Author Notes: I'm so happy that this story was actually well received (I don't think I've ever pestered my beta so much during the writing of a story) and want to thank everyone who reviewed/alerted/favourited! Because fanfic email alerts have been going skewy, I didn't even know until I went on my actual account - I was kinda blown away :)

So, here is chapter two. Quite a bit longer, and it flicks between quite a few points of view, but I hope it does everything justice!

Chapter Two

Blaine knew his dad was dead. In a very logical, detached way, he knew this to be fact, and had as soon as the words had spilled out of his aunt's mouth over a dodgy phone connection. But in a much bigger, determined way, in the way that had allowed him to stand up and sing in front of all those people at Regionals, in the way that had allowed him to declare his feelings for Kurt and face the prom, he just could not, would not believe it.

Because last night, they had sat down to a really burnt dinner together, they had talked about colleges while clearing the table, they had even managed to struggle through a whole five minute conversation about how awesome Blaine thought Kurt was. And that morning, when Blaine had been lying in bed chatting to Kurt on speakerphone as the other boy had been throwing clothes around his room trying to find the perfect outfit for the first day back, Blaine had distantly heard the shower run. He had heard the chinking of a breakfast bowl downstairs. He had heard the door go, his dad not saying goodbye because he just presumed Blaine would still be asleep. He had heard the car start, and drive away. He had heard real, unequivocal, normal proof that registers in every single human being's mind and tells them that yes, somewhere, another person you love still exists, living their own life around yours.

So how could that be over? Explain, please, because Blaine just couldn't. And no one else seemed to be coming up with an answer anytime soon either.

You'll be okay tonight? I need to go to the hospital…to…to... I'll pick you up in the morning, and we can talk about…everything…

Yeah, yeah, sure he'll be okay. Put on a grin, put on a mask, he's a seventeen year old kid, of course he'll be okay, of course he'll be fine going back home, of course he'll be fine driving back, of course he'll be fine driving, driving down the stretch of road where…driving and maybe seeing a tiny twisted bit of metal, the last indicators of-

So he should go home. He should get on with everything, because really, he had a lot of stuff to do before the start of school, let alone before when his aunt picked him up the next morning.

And yet, somehow, and he's not entirely certain how this happened, he's sitting in the back of Finn's car, next to his boyfriend who has a vice-like grip on his hand, sitting as close as the seatbelts would physically allow (Blaine definitely remembers a wrestling of fingers and thumbs as he thinks he might have almost decapitated the other boy in an insistence for that little bit of safety, despite Kurt's clear desire to just sit as close as possible to Blaine. Puck may have told Kurt to back off…why was Puck riding up front again?)

And wait, why were they heading into the suburbs of Lima? Blaine distinctly remembers voicing very clearly that he needed to go home.

The car jolted as Finn pressed the brakes a little jerkier than necessary, as if something was distracting him from his driving, and for a split second, an odd image forced itself across Blaine's vision; an imagined blur of metal that he had been trying not to think about ever since those words had tumbled out of his aunt's mouth. Outwardly, he blinked numbly, inwardly, his stomach twisted, and then the image was gone, because they were at Kurt's house, and Blaine was a guest. And that was good. Because, he knew how to be a guest. This was a situation he knew how to act in.

Burt knew something was wrong the moment the four boys stepped through his door. Puck, too serious, Finn, too blank, Blaine, too normal, and his son, Kurt, too everything. From the way he held onto his boyfriend in a manner far beyond simple affection, to the desolate, pleading in his eyes, and in the way he used his free hand just to keep contact with Finn's hand, gently removing the keys from his fingers and placing them on the sideboard. There was something old in his son's eyes, and it was a look Burt decidedly did not like to see on his own kid.

For a brief second, there was a silent stalemate between teens and adult, broken only slightly by Puck closing the door behind them, and then, of all people, Blaine punctured it, "Hi Mr Hummel. I hope you don't mind, but Kurt and Finn said I could stay the night? They said it'd be okay, but I wanted to ask you properly."

Once the other three boys had recovered from what seemed to be incredulous shock at Blaine's typical serene, polite tone, Burt was on the receiving end of a serious death glare from his son, forbidding him to answer any other way, "Of course, Blaine, you know you're always welcome here. You can have the sofa bed like normal."

Blaine replied, and now Burt was more alert that something really bad was going on, he heard a dull melancholy to the boy's voice, "Thanks Mr Hummel."

Stalemate again, but only for a second, as Finn seemed to find his voice, "Mom home?"

"Kitchen." Burt blinked at his stepson.

And Finn disappeared in an instant, successfully kicking Kurt into action as well, "Blaine, do you want to go up to my room?"

Blaine just looked at Kurt like he was insane, "You know your dad doesn't like that, Kurt." It was as if Burt wasn't even there the way the boy said it, and equally, there was something deeply loaded in the way Blaine had said 'dad' that just struck somewhere, "We can just stick to your living room till dinner."

"I…" Kurt seemed unsure how to respond, while Puck was just leant back against the doorframe, staring at the pair, completely lost and out of place. And then Kurt produced a fake grin, "Sure, Blaine, we can do that."

