OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chapter 4

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He knew he needed to wake up – he didn't know why, exactly, but there was something pressing in the back of his mind. It was pulsing and pushing, and it made him feel vaguely sick, like if he didn't get moving, something horrible would happen. But this was all fuzzy and uncertain – incomplete thoughts and wisps of fear tangling up in his foggy, drowsy brain.

There was something near him now, something he recognized even as deeply out of it as he was, and it was calling him up from the mist. As everything began to clear, and he began his slow rise to consciousness, he could finally acknowledge the odd combination of pain and numbness – parts of him he couldn't feel, but the ones that he could . . . God, did they hurt like a bitch.

There was a soft hum of chatter just beyond the reach of his senses, and some beeping, and two different hands . . . He tried to open his eyes, but they weren't responding.

There was a muffled noised from somewhere above, and then a voice he would recognize no matter how distant he was from it.

"Dad?"

Another familiar tone chimed in, "Burt? Oh Burt, please, c'mon back."

And with two loved ones begging him, how could he refuse? He pushed and pulled himself towards them, his eyes twitching and then fluttering . . . Eventually, he managed to get them open, and when he did, it was to the blurry sight of Kurt and Carole, bent over him, crying and smiling. Well, Carole was smiling – Kurt just looked like he was going to fall apart any second.

"Oh – Finn, quick, go get the doctor!"

He heard more than saw Finn dart from the room. After a few seconds of blinking to clear his blurred vision, he managed to really see his family. And Kurt . . . he tried to reach for him, but lifting his arms was suddenly a monumental task. Kurt was looking absolutely shattered but he wasn't saying or doing anything – just looking at Burt with gleaming, dark eyes, old and new tear tracks glinting under florescent lighting.

He shifted his gaze to Carole, managing a small, "Hey," then, with more effort, "Help me up – Kurt . . ."

The doctor came in then, followed by Finn.

"Burt!" Finn cheered. "God, it's so awesome that you're awake."

"Yes, this is very good," the doctor agreed with less enthusiasm, floating around the room and checking machines, making notes on his clipboard. Burt turned his eyes back onto his son – Kurt hadn't looked away. He looked as though he hadn't so much as blinked since Burt came to.

"Can I?" he croaked, and this time, he managed to shift his arms and push. He groaned as he did it because, shit, that had been insanely painful. The reaction was instantaneous – Carole stood up and shoved him back down, gently but firmly, scolding words erupting forth. Kurt had flinched hard enough that Burt felt the jerk travel up his own arm, and then he was shaking, standing up and staring down at him, wordlessly rebuking him as well.

"You won't be able to move just yet, Mr. Hummel – if you like, we can raise the bed, but please, refrain from trying to sit up or roll over. You've had some serious surgery after a serious accident. You might undo all our hard work."

Carole turned to glare at the man, and she stepped away from Burt momentarily to speak to him in low tones. Finn took her place at his other side, smiling happily, but every few seconds, he was darting looks over at Kurt, and Burt could tell that Finn was worried; that just made him all the more determined.

"Finn, push a button or something – lift this damn thing up."

Finn searched around for a second before finding what he was looking for. The bed eased up slowly, and Burt ignored a momentary bout of dizziness. He squeezed Kurt's hand – not as tightly as he wanted to, but since just being awake seemed to be sapping all this strength, he figured it had to be enough for now.

Kurt stared down at their hands, then lifted his eyes again. Burt felt his heart clench brutally at the wasted boy before him. Now he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the barely brushed hair, the non-Kurt like clothes. And the damp lashes, with tears still clinging to them, clumping them together.

Which was when he asked, the question occurring to him for the first time, "What . . . what happened?"

Carole sat down on the edge of his bed gingerly, putting a warm hand on his leg. "You . . . the storm – lightning struck this tree, and a tree branch fell onto your car . . ." She shuddered. "And it impaled you. You're fine – you're going to be just fine now. But it was . . . it was really scary for a bit there, Burt. Really, really scary."

