Sorry, seem to be having some upload issues here! Eeek.

Rating: M for Mature.

Warnings: Drug use and abuse, graphic male on male sex, prostitution.

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, I'd be rich and famous and live on a yacht. I don't even like the sea, but I feel it would be necessary to live on a yacht anyway.

Note: We're actually reaching the end of the story now. Only one more chapter to go :)

Ten

They let Kurt ride in the ambulance, probably because they think he's gone into shock. Maybe he has; he can't stop shaking and his stomach feels like he's just gotten off a rollercoaster. It's difficult to walk, to move, to even think. Every time he tries to concentrate on the matter at hand, his mind just replays the scene in his head; the way Dave's hands grab him and drag him away from Mark, the way Mark spluttered and coughed, leapt for Kurt with his hand outstretched and Dave. Dave jumping in front of him, defending him. The small, almost inaudible noise the knife made as it went in. Hell, Kurt doesn't even know if it even made a sound or he just imagined that.

When they finally get to the hospital after what seems like hours sitting in the back of the ambulance, Kurt is maneuvered into a waiting room, whilst they wheel Dave into the E.R. There he stands for a few minutes, suddenly alone save for the strangers around him. No one pays him any mind for a little while, until he sits down, and starts to notice the looks he's getting.

Glances, at first, then outright staring. Whispers turn to mutters and before he knows it, there's a nurse standing in front of him, backed by two security men. His stomach tightens. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Kurt panics, stares between the three people, and tries desperately to figure out what to do. He can't leave, Dave could be bleeding to death! And shouldn't someone be there to tell them what happened? He can't just abandon Dave, not after everything Dave's done for him.

"My friend–" He chokes out, but the nurse doesn't listen, doesn't even hear him at all.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you have to leave." She cuts him off, looking down at him like there's a bad smell under her nose.

But he just can't give up that easily, "I can't! My friend is hurt–"

The woman's face turns sour, and she shakes her head, "If you refuse to leave, I'm going to have to ask security to escort you out."

"Why? What–" it doesn't take a moment to see where her eyes are fixed: his arms.

Oh, shit. They think he's a junkie. They think he's here to get drugs. Fuck. Shit.

"I'm not a…" he trails off. Because…it's true, isn't it? He is a junkie. He's an addict, and even now, even when Dave is on the brink of death, he'd still do just about anything to get a hit. His stomach turns again and he grips it with one hand, trying to keep himself from heaving.

"Sir, I'm asking you politely." Kurt can see the way she's looking at him, like he's nothing. He can tell she doesn't even see him, she just sees a stereotype, a statistic. He's just a junkie to her, and to everyone else here who are staring and judging.

The room is spinning and Kurt wants to stand up but suddenly he can't, he's glued to his seat and he feels so dizzy and sick and he needs Dave, he needs Dave because he can't resist anymore, he can feel it clawing up inside of him and he needs to calm down, he needs something to calm him down and shit shit shit.

"I…" He stutters out, and before he knows it, two security men are lifting him out of his chair onto his feet. "Please! No…Dave! Dave!" he shrieks and kicks and flails his arms. One of the security men lets go but Kurt's feet won't support him.

He's not sure which comes first: the blackout or the vomit.

As Dave drifts in and out of consciousness, he thinks about Kurt. Thinks about what he's sacrificed for him. Thinks about why.

He hadn't thought twice before confronting Mark to defend Kurt. He didn't need to, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the right thing to do. Hell, he didn't even have to consider it, it was instinct. Protecting Kurt seemed to be way up on his priority list, besides eating and breathing. Maybe even above breathing, considering his current predicament.

The moments in which he's conscious are neither prolonged or comprehensible enough for him to get any sort of idea of what is happening. He remembers getting stabbed, the flash of metal and the impossibly intense pain in his stomach. He remembers Kurt's face fading in front of him and trying to speak to him, trying to say goodbye.

And now he's here. He's alive, at least, right now. The drugs are making the world spin and he's barely awake for long enough to figure out how injured he is and whether he'll even make it.

Oh, shit. Now that's a terrifying thought: he could die.

Dave forces open his eyes and blinks into the light of the hospital room, but he can't keep them from closing again. He can hear the loud pounding of blood in his ears and the murmuring of people in his room but he can't focus, can't hear what the voices are saying.

