Kurt was only asleep for a few minutes before he abruptly startled awake with a hoarse, panicked little cry that made Burt feel shattered, helpless against the nightmare memories that filled his son's sleep – that would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.
You let him down once… right when it mattered the most. And now, neither one of you will ever be able to forget it…
Burt carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, as close beside Kurt as he could get, cradling his head close to his chest, stroking his fingers through his son's hair and whispering meaningless reassurances, words he couldn't remember speaking the moment after they left his lips.
The quiet privacy of the room where the orderlies had left them was far more soothing than the chaos of the ER waiting room, and much to his father's relief, Kurt quickly began to calm once he realized where he was, and that Burt was there, and that he was safe.
Kurt's sobs gradually subsided, but the trembling of his form – so small and fragile in Burt's arms – didn't. Finally, Burt's words fell away as well, leaving the two of them alone with nothing but the silence of the room and the cacophony of their own thoughts.
"Wh-what… what now?" Kurt whispered at last, the hoarse rasp of his voice sounding harsh and somehow too loud in the silence. "What… what happens next?"
The edge of panic in his voice, silently, desperately pleading to be spared any further suffering, tore at Burt's heart – because he wasn't sure he could spare Kurt the pain and humiliation of what was to come.
"Well," he began cautiously, his voice low and gentle, his arms around his son instinctively, protectively tightening. "They're going to need to… to do an exam, kiddo. To… to make sure you don't need… surgery or anything, you know? They'll have to check you out in order to know how to… to treat you."
Kurt turned his face into his father's shirt once more, shaking his head and crying softly. "No," he whimpered. "Please, Daddy, I don't want them to t-touch me, please… please d-don't let them…"
"Kurt…" Burt's heart sank, his voice breaking over his son's name – because he didn't think he could grant Kurt the mercy he was pleading for. "Son, I think… I think they have to…"
"No," Kurt cried. "I can't… I can't…"
"It's going to be all right, buddy," Burt whispered, holding Kurt's head close to his chest and brushing a kiss across the top of his head. "I promise, Kurt, it's going to be all right. They just want to make sure you're all right… we have to know that you're all right, you know?"
Before Kurt could offer any response, a quick, sharp knock sounded on the door, and Kurt flinched violently against Burt, who held him closer in response, even as his gaze turned warily toward the door. The person who had knocked did not wait for a response; instead, they pushed the door open and peered around it for a moment before speaking.
"Hi. I'm Rodney, your night nurse. Okay if I come on in?"
"Yeah," Burt replied, nodding a little distractedly, a disapproving frown creasing his brow.
You're already in, anyway, pal… what's the use of asking now?
"How are we feeling?" Rodney asked, pushing a medical supply cart into the room ahead of him and positioning it beside Kurt's bed.
The vaguely impatient note in his voice suggested that he really wasn't all that concerned with the answer to his question – not that he was going to get an answer, anyway. Kurt did not seem inclined to acknowledge the newcomer in the slightest, his trembling hands just clinging to the soft flannel of Burt's shirt for dear life.
Rodney crossed around to the other side of the bed, checking the IV bags on the stand next to it before taking the file from the chart at the end of the bed and opening it. He frowned, annoyance clear in his pursed lips and furrowed brow, and Burt felt an irrational sense of embarrassment as he realized that it was probably because the thing was next to empty, due to his lack of having filled out any paperwork of any kind thus far.
That's not important right now. What's important is that Kurt needs you close…
The disapproving look on Rodney's face as he glanced at them suggested otherwise, but the way Kurt was currently hanging on to Burt's shirt so tightly, his face so buried against Burt's chest that it was as if he was trying to literally burrow inside of him to hide – suddenly, there was no doubt in Burt's mind whatsoever that his priorities were exactly as they should be.
"So, I'm going to go ahead and attach this little device here to his finger," Rodney explained, holding up a tiny little clip that was vaguely familiar to Burt from his own time spent in Lima Memorial. "It'll measure his blood oxygen level and alert us early if there's any major problems with his breathing, etcetera."
Burt frowned as the young man moved around the bed again, moving closer to Kurt. Something about Rodney's manner troubled Burt, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then Rodney reached out, without any further warning, to take Kurt's arm – and Kurt flinched, a choked, pleading whimper leaving his lips as he jerked his arm away.
"No, no, don't touch me, please don't touch me," he cried, his words coming out in a shaky, breathless rush. "Daddy, d-don't let him… don't…"
"He's not gonna hurt you, Kurt," Burt whispered, his arm around Kurt squeezing gently as his free hand cradled Kurt's head, trembling fingers running soothingly through his hair. "Come on, kiddo, he just wants to help…"
Rodney took a step back, letting out a barely audible little huff of impatient breath, the arm that had reached out toward Kurt now crossed over his chest as he surveyed the situation with barely disguised frustration.
"Okay, so… this is nothing," he pointed out. "This little clip thing. It doesn't hurt. It just goes on his finger." He hesitated, an apologetic grimace on his lips as he concluded, "If we can't even get that far – the exam I'm here to perform is… considerably more invasive, so… we're going to have to figure something out here."