"Yeah." Finn's voice cracked there, his smile faltering. "Uh, it was beyond scary, actually. You're not . . . I mean, things like this shouldn't just happen."

Burt had to smile at Finn's uneven words, and he made the effort to grasp the teen's hand – a hand which was as big as his, but Finn was still young, still a teenager, and maybe Burt wasn't his father, but he definitely felt like he had some kind of important place in Finn's life now. Finn's smile returned to its full brightness, and Burt felt those longer fingers squeeze his.

"Sometimes they do, buddy, but don't go thinking too much about it – you'll drive yourself crazy with 'what-ifs'." Burt's eyes were drawn to Kurt more often than not, but he was also worried about his girlfriend and her son. "How are you guys doin'? This probably hasn't been fun for you."

Understatement, he knew, if Kurt's state was anything to go by. Carole sighed. "We're okay . . . or we will be."

And now she was looking towards Kurt too, and Burt tugged on Kurt's hand. "Hey, kiddo – you wanna talk now? You've been way too quiet."

Kurt shook his head once, clasping the hand he was holding with both of his own now, and Burt felt a fine tremble pass from his son to him.

"Kurt? Kurt, please kiddo – I'm getting worried here."

"Kurt?" This time it was Carole who was imploring. Kurt turned to her, his lips parted though no sound was coming out. "What do you say about Finn and I taking a coffee break while you talk with your dad – is that okay?"

The gratitude that flashed through his kid's eyes was nice to see. That Carole understood Kurt that well was also pretty comforting. Burt was so spaced out from whatever drugs were coursing through his system that he hadn't stopped to think about the fact that Kurt might not want to dish about his feelings with two other people in the room – almost-family or not. It upped the worry another notch – Kurt didn't hold back unless it was really personal, or really bad.

As soon as Carole and Finn left (Finn taking the time to squeeze Kurt's shoulders in a supportive gesture on his way out), Kurt's trembling turned to shaking and then he was sobbing inconsolably, burying his face in his hands and Burt's hand, hiccuping and swallowing, more out of control than Burt could ever remember seeing him. He tugged his hand out of Kurt's loosened grip, putting it on his son's head and running uncoordinated, slightly numb fingers through soft brown locks. "Kurt . . . oh God, kiddo, I'm so sorry." He felt tears prick at his own eyes, realizing that Kurt must've been so terrified, so lost. "C'mere, Kurt – come up here with me, it's okay, I swear."

Kurt lifted his head, wiping at tears – rather pointlessly since he was still crying – and then crawled onto the bed with him. He froze as his arm came to rest on Burt's chest – but he wasn't applying any pressure whatsoever, and he was resting it under, not on, where Burt could faintly feel the most concentrated pain. He encouraged and reassured his son by lifting an arm up to cradle him close. All this moving and talking was exhausting him, but he refused to give in to sleep just yet. Kurt's breath was hitching hard enough that Burt thought he might be having a panic attack, but at the same time he didn't want to call anyone in – because he should be able to take care of this. To take care of his kid.

But he was lost – he was genuinely, utterly, completely lost. His head was spinning from the meds and the strong desire for rest, he couldn't remember anything from the day before and Christ, his son needed him but he didn't know what to do to make it better.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt's head, and Kurt seemed to cry harder at that. Jesus, why did that Goddamn tree and that Goddamn lightning bolt – "Dad, oh God," and then there was more crying, and tears soaking in his shirt, and he tried to shove away his anger with the world at large – with the universe that had seen fit to punish his baby boy even more than it already had by depriving him of his mother.

He clutched Kurt closer to him, trying to think of a plan, any plan. "Kurt, I'm fine. I'm in one piece, everything's going to be –"

"A bit to the left and you'd be . . ." Kurt could hardly speak between sobs. "Oh God, dad, I couldn't . . . I wouldn't . . ."