But then another idea seemed to spring into Blaine's head, because he suddenly seemed unsure, "Or maybe I should help your stepmom with dinner? I'm not as good as you at cooking, but I should help…"

Kurt seemed to flounder again, "No, Blaine, you don't have to do that. You really don't, Blaine…"

But Blaine was off, weaving his way through the house with surprising fleetness for someone who had lost all ability to even stand for a whole half hour not too long ago. Kurt followed immediately, but Burt stayed where he was and just stared at Puck, silently asking him to answer, right there, what the hell was going on? Puck just looked back at him, having to voice for the second time the news that practically burnt his throat as he said it, "Blaine's dad was in a car crash on his way home from work. The car got sideswiped by a truck. He died before the ambulance…" Puck's words finally choked as he just shrugged helplessly, "Blaine got the call from his aunt during glee club."

And Burt felt like he had just been punched in the face. His feet moved of their own accord, entering the kitchen to see his family, plus the boy everyone was looking at. Finn was leant against the counter, arms folded around himself, and from his wife's steadily composing face, Burt could tell that Finn had broken the news of what had happened. Kurt meanwhile, was trying to persuade Blaine – who had somehow gotten hold of a saucepan and was filling it with water – that he really, honestly, didn't need to help with dinner.

Carole's eyes connected briefly with her husband's, and she gave him a nearly imperceptible nod before turning back to the stove, "Blaine, honey, just pop that down on the side for now. You can chop up the vegetables."

And then Burt jerked his head to the kitchen door, addressing his sons, "Boys, they've got it covered, let's get out of their way."

Finn could have broken sound barriers with the speed he exited the room, while in contrast, Kurt looked ready to really protest, until he seemed to pause and then just look hopelessly between a too-normal Blaine, and his steadfast father.

As he quietly turned his back on Carole and Blaine, he brushed past his father, and Burt felt his son's hand slip into his own, holding on for dear life as they walked out of the kitchen.

Finn and Puck were both standing in the Hudson-Hummel living room, in oddly mirroring stances that radiated confusion and an inability to know what they were supposed to do. Burt sighed, knowing he had his hands full, and not entirely sure where to start, "Sit down boys, it'll be a while before dinner. Puck, maybe you want to head home?"

"No." Kurt spoke up, looking directly at the boy in question.

Puck nodded, understanding what Kurt was asking. He was asking Puck to recount the phone call that he had been forced to talk through, that Blaine had been forced to live through, because aside from expressing the crux of the situation, details hadn't really been important other than getting Blaine on his feet, getting Blaine in the car, and getting Blaine to adults so they wouldn't be the only ones coping with this shit. And so, almost as one, the four of them sat, Kurt never letting go of his grip on his dad's hand, Finn somehow folding up his huge frame as he leant his back against the chair, sitting on the floor, while Puck sat, only to get up five seconds later to pace the room.

And the details began to unfold, with every new breath reminding them that Blaine was in the kitchen with Carole, cooking them dinner, as if he was just round their house like any other night of the week.

And with every breath, Burt began to resent this 'aunt', despite all his logical reasoning. Because he had been there, he knew what it was like to be knocked over by news of a death, albeit in his case, of a death he had expected and dreaded. He knew how much it hurt, and how much you can forget that maybe others might be hurting too. And yes, Blaine might be older than Kurt had been, he might be strong and smiling, charming and brilliant and brave, but he was still a kid; a seventeen year old kid, who had lost his dad that exact same moment that she had lost her brother. And however much such news can just kill you in all but flesh, Burt could not bring himself to understand how someone could just tell their nephew to drive two hours home, along what may have been the exact highway his dad had died on only hours before, to an empty house, telling him that she'd 'get to him in the morning'.

And what made it worse, was that Burt knew Blaine, and with a sick coil in his throat, he could practically hear the boy's gentle tone as he assured his aunt that, yes, of course, that would be fine; whatever she needed him to do.

He was selfishly relieved when Puck informed him that he wouldn't have to deal with calling the woman that night, as the boy had already pre-empted the situation, and informed her that Blaine would be staying with them that night, giving her their address.

Silence had now fallen heavy on the four, each individual painfully aware of the light noises of activity from the kitchen. Puck cleared his throat, "I really should be getting home. See you at school tomorrow?" The question was not entirely a question, but rather, loaded with everything that Puck just really didn't know how to express.

"I'll drive you." Finn stood up.

"Nah, I'll walk. It's only round the block…" It wasn't, it was more, but no one pointed that out. If he wanted to walk and think, they could relate. "Night Mr Hummel, Kurt." Puck's voice was soft, unusual without its normal attitude, made more all the more unusual, but at the same time normalised, as Puck briefly paused to clasp his hand on Kurt's shoulder, at which the other boy just smiled with a weak gratefulness.