"Could you just be a little bit patient?" Burt snapped, his arms instinctively tightening, protective and sheltering around his son's trembling body. "He's been through a lot tonight…"
"I know, and I'd really like to make sure there's no life-threatening damage from what he's been through," Rodney countered, his tone a little too slow and his smile a little too condescending to be genuinely concerned. "So if you wouldn't mind helping me out with that…"
"No," Kurt whispered, and Burt felt the vibration of the word against his chest more than he actually heard it. "Please, Dad, please don't let him…"
"It's okay," Burt assured him, his voice hushed and private before he looked up to address Rodney again. "Look, he really doesn't want to do this. I know you're telling me it's what has to be done, but… after what's h-happened…" Burt hated the catch in his voice over the words, but swallowed hard, forcing himself to go on. "… I… I can't just… just take this choice away from him…"
"How old is he?" Rodney asked, a single brow raised speculatively.
Burt frowned. "Sixteen. Why?"
Rodney looked up to meet Burt's eyes, hesitating just a moment before explaining, "Then… it's not his choice to begin with. It's yours."
Burt's heart lurched at those words, and he stared down at his son's damaged, violated body on the bed in front of him, felt Kurt's head shaking back and forth against his chest. A quiet horror trickled through his veins at the very thought of forcing Kurt to submit to another stranger touching him – cold, clinical hands exploring his body against his will. Tears prickled at the backs of his eyes as Kurt's hands in his shirt tightened, and he whimpered pleadingly, his desperate words barely audible.
"Please, Daddy, don't… please don't make me… please…"
And all at once, Burt realized what it was that had so bothered him about Rodney from the moment he'd walked through the door.
For all he'd said, not once had Rodney had the grace or compassion to actually speak to Kurt.
"My choice," Burt echoed, nodding slowly, as if considering. He felt Kurt flinch against him, and instinctively ran a soothing hand slowly up and down his back in silent reassurance. "Fine, then." He looked up at Rodney, his tone hardening as he concluded, "My choice is to see someone else."
"Excuse me?" Rodney raised a single eyebrow, offended.
"You heard me. I'd like for Kurt to see another nurse." He considered for a moment before adding, "Preferably a woman."
"This is my wing tonight," Rodney objected. "And I never said you had to make the choice one way or the other…"
"Well, I just did." Burt cut him off sharply. "Now get the hell out."
Sputtering indignantly under his breath, Rodney stalked out of the room, leaving the medical table behind. Burt felt a fresh surge of anger as the door closed much harder than was necessary behind him, and Kurt's body jerked against him with alarm.
"Shhh," he whispered, pulling Kurt closer against him. "Shhh, it's all right. I'd never do that to you, son," he promised softly, reaching one hand down to tilt Kurt's tear-stained face up to meet his eyes. "Whatever happens," he continued, taking a deep breath and momentarily hesitating over the words. "Whatever happens… it's going to be your choice, yeah? Nothing you don't want."
Kurt nodded tearfully, his lower lip trembling pitifully as he tried to hide his face again – but Burt couldn't let him, not yet. He gently but firmly held Kurt up by the shoulders as he continued with carefully measured words.
"Now – we're here so the doctors and nurses and all can take care of you. That's why we came here, Kurt. And I want you to get taken care of. Don't make any mistake about that. But… but it has to be your choice, kiddo. I can't – can't force you to…" His voice broke off, and he shook his head, looking away and fighting back tears.
… can't force you to do anything, to – to go through anything else. Not now, not anymore.
And maybe that makes me a bad father, but… so help me, I just can't.
A few minutes after Rodney left, there was a second knock on the door. Burt automatically tensed, bracing himself for another intrusion – but no one entered until he warily called out.
"Come in."
The woman who entered looked to be about his age, with shoulder-length blonde hair streaked with silver and warm, dark eyes over a sad, sympathetic smile of greeting.
"Hi." She offered her hand to Burt, and he tentatively raised one hand from Kurt's back to take it. "I'm Mary. I heard you prefer to see a female nurse tonight?"
"That's right," Burt confirmed with a nod. "I'm Burt Hummel. And this is my son, Kurt."
Mary's expression softened visibly as her gaze lowered to take in the pitiful sight that Kurt made at the moment, huddled on his side on the hospital bed, tiny and trembling and apparently trying to crawl inside his father and hide. She made no effort to get between the two of them or to get Burt to back off as she crouched at the side of the bed, bringing herself to eye level with Kurt – if he'd been looking up, anyway.
"Hey," she said softly, not reaching out to touch him in any way, and the hushed, gentle tone of her voice reminded Burt of someone trying not to startle a skittish, wounded animal. "Kurt, I'm Mary." She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully as she continued, "I know you really don't want to be here. I know you've had a terrible night – and a terrible thing has happened to you. But – my job is to help you feel better, sweetie. And that's all I want to do."
Kurt did not reply, but Burt noticed with guarded optimism that he'd gone still against him, not trembling so much, his muffled cries dying away as he, hopefully, listened to what she was saying.
"I'm not going to touch you unless you tell me I can, okay, Kurt?" Mary continued. "I just want to talk to you for a minute. Would that be okay? Will you look up for a minute and talk to me?"
Kurt didn't move or make a sound for a long tense moment, and Burt could feel the thick, heavy weight of his fear and indecision as his fingers worked nervously in the fabric of Burt's shirt, twisting it and pressing it between them. Finally, with nerve-wracking caution, Kurt raised his head, not letting go of his father as he turned his face toward Mary. His red-rimmed eyes were still focused on the bed rather than on her, and his hair was a mess, falling into his eyes and damp with sweat and tears – but at least he wasn't trying to hide anymore.
He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip. "O-okay," he whispered, his voice a hoarse, hesitant whisper. "I th-think that'd be… that'd be all right."