Burt understood, he really did. It had been a close call, and things could have turned out differently – the idea of leaving Kurt behind, all alone . . . He swallowed, shutting his eyes. The only thing worse was the thought of Kurt . . . and he couldn't even finish it in his head. His grip around his son tightened reflexively and pushed away dark musings that really weren't helping him with this situation.

"Okay, okay – I'm listening, tell me what you're thinking," he soothed.

Kurt took in several deep breaths before extracting himself from his father's embrace. "Nothing, I . . . I'm just very freaked out and if you . . . I just, I need to pretend that I'm five, right now, and that you're Superman or some other silly comic book hero. Okay? Because I think my sanity depends on going back to when I thought you were invincible."

Burt nodded and Kurt practically burrowed into him. He'd really gotten tall, his boy – finally growing into a man, it seemed. He'd be taller than him maybe, soon. It probably looked ridiculous to see this grown boy cuddling with his father on a narrow hospital bed, but Burt was too tired and sore to give a damn – and even without all the stitches and drugs keeping him together, he still wouldn't give a damn.

That branch, the lightning – it was a freak accident, and it could have happened to anyone.

But it had happened to him, and it had happened to his son – because everything that affected the one, affected the other. He wished with all his heart that Kurt hadn't had to go through that, because of all the kids in the world to have to go through the trauma of nearly losing a parent . . .

Kurt sniffled a little, a hand coming up to grip Burt's hospital gown. It was complete déjà vu to when Kurt had been just a tiny baby and Burt, incapable of putting him down for a nap in his crib, used to settle down on the couch with the TV on mute, his baby son on his chest, curled up and so perfect – impossibly small fingers clutching his shirt.

After a while, Burt could no longer ignore the urge for sleep tugging at the edges of his conscious mind, but he fought it as hard as he could, whispering to Kurt, "Okay, listen son, I'm kinda dropping off here – these meds are getting to me." Kurt's arm tightened around him and that did hurt, but he winced into Kurt's hair, hiding his reaction. "I'm not goin' anywhere, kiddo – just sleeping, all right? You stay right where you are, as long as you need to. But tonight, when you're back home, I need you to take better care of yourself. You eat something, you get some real sleep . . . get Mercedes to come over and distract you or somethin'. Whatever it takes to get you back on track, 'cause you look like hell, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes – it wasn't something Burt could see from where he was, but he knew his son well. " 'Cause right now you look like a GQ cover model yourself, dad."

"Go do your skin care routine, get some sleep."

His eyes were falling shut as he said this, and Kurt's head was resting on his shoulder, his arm loosening around his chest as he whispered, "You first."

Burt managed to brush one last kiss to his son's head before drifting again, the warmth of Kurt at his side making it all too easy to slip back down into deep, dark slumber.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He spent the next couple of days alternating between restless boredom and ever-increasing worry for his son.

Kurt was looking even more run down, if that was possible. He didn't know someone could be that pale and still be alive – he knew that Kurt wasn't sleeping well, if at all. His hair was brushed and neat, but distinctly lacking in hairspray, and his clothes . . . Burt hadn't seen Kurt even go near plaid lumberjack shirts since his brief foray into 'ruggedness' while dating that Brittany girl, but there he was, wearing shirts that while still well-fitting and expensive looking, were so normal it was disturbing.

Carole sent Kurt and Finn to the cafeteria Sunday afternoon, two days after Burt first woken up. He was able to keep himself awake and alert for most of the day now, with the odd hour-long nap here and there. He still felt lousy and drowsy a lot of the time, but his meds kept the pain at bay and the doctor (unsympathetic jerk though he might be, he knew his stuff) said he was getting better way faster than expected – that he might actually be able to go home in another couple of days.

As soon as Finn and Kurt left to get some food, Carole turned to him, grasping his hand. "Okay, we need to talk to about Kurt."

He nodded, his eyes lingering on the door his son had exited through. "Yeah we do. He eating at home? 'Cause I haven't seen him down more than a couple of bites when he's here."