There's a dull, throbbing pain coming from his chest somewhere but it's a muted pain that comes and goes, much like his lapses into consciousness. It's there because he knows it should be, but someone it's not quite there.

He waits for Kurt. Kurt should be here, should be beside him, but whenever he attempts to look around, all he sees are tubes and white and doctors.

Who is he kidding? Kurt's got nothing standing between him and the drugs now; he's probably run after Mark. Why would he stick around here, and risk being tied to Dave's injuries?

Just the thought of Kurt being gone, being back with Mark, makes his heart start beating faster. He can feel sweat building on his face but for some reason he can't lift his arms to wipe it away. It's becoming hard to breathe, each gasp sending shooting pain to and from everywhere in his body and he wants to open his eyes, to scream for help, to thrash and struggle but he can't.

Machines beep around him like a cheesy medical drama, but this is very real. He can feel himself drifting away, and tries to stop it but his mind isn't working right either and he can't stay in focus. Focus. He tries to breathe and tries to think and tries to focus but it takes almost no time at all for the darkness to greet him.

When Kurt wakes up, the first words he hears are, "Mr. Hummel, I need to talk to you."

If the doctor knows who Kurt is, what that name really means, then he doesn't say so. Kurt opens his eyes blearily. "Where…" even as he says it, he remembers.

He's in a hospital. Dave's been stabbed. Dave is dying.

Is Dave dead?

What is he going to do? He can't stay here and he can't go home; if Dave is gone, there is no home. And how is he going to pay for this? He has no insurance or money. Shit.

A nurse flitters around him, checking the tube stuck into his arm, and putting a thermometer in his ear. He stares at her with a worried expression, like he expects her to throw him out any second.

"Mr. Hummel?" The doctor asks, trying to gain his focus again. Kurt shifts his glance back to the man, and shakes his head agitatedly.

"I…insurance…I don't…" he stammers out, but the doctor raises a hand to calm him.

"Your medical costs are covered, Mr. Hummel." The doctor says, dismissively, "Now, I need to discuss the situation with Mr. Karofsky."

Kurt feels his stomach drop and before he knows it, he's retching into a metal pan in the hands of the nurse. There's no food to throw up, so he coughs and chokes for a few seconds whilst the doctor waits patiently and hands him a paper cup with water in it.

"Dave…" is all Kurt manages to murmur, before draining the water in one gulp.

"Dave was brought in with a serious stab wound, Mr. Hummel. We need to know how he got it, so we can make a report to the police."

The police? The police want to know who stabbed Dave? Does that mean he's dead? Is he being asked to identify a murderer?

"I…I don't…" he chokes out, "Is Dave okay?"

"He's stable for the moment, but there's still a risk. Can you tell me the name of the person who stabbed him?"

"Mark," Kurt says, without a hint of hesitation, "But I…I don't know his last name." God, he feels useless, "I can give you an address but he's probably gone by now."

The doctor nods and Kurt reels off the address, and then answers as many questions as he can. After he's done asking about Dave, the man starts to ask him about his medical history and personal details, and Kurt becomes suddenly aware of the tube stuck into his arm. Just as he's about to ask, the doctor's pager goes off and he raises his hand to stop Kurt speaking.

"You can ask Karen here anything you want to know. I have to go, but I'll be back later, okay?" Kurt nods as the man leaves hurriedly; he supposes he has more critical patients to deal with. He turns to the nurse, Karen, who smiles reassuringly.

"What are you giving me?"

"You're currently receiving treatment for malnutrition and dehydration. We've also taken some blood and urine samples and are testing you for STDs and HIV." Kurt feels his stomach turn again, but this time he actually hurls a mouthful of watery substance into the pan that's just been held under him. This nurse has lightning reactions.

"Thanks." He says, wiping his mouth with the tissue she provides after whipping the pan away from him. "But I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

"Your insurance covers all your costs, Mr. Hummel, and your family were particularly worried about you. We were informed of your situation and the doctor thought it would be a good idea to have you go through a few tests."

It takes a second to process, but the word hits Kurt like a smack in the face. Family.

"My family is here?" He chokes out, his throat suddenly dry.

"Your father is, yes. When Mr. Karofsky came in, he informed us of your name and told us to contact your father…" she trails off, seeing the horror on Kurt's face. "Is there a problem?"

"No, I just… How long do I have to stay here?"

"We're going to keep you in for another day, maybe two. A few of your results should be in by tomorrow morning, so we'll go from there, okay?"

