Hello readers, I am so sorry for the delay in updates. I meant to post a new chapter days ago, but my Internet decided to fail me and today I am finally back online. So, here is chapter two and I hope to have three to you tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Glee and Scrubs are not mine, as you all know.

Back in Kurt's room, Coach Sylvester turned back to her Cheerio with a venomous smile. "That man reminds me of a young John C. McGinley. So, Ladyface, stop admiring your nailbeds and listen."

Kurt scrunched his eyebrows, wanted to mention his one hand was immobile from the arm sling while the other was still clutched tightly beneath his bed sheets. Sue, however, did not pause for him to comment.

"I don't care what anyone says or how many fancy diplomas are flashed in your face… do not trust a word that doctor says," she commanded, bending down to meet his gaze and waiting for a positive response.

"Yes, Coach Sylvester," Kurt complied breathlessly.

"Good, now I have to get back to the squad. I plan to put all the girls on a newly reinvented formula of my master cleanse. And I can't have any of them eating solid food today. I'll make routine check ups so when you are finished with that menial surgery, you'll be introduced to your new diet as well," Sue said. She used two fingers to gesture from her eyes to his in her classic, 'I'm watching you.'

Kurt shivered slightly from the waste down, carefully keeping his upper body immobile. He nodded with a carefully cheerful smile, his lips parting slightly. Coach Sylvester left without another comment.

The soprano took that opportunity to have some quiet time; he even drifted to sleep for a short time. Suddenly he felt a tickle on his face almost like breath. He opened each lid to discover a face hovering inches from his own. It belonged to a large, short brown haired man wearing a hideously unfashionable blue jumpsuit. Kurt jumped, an unattractive squawk escaping his mouth.

"Oh sorry, thought you were dead. I was just about to take your fingers for…" He trailed off as Kurt stared at him with slack-jaw horror.

"Anyway, I was standing outside your room, pretending to mop, when I realized I don't have any work to do around here. So I figured I could ask you a few questions. First, can you get me tickets for that queer guy show?"

"No," Kurt stated, his jaw still shaped into a tender 'o' of shock.

"How about a sled dog?" Kurt shook his head.

"Stun gun?"

"No."

"Camouflage pom poms and a baton that shoots lasers?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, mouthed a confused "what?" and shook his head.

"Then can you get me new work boots?"

"No," Kurt said firmly. "Now please leave before I vomit on your Wal-Mart billboard excuse for a jump suit."

"It's not a jump suit. Notice the belt? And—"

He stopped speaking, nose twitching like a bloodhound and eyes darting to the hall outside Kurt's room. "He's close," the janitor whispered, and shrunk into a spy crouch to crawl toward the door. Following his movements, Kurt could see the young doctor from earlier. He strode beside a black doctor in green scrubs.

The hulking janitor lifted a remote—pulled somewhere from the front side of his person—and the young fashionista prayed it had come from one of the man's pockets. He pressed a button, angling it through the hospital door's square window. A trap door opened above the two doctors, causing a massive wave of bright red slushie to fall Carrie-style onto John Dorian's head and torso. The young doctor uttered a gurgled, "Uuueehhhgghh!" as the fluid drenched him.

"How did you do that?" Kurt gasped.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," the janitor stated, and promptly dashed from the room with a call of, "Hoo, hoo!" in his wake.

J.D. and Turk entered Kurt Hummel's room, J.D. drying himself off with a ivory towel.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but there was a freak 'accident' in the hall," he said with heavy sarcasm. Turk gave his friend a sympathetic look, a pat his shoulder, and turned to Kurt.

"Mr. Hummel, my name is Chris Turk and I'll be handling your surgery. I don't mean to brag or nothing, but you lucked out getting the best surgeon here, know what I'm saying?"

Kurt just turned up his nose and chuckled awkwardly.

"He's also the best 'eagle'-er," J.D. quipped.

"Dude? I'm trying to look professional here," Turk muttered.

"Please, Turk?" J.D. begged.

"Fine," the surgeon picked up his friend and spun him in circles while J.D. cried, "Eagle!"

"And I thought I was gay," Kurt said, growing increasingly nervous about the entire operation, pun intended. They finally stopped, Turk planting his friend next to the heart rate monitor, and then took a moment to bear hug him.

"No love like guy love," J.D. sang. He wobbled in place from his dizzying spin.

"So, we'll go ahead and get you into surgery as soon as possible. No worries," Turk explained while Kurt just nodded again.

"Hey, you two notice how your names are made of the same letters?" J.D. asked. He air stenciled the two names with one finger and mixed them up as if they were visible. Kurt gawked at him like something from the circus. Turk rolled his eyes and said, "Let's go, buddy."

"Right behind you, Brown Bear."

As they left, Kurt saw the janitor pop into view, give him a thumbs up, and walk after the interracial doctors with a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. Kurt mouthed, "Oh my God. This place is full of mental cases." He tried to focus instead on the complimentary magazines beside him. Instead, another visitor interrupted him.

A dark haired doctor wearing green scrubs with cut-off shoulders and a cheesy grin walked in, whipping his hand into the air in what was clearly a high-five gesture. "Surgery five!" he shouted. Kurt hesitantly offered his hand after two minutes had passed and the surgeon refused to drop his raised palm.

"Who are you?" Kurt ventured, his eyebrow raised.

"I'm The Todd. They sent me to bring you in for surgery." That was quick, Kurt thought. "But before we go, I need to take care of a few preliminary concerns. Most importantly, how's your penis?"

Kurt gave him a scandalized look.

"Don't worry, I'll take a look for free. I'd like to do pro-bono work on your bono. Whazzup?" He threw a hand into the air again. Kurt wondered if he was dreaming, so he simply convinced himself that he was.

"Fine, self-five," Todd said, slapping his own hand. "Let's go."

As it stands, this story will probably only be six or so chapters long. I welcome ideas to continue it, or perhaps start a separate story detailing another memorable trip to Sacred Heart. Please review with constructive criticism, and happy reading!