Disclaimer:

I do not own Glee or any of it's characters.

(I'm just borrowing them)

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Burt blinked, trying to clear his eyes as he focused on the noise.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This was not how his night was supposed to go. He was supposed to be eating hoagies with Finn in a comfy booth in some diner. Not be here. Never here.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His son has always been small. He was almost a month early and doctors had been worried. His wife, bless her soul, had just said he would be fine. Hummel's were fighters and their son would be no exception. If only she knew.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He noticed it every once and a while. How small he was. His son was usually bright and loud so he would forget. When he went out to kick that field goal. He looked small then. He had been off this past week. Dressing differently, hanging out with that blonde. He thought he had time to talk to him. Wanted one more night of easy with Finn before confronting him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

They were talking about the big game coming up Sunday. Making plans to watch it together when his cell phone rang. Not many people had his cell number and when he saw that it was his son calling he almost didn't answer. His breathing stutters for a moment. He almost didn't answer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He'll never forget those sounds. His son barely breathing and the gasps of pain. He didn't remember leaving. He thinks Finn drove. Someone must have called an ambulance because there was one at the school when then arrived. He would talk, trying to soothe his son, but never got a response. Where could he be?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Finn headed towards the dumpsters. We followed. We found him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He grasped the cold hand tighter. His son was here. He was alive.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He looked so… There was blood…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I reached out to touch him and he screamed. The paramedics moved me out of the way and I just stood and watched them work. I just stood there with Finn holding onto my arm and shaking. I just stood there.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

They gave me his personal things in a bag. His phone. His watch. No, his mothers watch. It was an old wind up. Loud but beautiful. He would wear her things every once in a while when he missed her.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My son has always been small. Lying here with the wires and machines. The bandages and casts. Bruised and broken. He has never looked so small.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I reach down and lay another blanket over him. His hand is so cold in mine. So small.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It twitches in my hand. Like a butterfly. I look up and see his eyes open.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My wife said that Hummel's were fighters and that their son would be no exception.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My son may be small, but he is the strongest person I know.