Kurt says nothing, just stares at the walls. He feels sick again but there's nothing left in his stomach to upchuck. His father is here. His dad, who he hasn't seen for six years, who believed he was dead, is here, in this hospital. And all the tests and the treatment means he must know what's become of Kurt.

"Where's my dad?"

"He's in the waiting room at the moment. Would you like me to get him?"

Kurt's immediate impulse is to answer no, but logic quickly reminds him that he's going to have to have this encounter soon, and that it'll be more painful the longer he holds it off. So he swallows down the lump in his throat and nods. The nurse immediately walks

"Kurt?" It's the same tone that Finn used on the phone; that mixture of absolute disbelief, confusion and just a slither of hope. Kurt has never felt so guilty.

"Dad." Kurt's voice is weak and scared. He can't help but suddenly feel like a kid again, ready to be chastised. But there's no yelling, no crying. Burt just stares at him son with this look of absolute disbelief, as if nothing in the world will convince him that it's Kurt Hummel sat on the hospital bed before him.

"Oh, god, Kurt."

Kurt wants to hug him, to talk to him, but he can't, not now, not until his mind is settled. "D-dad," he stammers out again. What is he supposed to say to the man he's been essentially avoiding for six years?

There's a click from the door, and both Hummels immediately glance over. The doctor reenters the room with a grim expression, and motions the nurse over to the doorway, where he speaks quietly with her for a few seconds. Kurt notices how her face turns white and immediately assumes the worst. "Is he dead?" He shouts, surprising his dad, "Is Dave dead?"

The doctor walks over far too slowly, "There were complications in his injury; one of his lungs was punctured." He must be able to see the panic in Kurt face, because he lays a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that's supposed to be comforting. Kurt jerks away automatically, backing away, and the doctor looks shocked for a second, before realizing his mistake. "We're doing everything we can, but he's not in any immediate danger anymore. I can't make any guarantees, but we think he'll be fine."

Not in any immediate danger. We think he'll be fine. They're not certain, but it's good enough for Kurt. Before he knows it, there are tears running down his cheeks and Karen is passing him a box of tissues as he sobs to his dad about how great it is that Dave's going to be okay. Burt sends him a wary look, but doesn't discourage him.

Three days later, they say they're going to let Kurt out, with the assertion that his test results will be forward to his doctor in Lima. He's in the clear for HIV, which is miracle in itself, but he has a whole other host of health issues because of the drugs that he'd been ignoring for a while now. They've been giving him some sort of treatment, but Kurt hasn't had the focus to remember what. He's been distracted by Dave and his critical condition.

Dave woke up after a day, but not for very long. They'd kept him mostly out of it because of the seriousness of the wound. Kurt heard a whole load of medical jargon he didn't understand, but he knows for sure that whatever state Dave is in, he's alive.

They finally let him in the room, yesterday, but Dave was barely conscious enough to distinguish who he was, and when he came in this morning and Dave was awake, he'd ended up running back to his room and emptying his stomach. That had made the nurse particularly angry, and she threatened to put him back on the feeding tube.

It's four now, and he's spend the whole day working up the courage to go speak to Dave. He's being discharged in a few hours, and he knows he can't leave without saying goodbye.

It's not all he has to say.

"Dave." He doesn't even try to disguise the relief in his voice to see Dave lying in the hospital bed, casually reading a book. It looks uncomfortable and there's a slight pained twinge to his expression, but Kurt suspects he can't feel much of anything right now. Both the bed sheets and a loose hospital gown cover the bandaging on his chest, but Kurt can picture it, covering his torso. "Are you okay? I mean…shit, that's a stupid question, but you know what I mean."

"I'm good. Well, not good. But better, I guess. I'm not supposed to sit up much and it's going to take weeks, but they say I'll make a full recovery."

"I'm glad." Kurt says, and it's the understatement of the century, but what is he supposed to do, break into tears and cry at Dave's feet about how happy he is that he's okay? He can't do that, especially with what he has to do. "I'm going back home today."

Dave looks half shocked and half relieved. He lets out a deep breath that seems to cause him pain, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "That's…that's great, Kurt! I'm glad it worked out. I'm going to see my family in Lima next weekend, I could–"

"We can't see each other again, Dave." And now Dave's face drops. Kurt says it a little more harshly than he intended. He was going to try and ease himself in, but he panics and blurts it out rather too bluntly.