Carole sighed. "He eats – it isn't much, but I make sure he gets at least half a plateful down before he heads off to his room. The thing is I don't think he's sleeping well. Mercedes spent the night Friday and yesterday too and she was telling me that he passes out all right, but he's really restless and he tends to wake up a lot. Poor girl has been getting only a little more sleep than Kurt has."

Burt dropped his head back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "Christ. I don't know what to do, Carole. He's . . . he's gotta be scared. And I get it, I really do. But what the hell do I tell him? What can we do?"

"Burt, I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm not sure how to handle this either. Kurt, he's . . . you know I love him, but I don't think he's going to handle too much mothering on my part, not right now. I think he just needs his dad. Once you're home, we'll worry if he keeps going on like he is now."

Burt wasn't satisfied with that reply, and he could see that Carole wasn't happy with saying it, but he understood. But he desperately wanted to do something. Maybe Kurt needed some extra support – like that bug-eyed guidance counselor or something? Maybe they should sit him down and have another talk about death and grieving.

But the thing was, Kurt had already gone through all that when his mother died – the therapy sessions and deep discussions on death and dying (fine-tuned for an eight year old mind), and that was part of the problem, as far as Burt was concerned. Kurt had only one parent left, and Burt knew that no matter how little he and son might have in common, how limited the bonding time could be, how often Burt's discomfort with Kurt's sexuality showed or Kurt's whiny teenage moods lead to arguments and lectures, when all was said and done, they loved each other more than anything and anyone else in their lives.

If it had been Kurt laid up in this hospital bed, Burt wouldn't leave his side for anything other than bathroom breaks, and as soon as Kurt was home, he would do anything, make any excuse to be near him, and keep him in the house – to keep him safe. And he had no freaking clue how to combat that level of fear. He couldn't even think about Kurt getting this hurt, it freaked him out him so much.

"I guess you're right," he said gruffly. "I just hate this, I hate watching him go through this."

"It's pretty natural, Burt, for him to feel this way, to act this way, as much as it worries you and me. Finn and Mercedes are worried too, but they also realize that it's normal. I really think that once you're home, things will start to improve. And Kurt will fuss over you and watch you get better, and eventually get better himself. You just focus on your own healing process, okay?"

Burt gave her a look. "What's there to focus on? I'm stuck in this damn bed, doing nothing but sleeping and eating – can't even go to the damn bathroom on my own. And when I'm home? I'm betting on more rest and meals-in-bed, and struggles in the bathroom department. Seriously, Carole – give me paperwork from the garage – Leo and Dan must be behind without me. Or something."

He couldn't watch mindless television, or even football, because it wasn't distracting enough – didn't make him forget his worry, his aches, his general frustration with everything.

"I'll think about it. Maybe when you're home. For now, stick to your movies and your books when you can." Burt glared at her, but it was weak and she just smirked back, letting him know without words that she wasn't going to give in to his sulking.

Finn and Kurt came back with sandwiches and drinks, Finn chatting animatedly about some new song they should do in Glee, and Kurt mindlessly 'hmm'ing periodically. Burt ignored the near painful concern that flared up at Kurt's listless expression, and he tried to take Carole's words to heart. He joined in on the conversation, trying to engage Kurt but not focusing too much on Kurt's lack of enthusiasm.

He'd be home in a few days, and then things would get better. That fine trembling in Kurt's hands would go away, the dark and dead look in his eyes would ease up, he'd start eating again and whining about a lack of solos, or go back to trying to convince his father to let him redo the living room.

In the meantime, he would just settle for trusting Carole, knowing she, Finn and Mercedes were doing their best to keep Kurt as healthy and whole as they could. Burt felt a surge of gratitude as he watched two of those three people interacting with a less-than-responsive Kurt, and knew there was no one better to entrust his son to while he was in this hospital.

