sorry sir, but there's been an accident. We're going to need you to come to St. Joan's"

"What… What happened?"

"Just come to the hospital, please."

Nothing made sense at first, but then it sunk in.

Kurt.

So he did, rousing his second wife and dragging her to the hospital to discover the state of his already broken son.

But his mind was reeling with a hundred thousand possibilities he'd had to think of far too many times, and it all came crashing down on him in the middle of some deserted main road, behind the wheel that had made the trip too often.

"Carole, what the fuck am I going to do with him? What if he's needed another stomach pumping? Or he's been in a fight and his eye's gouged out? What if he's not breathing? What if he's on life support and I'm going to need to turn the machine off. Carole, what if I'm going to lose him for good this time?"

At which Burt Hummel, the man of steel, broke down into pieces on the side of a deserted main road, into the comforting arms of his wife, who had no idea what to say. Because her son, Finn; was a good boy, and he hadn't been able to change Kurt. Because Kurt had been something like her best friend, but he'd fallen off the road too long ago to remember, and Burt was right. This trip had been made far too many times, and yes, in a way, good news had always followed, but God, that kid was so so broken. And she couldn't bear to see both her husband, and her son, the two men who had saved both her and Finn, hurting in this way anymore.

"Shh, Burt; he's going to be fine, I promise." But she couldn't. Because what if he wasn't. What if he was on the verge of death, and they'd never get the chance to really change him, the way they'd only just been speaking about.

"I just. I can't do this again."

And Carole knew, just what he was talking about.

~~~OOO~~~

Kurt's eyes fluttered open, finally fighting his way out of that drug induced haze he shouldn't have known so well.

Nurses scurry in and out, test after test, until finally, his father enters the hospital room.

"What – what happened dad?"

But Burt can't answer. Not just yet. Because the tears are still streaming down his face, and he's just so grateful he still has a boy, broken as he may be, lying somewhat safe in this hospital. But he knows, God damn it he knows, that he can never do this again.

"You were. You were in an accident Kurt. You're – you're lucky you're alive."

And Kurt finally looks down to survey his body. Covered in gauze and plaster, a drip in his arm and machines beeping a hundred different things.

"You had to have another stomach pumping before they could operate fully. You had enough alcohol in your system to kill you enough as it was. You have fractured ribs, a bruised spine, and a dislocated shoulder. You're so fucking lucky you're still breathing. The doctors say you shouldn't be. But you are."

Kurt never cried. No matter how many times he'd been in this bed, with the feeling of emptiness in his stomach or his heart measured on a machine. But he could remember what had happened the night before, and the darkness and the sound of engines and breaking bottles clouded his eyes, and he was a mess. So broken for the last time.

"Dad… Dad I'm so so – sorry. I I I don't know…"

"Shh son, it's going to be alright, you just sleep now, and we'll talk about this all later. Shh, go to sleep."

And Burt should have hated Kurt, right at that very minute. For forcing him out of bed at two in the morning to discover a broken boy lying with nothing in his stomach and machines everywhere. For Causing a hundred years with of tears to drip onto the linoleum. For reading pamphlets about fa r off boarding schools and other types of recovery programmes.

But he couldn't. Because Kurt was his little boy. No matter how much weed he smoked or ecstasy he took, or how much alcohol he drunk or how much he hurt anyone else. Because his boy was broken, and he was the only thing he had to remind him of his wife. So he combed his hair through his fingers and sang to him a song that hadn't been heard for ten long years.

Kurt dozed off into a land of drugged dreams, and Burt never left his side.

"I love you kid. I don't want you to ever forget that."