Dave stares with scrunched eyebrows and tries to make sense of it, "Wha- Kurt, what are you talking about?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, and speaks, "You got stabbed. You nearly died. Because of me, you nearly died and…and you live with a prostitute and you're going to be a lawyer…it just doesn't fit, Dave. I don't fit in your life. I've caused you so much pain and if I stay, god knows how much more damage I'll do."

"There are always sacrifices, I don't–"

"No. I won't let you hurt for me." There's a certain finality about his voice, and somehow, Dave knows he's already lost. Kurt has made up his mind now. Still, he doesn't give up.

"What if I said I was fine with hurting?" Dave's eyes darken, but there's something in them; a craving, almost, that Kurt recognizes. "I mean, come on, you love romance. What if I said I love you, and that being with you was all I want?"

"The things you want most in life always seem to be the worst things, don't they?" Kurt smiles bitterly, and forces himself to keep going even though his voice is breaking and there are tears in his eyes threatening to fall, "Look, I can't be your addiction anymore. I won't let you hurt like I hurt, and… I'm freeing you, Dave. I tried to do it before with a razorblade, but you stopped me, so you have to promise me you won't stop me this time. Don't call me, don't come to see me. You can live your life without me now."

"I don't fucking want to live without you!" Dave yells, then coughs and falls silent. He knows he's done.

Kurt lets out what sounds like a sob, but he's still smiling. "Spoken like a true addict." he says, and that's the last thing he says, before walking out of the door.

Dave would chase him, if he could leave his bed. But the door closes behind Kurt and Dave is left alone in his room.

He doesn't feel free at all. If anything, he feels more trapped than ever.

The drive to Lima is a long, quiet one. Burt doesn't want to ask his son what happened, and Kurt doesn't want to tell him, but both of them know that the story has to come out one way or another.

Burt's happiness at finding his son alive again is sullied only by the state in which Kurt is in. He's been staying at a hotel near the hospital for the last few days, spending all Kurt's visiting hours with him, but reluctantly leaving him at night. Every time he says goodbye, it breaks Kurt's heart a little more because he can feel the fear there, the terror that he'll get back and his little boy will be gone again. But Kurt had no intention of leaving, not ever. The moment he saw his father, the worst was over, and he knew he had to go home.

"Kurt, we're going to have to talk about this–"

"Cocaine." Kurt says, grimly. "And heroin too. I mean, I took whatever I could get. Oh, and always a shitload of vodka to take the edge off." He probably sounds far too blasé about this, but then that's desensitization for you.

"What?" Burt glances at his son as if he's insane, but quickly diverts his attention back to the road. Kurt leans back into the car seat, with a sliver of a hope that it might swallow him.

"That's what I'm on. You want to know, right? I'm on coke. I tried to stop, I really tried but…I failed. I failed at everything." He can't help but let out a bitter laugh, but Burt doesn't comment on it.

"How long?" He asks softly, emotionless.

Kurt stares at the side of his father's face, watches him as he keeps his eyes fixed on his driving. His face betrays nothing, Kurt can't tell even a little what Burt is thinking. "Ever since I left. It's why…why I didn't come back. I was so ashamed, Dad."

There's silence for a little while, and Burt still doesn't look at him, but eventually says, "Kurt, you're my son. There is nothing you could do that I wouldn't forgive you for."

"Nothing?" He laughs again, a low, harsh sound, "Really, Dad? Because you haven't heard the half of it." He sounds so acrid that Burt doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to know, but he knows he has to.

He swallows audibly, "Kurt…to get the drugs…"

"Please, Dad." Kurt whines, staring at his hands. "Don't…don't make me say it, you won't…you won't forgive me for this."

"I told you, Kurt, I'd forgive you for any–"

"I was a whore, Dad. A prostitute." His voice is impossibly high and he's about to cry but this is it, he can't stop. "I got fucked by men for drugs, for six fucking years. Happy now?"

Burt doesn't have the heart to tell his son off for the swearing. Because he's shocked. He doesn't know why he's shocked – he'd guessed as much, but still, to hear the words out loud makes it sound so real.

He pulls over the car.

Immediate panic floods Kurt's features and Burt stares at him in confusion. "Outta the car." he says gently, but Kurt doesn't budge. "Come on, buddy."