Even when he was back home, he knew they would keep right on supporting and loving Kurt, which helped him ease back in his pillows and relax more than he had been able to in days, ignoring the niggling doubts in the back of his mind.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the end, Kurt's father's homecoming was a quiet, but happy event. Mercedes was there, as she had been the entire weekend, everyday that week after school, and her parents were coming by later. It was a Thursday afternoon, and Kurt was helping his father down from the car, Finn on his dad's other side.

His dad was still pale, still sore and still recuperating, but Kurt was so relieved to have him home again that it didn't matter to him one bit that his dad was too tired to enjoy the Jones' casseroles that Carole was going to re-heat for them (which had lasted them the week despite Finn's efforts to go through them all in one day, which made Kurt's lips twitch in amusement as he re-called the almost all-night stay Finn had had in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet – Kurt had gladly helped nurse him back to health, and it had been the one thing that truly took his mind off things that entire, miserable time). Mercedes was taking a quick picture, something his dad protested and she pressed a kiss to his cheek in reply. His dad rolled his eyes, but said nothing as she snapped one more and then helped clear the way to the couch.

Mercedes had been such an amazing friend, and he honestly could not understand how he had come to deserve to have such an incredible person in his life. Had he believed in God, he would have called her a Godsend. As it was, he was comfortable in considering her an earthly angel of sorts, because even though she couldn't help him stop thinking about going to a funeral like his mother's, except with his father in the casket, even though she couldn't distract him from other horrible thoughts that were exhausting him with constant fear and gut-wrenching sadness, and making sleep something he was absolutely terrified of (he hadn't had any nightmares though – he hadn't slept long enough for that), she had been with him as often as she could be and accepted that he couldn't respond to her optimism and subtle requests for him to open up more to her.

She was currently chattering away with Finn, while his dad sat on the living room couch, looking about as bad as Kurt felt, but also smiling and evidently relieved to be home.

Kurt smiled too, even though he wasn't as happy as he felt he should be. Finn messed up his hair to get his attention as Mercedes went to help Carole with serving dinner. "Dude, Mercedes is going to have a Halo marathon with us – she says she can school me, but I don't believe it."

Kurt frowned at him, annoyed, and halfheartedly attempted to fix his hair. He stopped after only a second – what did it matter? He was home with people who didn't really care what he looked like, and it's not like he'd taken more than ten minutes to style it this morning. But it was an automatic reaction.

"You may recall that I personally suck at Halo, and have no wish to play it with two pros."

"So she is a pro? Crap . . . maybe I shouldn't have bet a week's worth of lunch on this then." Finn looked seriously concerned and Kurt tried to be amused by this, but he was watching his father try to pull a blanket over himself, and immediately stood up, pulling that blanket out of his dad's grip and doing that for him.

"Thanks, Kurt." His dad smiled tiredly. "I'm pretty useless right now but I ain't gonna stay that way for long."

Kurt made a noise of agreement, taking a seat next to his dad. Finn sat down on Kurt's other side. "Burt, wait 'til you taste one of these casseroles – they are awesome."

"Assuming you don't try to down two in one night." Carole emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates, Mercedes just behind her with drinks that she set on the coffee table. Carole passed one serving to Finn and then another to Kurt. "You can feed this to him – slowly. Doctor said he could handle it, but not too much." His dad glared at Carole, muttering that he could feed himself, but he didn't actually fight Kurt as he raised the fork. Carole and Mercedes went to retrieve their own food and drinks, and sat with them in the living room.

Kurt concentrated on his task with the type of focus he typically reserved for scouring online stores for designer items on sale and in his size. Conversation floated on around him, but he barely registered it. When his father indicated he was full, Kurt stared at the plate for a moment – he had eaten maybe half of a medium-sized serving. Was that acceptable?

"Hey, Kurt, I'm still stuffed from that late lunch – you go on and have the rest," his dad said softly.

And then he watched Kurt, one eyebrow raised. Waiting. Kurt wasn't hungry, but he ate – and he noticed that it wasn't just his dad watching him do so.