Finn followed Puck out into the hall, leaving father and son alone. Burt didn't say anything, he just continued to sit where he was, arm now tight around his son as Kurt leant against him. He waited, and then Kurt finally found his voice, "What's wrong with him?" Kurt shook his head, hands gesturing, and he amended his question as his words began to fall out faster, "I mean, I know what's wrong with him, and god, but Dad, why...just, why is he, why hasn't he, why…what do I do? What do I say to that? How do I..? I mean, Blaine's dad! His dad! How can he just be…and Blaine, what will Blaine..? Dad, I don't, how can…"

Tears spilled, and Burt knew exactly what Kurt was trying to say. And he wished he knew how to answer, but instead he just held his son as his body shook with shock, confusion and sobs. When the flood began to subside, Burt just looked down, asking softly, "You okay?"

"I have to be." Kurt's voice was steadier, and Burt knew what he was saying. Kurt was Kurt, and he knew his son would do everything in his power to be there for his boyfriend. But first, he had needed to deal with himself, try and get his head round everything. While Burt was certain that Kurt was not suddenly okay, he also knew that those few minutes had provided Kurt with some catharsis; enough, at least, to cope for the time being.

"You won't have to deal with this alone. We're all going to be there for Blaine." Burt squeezed his son's shoulder.

"I don't even know what to say…he's just…Blaine. His dad's dead and he's just being Blaine…"

Burt sighed, "We'll just take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Thanks Dad…" Kurt leant his head against Burt's shoulder, "I love you."

And after something like this happening, it was all the more important, "I love you too, Kurt." He rubbed his hand up and down Kurt's upper arm in a comforting gesture, before standing up, "Come on; help me set up this damned sofa bed for Blaine."

Kurt suddenly scowled, pent up emotions finding a more familiar outlet, "We're not going to do anything Dad! Why can't he-"

Burt cut off his son mid-rant, gently calming the brewing storm, "Because right now, Blaine needs normal. And if I suddenly change the rules, I don't know how he'll deal with that. Now, if you should happen to sneak down here in the middle of the night, I ain't gonna say anything against that, because I trust you. But, for Blaine, we're setting up this bed."

Kurt's anger melted in an instant, and he swallowed, unable to truly express how thankful he was to have the dad he did, "Thank you."

Dinner was lovely, if you spoke only of the quality of the food. Everything else, well, that was just the worst meal of Finn's life. Blaine had taken two bites in nearly the amount of time that it took Finn to clear his plate – yes, he knew he practically inhaled food when he ate, as Kurt loved to point out, but even by normal standards, Blaine was hardly eating. Carole had saved Blaine from forcing a third bite in his politeness by physically removing the plate from in front of him, and herded the boy upstairs to hunt out some clothes for him to sleep in. Cracks had shown in Blaine's Blaine-Mask and flickers of bone tiredness that even Finn noticed had seeped through when he had shown his gratefulness at the rescue.

It had left the three of them alone again to finish and clear up in the kitchen, and they did it so slowly that by the time they had finished, Carole had returned, telling them that Blaine was settled and hopefully asleep in their living room. The family had seen little point in prolonging a bid goodnight, and all headed upstairs.

This now led them to the point they were at now, which was Kurt and Finn sitting on Kurt's bed, cross-legged, facing each other, talking in stilted whispers. A year or so ago, this scenario would have seemed absurd, but now they were brothers, and both found that, of all the stupid, ridiculous, inane things, they just wanted to spend half an hour before they crashed talking about the glee club assignment.

It was through this that maybe Finn could understand why Blaine had wanted to make dinner, although he could sense that Kurt could not.

When Finn finally crept back to his own room, Kurt was left to go through his mildly comforting night-time routine, all the while alone with his wildly crashing thoughts – should he text Mercedes? Did his dad expect him to go to school in the morning? What would happen to Blaine now? Should he even go downstairs to Blaine like his dad implied, or just leave him to sleep in peace? This last thought was his most conflicted and pressing, and he had no idea what to do. On the one hand, he wanted to be there for Blaine, but on the other, he really didn't know how to handle it all, and what if Blaine didn't want Kurt right now?

In the end, Kurt decided to remain where he was, however much it wrenched at his heart to do so, having convinced himself that his desire to go downstairs was more from his own need to be close to Blaine, rather than the other way around.

At a little past one in the morning, Kurt found himself to be proved completely wrong.

A door creaked, and the bed dipped, and Kurt didn't even breathe for fear that he scare Blaine away, because right now, this was the first indication of not-normal behaviour that his boyfriend had exhibited. And then Blaine just slid under the covers and curled up facing him, barely millimetres away from actually touching Kurt, folding up his legs and wrapping his arms around himself, drowned in Finn's too-large borrowed sleep clothes, his soft breath barely making a whisper in the silent room.

All confused, conflicted thoughts fled from Kurt's head, and he just right there knew what to do. Calm, steady and strong, and it only took the tiniest of movements to close that last little distance and wrap his arms around Blaine, swallowing back the lump in his throat as Blaine just as silently and gently curled around Kurt, burying his head against Kurt's neck.

No words were said, their breathing beginning to fall into a synchronised pattern as they got closer back to sleep.

And all Kurt could think, all he could hope, was that he was able to do this, because the tables had turned, and this time, it was Blaine who needed Kurt to get him through to the other side.

To be Continued…

Author Notes: I hope to get the next chapter ready and posted in the next couple of days, but any feedback/comments on this would be awesome :)