Kurt unbuckles himself with shaking hands and gingerly steps out of the vehicle. He knows how this one goes; his dad's going to leave him now, on the side of this road. Or maybe – maybe he wants something else. Kurt's stomach constricts in fear; he'd been so young when he left, maybe he didn't know his father like he thought he did. Maybe his dad was waiting until he was older. Oh, god, or what if he'd gone crazy with grief? None of this is logical but there isn't any room for logic when you've been at the stage where you had to let men touch you for money, there's just pain and anger and Kurt feels his body whole body shudder as Burt… Burt pulls him into a hug.

"D-dad." Kurt stutters out before bursting into tears. No, Burt Hummel is a good person. He's always been a good person and that's why it hurt so much, that's why he could never come back. "I'm so sorry, I'm so…so sorry, I never meant…I wanted to come home b-but I knew…God, I thought you'd hate me."

"Kurt, how could I ever hate you? You're my son, my kid." Kurt barely registers that his father is crying too, "I got my son back."

"B-but…" Kurt is shaking so bad it almost hurts, "You lost your son, your perfect 16-year old son and now…now I'm back and I'm broken." It comes out more of a sob than a word but Burt understands it all the same.

"Better broken than lost." His father whispers, letting the boy – because that's what he is, even at 22 – cry into his shoulder. "Broken, we can fix, but lost is gone forever. God, Kurt, we thought you were dead, can't you see how amazing this is?"

"But–"

"Kurt, stop arguing with me." Burt says, as they both get back into the car and out of the cold. Kurt wipes his face on his sleeve but doesn't notice the shocked reaction his father has at it. "I've had this one a hundred times with Finn, I know the drill. You're back, that's all that matters. I don't care if you wish you weren't, I don't care if you wish you'd died, and I don't care what you did. You're back, Kurt, and you're alive. And hell, you're gonna need a bit of fixing. Finn needed therapy, we all needed therapy–"

"Dad, I can't be… this is going to take more than therapy, you know that, right?" he doesn't mean to sound so shrill and whiny, but something about being around his dad seems to make it happen.

"Yes, well, I'm going to talk to that Puckerman kid about rehabs, he's kind of the expert, or so I hear. Don't worry, I'll tell him it's for a friend, I won't mention you're back." Kurt resists asking about Puck, for now. No use piquing his curiosity when he doesn't intend to see anyone for a while.

"Does anyone else know?" Kurt asks, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes.

"Just Finn and Carole. I made Finn swear not to tell anyone–"

"Which means half of Lima already knows." He cuts Burt off darkly, but there's a very slight smile playing on his lips.

"Probably." Burt winces. "You don't have to see anyone until you're ready."

"After rehab." Kurt says sternly, "I don't want them to see me like this. I know I probably don't look much different…" he trails off, seeing his father's expression. Okay, so maybe he does look different now. He hasn't really been paying much attention.

They go silent for a while, until it suddenly hits Kurt, "Dave said that. About the…being broken thing. He told me this story about a picture frame and then all about Finn and the accident."

"That's one more thing I need to talk to you about." Burt's voice is even grimmer, if that's possible.

"Finn?" Kurt asks, furrowing his eyebrows, but Burt shakes his head and takes a really deep breath.

"It's about Dave Karofsky." He eventually says. If he notices how Kurt's back goes rigid in response, he doesn't show it. "What is he to you?"

Kurt doesn't answer; Kurt doesn't know. What is Dave to him? Simply, the answer is everything, but what does that even mean?

He never thought there would be something in his life more important than drugs. He never thought he'd feel the way he does about drugs about a person; that willingness to die to stay with them, the absolute reliance, the pain of withdrawal. But that's the way he feels about Dave.

"I don't know, Dad. He's…a friend. God, no. That sounds so cliché." Kurt groans.

"Do you like him?" Burt asks, and it's such a juvenile word, doesn't even begin to describe it, isn't even a drop in the ocean of Kurt's feelings.

Kurt stares at his dad with wide eyes, like he's only just realizing, and for a moment, Burt sees him, really sees the Kurt Hummel he lost six years ago. The kid who cried at musicals and made the best fancy food he'd eaten and loved decorating. The kid who sang every day and laughed and smiled and cried. The kid whose hand he'd held as they walked from his wife's grave, who he loved unconditionally, even after he'd lost him.

"I love him, Dad." Kurt says, and Burt knows without a doubt that it's true.