Carole and Finn had been amazing too this last while. Carole had been so great at taking care of him – and he knew she wanted to do more, but was respecting his boundaries. And Kurt really wouldn't mind having her as a stepmother. No one could ever replace his mother in his mind, but Carole . . . she was really nice, funny and understanding. And smart. And she just . . . she knew what he was going through, sort of. She understood some of it, at least, without him having to explain.

When it came to Finn, Kurt was so glad that any awkwardness about his former crush had long since faded away, because in its place, this warm, brotherly affection had taken hold, and it only increased every day. Finn was everything he hoped a big brother would be, even though had never wanted an older sibling, or any sibling really, selfishly content in being the only child. But Finn was annoying and obtuse, and caring and sweet, and protective and bumbling. And irritatingly perceptive when it came to what Kurt was feeling.

And all of this, along with his father being home, should have meant that Kurt was happy about it all ending so well. That he should see the bright light at the end of the tunnel, or some either cliché about things improving.

But here he was, his father finally back where he belonged, on the mend, and all he could think was: Oh God, I almost lost this, Oh God, I could lose this, he could leave me – it shouldn't . . . oh God . . . And it went on and on – and endless loop of despair and terror.

He couldn't make it stop.

Kurt felt it whirring and buzzing even as he made small comments and answered all questions directed at him in conversation. He smiled and accepted hugs from Mercedes' parents when they came to pick her up and stayed for coffee. He teased Finn as the Jones' came bearing a few more casseroles, having heard of the 'Great and Stupid Casserole Binge of Finn Hudson' from Mercedes. He kept a watchful eye on his father, and made sure that the man was comfortable and not straining himself – something his father grudgingly accepted.

After Mercedes and her parents left, Finn took over for his mother in the kitchen, cleaning up and loading the dishwasher. While Kurt's dad was dozing on the couch, Carole leaned over from her perch on the armrest, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"I know things have been rough on you, Kurt, this past week. But if you let it, you'll see that time really does the trick on things like this. Your dad's home, and there's no where to go but up from here, okay?"

"I know," Kurt said, though he didn't feel that way. He should, it made perfect sense, but he just didn't. "Believe me, the fact that he's . . . alive right now, makes up for everything." And it did, so why, why couldn't Kurt shake his anxiety?

Carole smiled warmly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his temple – he accepted it without flinching, and he appreciated the gesture and the words, and wished desperately he could give her more in return.

His dad woke up then, disoriented and still tired, requesting quietly that they help him to his room. Kurt and Carole did so, and Finn followed closely behind. Once his father was settled comfortably in his own bed, Carole gave Kurt a searching look. "I want you to head on down to your room too. Please try and get some real sleep, Kurt. It'll make your father rest easier knowing that you are too."

And Kurt agreed – enough was enough. His dad was home. It was over.

"Good night, dad." He hugged him with great care for his wounded chest, but his dad pressed him close anyway.

Finn took a turn hugging Kurt's father, and they both left the room. Finn walked with Kurt all the way to the door of his basement before speaking. "Look, Kurt, I figure it's gonna take a while for things to go back to . . . normal. But, if you're really messed up, dude, I think it's cool. I mean, I think that's normal. We want you back to your usual self, but there isn't like, a time limit or something. Just know that my mom and me? We've totally got your back. And Mercedes too. And Burt's fine now. So, things'll be right again, real soon. 'Kay?"

Kurt managed something much closer to his real smile this time. "Yeah, thanks Finn. And thanks for . . . everything."

When the other boy headed to his own room, after giving Kurt a quick hug, Kurt trudged down his stairs.

The past few nights without Mercedes had been tough, but he managed. He didn't want to ask her to stay over on school nights – it wasn't fair since he didn't go to school at all these past few days, and she would have to get up early, after a night of very little sleep with him.

But what little sleep he'd been getting with her, was now non-existent. He was so petrified of what his subconscious would do to him – his dreams could be incredibly vivid, and he wasn't ready to face the horrors his mind would unleash when he couldn't control his thoughts.

But he forced himself to get comfortable beneath his sheets and cleared his mind as best he could - because this was ridiculous. And everything would be all right now. Everything would be just fine.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt used to have this re-occurring nightmare just after his mother passed away. It didn't involve monsters or ghosts or even watching his mother die. It was just him, waking up on a regular morning, going up his basement steps, everything normal.

Then he'd reach the kitchen, and there would be nobody there. He'd call for his mother and father, and no one would answer. He would start wandering the house, panic increasing – no one answering his cries – everything completely dead silent. Not a creak or a moan from the floorboards beneath his feet. Not a rustling of the wind. All alone.

It would go from morning to night in an instant, but he would still feel the passing of time, the passing of an entire day, huddled in a corner of his living room, crying for his missing parents. After the sun set and the house became full of long dark shadows, still eerily silent and far too empty . . . He'd be waiting, waiting for the first sound that would indicate something, scared out of his mind to hear anything after so long a time spent in such absolute quiet . . .

And then he'd jerk awake in his own bed, the first sound greeting his ears his own gasp – and if anything creaked or moaned around him, he would open his mouth and scream in sheer, unabashed terror. His father would come running into the room, and gather him up in hug, tight and all encompassing. Kurt would snuggle into his dad's chest, trembling, gasping and crying out for both his dad and his mom.

His father would usually pick him up and carry him to his own bed, let Kurt take his mother's side of mattress and sleep there.

It happened almost every night for an entire year. His father even took him to see a counselor out of fear for his mental health, but apparently hadn't liked the man's advice, which essentially consisted of leaving Kurt alone in his room to fend for himself after a few paltry phrases of comfort.

A couple months before Kurt turned nine, the nightmares began to decrease in frequency until they were only happening maybe once a week. Several weeks after Kurt's birthday, they started appearing even less frequently – every two or three weeks. By the time he was ten they had ceased all together.

Until tonight.

He snapped awake, an all too-familiar paralyzing fear gripping his limbs, and a scream for help, for his father, just barely held at bay. The dream didn't fade, and he dimly remembered that he wasn't eight years old anymore, but in his dream he'd felt small and so utterly alone and vulnerable.

Once he managed to calm himself down, shutting his eyes against the darkness, humming to hear some kind of sound, he sat up, shaking and still terrified. It was too quiet. He stumbled out of bed, and climbed up his stairs. When he reached the living room, he could hear the faint sounds of Finn snoring through his half-opened bedroom door, and that helped ease Kurt's nerves a bit. But not enough. He needed more than just the reassurance that he wasn't abandoned.

Without thinking, he grabbed a pillow and a few blankets off the couch and made his way to his father and Carole's bedroom. He pushed open the door very slowly and stared for a moment. There was his father, breathing deeply, Carole burrowed close to his side.

Kurt tip-toed, carefully shutting the door behind him, and again, without conscious thought, he lay the pillow down on the floor next to his dad's side of the bed. He knew he'd be awake before either his father or Carole – even when absolutely drained, his body-clock tended to wake up between five-thirty and six, a good half hour to forty five minutes before anyone else in the house woke up.

And he'd been up and moving even earlier than that since Mercedes had stopped sleeping over.

They would never know he'd been there. It was probably just for the one night anyway, until he finally put his fears to rest.

He fell asleep to the sounds of his dad's heavy breathing, and Carole's soft, slightly whistling breaths – a combination that soothed him and allowed him to drift away into yet another restless, but thankfully nightmare-less few hours of sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: Well, it's been a horribly long wait for this, something I apologize for – it's been totally up-and-down in terms of inspiration the past couple of months. The bullying-arc on the show has completely distracted me (thus 'Mad World'), and even with that nagging at me, writing has been rather slow for me in recent weeks.

As usual, I wish to thank any and all of you who are still interested in this story, and your review and critiques are much appreciated.

Thank you for your patience!