Notes: Since everybody seemed to want to see at least some of Kurt's recovery, I'm going to go ahead and write that. I have a few more ideas now, anyway... :)

I'm amazed that some people come across this story and read it all in one sitting. Holy crap. You're insane. (However, you are awesomely awesome and completely made of awesomeness.)

This chapter has some Burt and Kurt action. Not like action action, that's gross, just like... oh, never mind...

Chapter 25

Burt was absolutely elated, yet at the same moment he was heartbroken. He was finally given permission to bring his son home after two days of endless tests and induced sleep. Kurt had to be given painkillers galore, which meant he had been asleep most of the time Burt was able to visit him. He was awake now so they could take him home, but Burt really wished he wasn't.

He was torn as he stood in a corner of the hospital room, watching as they tried to gently move Kurt from his bed to a wheelchair. He hadn't been given any painkillers, because the doctors had to know if something suddenly began hurting badly, so his son had to feel everything. Kurt's face was contorted in agony as he was lifted, and he kept muffling squeaks of pain in a nurse's shoulder. They set him down on the wheelchair and gave him a minute to breath. They were speaking to him, but Burt couldn't make out what they were saying. His son just nodded slightly, breathing deeply and looking abnormally pale.

Beside him, Carole rested her head on Burt's shoulder. She was the only one there other than himself. He had sent Blaine home long ago, and the kid offered to give Finn a ride, too. He almost had to argue with his son's boyfriend to get him to leave, though. If it was up to Blaine, he'd skip every day of school until Kurt was better.

Speaking of Kurt, he thought, looking down as they wheeled his son up to him. Kurt was gripping the armrests of the chair tightly, his slender fingers turning white. He was already wearing some oversized sweatpants and a t-shirt; they had helped him change earlier that morning. He still had the cannula in, but the doctor's had told him he didn't have to wear it unless he was moving around a lot. Despite how much physical pain that he was obviously in, Kurt was looking up at him, grinning gleefully from ear to ear. Burt smiled back, his heart getting heavy.

"Mr. Hummel, I just need you to sign some papers, and you and your son can be on your way," a nurse said, holding up a small stack of papers and a pen. Burt nodded, still smiling as he watched Carole start to wheel Kurt off.

Getting Kurt into the car was even worse than watching the doctors get him off the hospital bed, Burt thought, hating every second of this. He had Kurt's shoulders cradled in his arm like a little child, and his head was dangling backwards, like he couldn't support it himself. His jaw was clenched shut, most likely to hold back a scream. Burt tried to move fast, plopping him into his seat hastily. The worst part was knowing that he was inflicting the pain himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered watching his son's chest heave. Kurt looked over at him, staring at him with his mother's eyes and giving him that heavy-hearted feeling again.

"Dad, I'm fine," he replied, his voice cracking and hoarse. "I swear." He smiled, stretching his slightly-blistered lips over his teeth. Burt nodded and shut the door, folding up and putting the wheelchair into the back. When they got home, he had to do it again, and Burt knew he was never going to get used to seeing his son's face twisted in anguish like that. They were home again, though, and that was all that mattered to him. He held back a ridiculous grin as he wheeled his son to the front door.

Kurt wanted to jump out of that stupid chair and kick down the front door like they did in the movies. However, there were two problems with that scenario. One, he was still too weak to even stand up without feeling like he had just run a marathon in the summer with no hydration, and two, he wouldn't be able to kick the door down even if he was in perfect health. The point was, Kurt just wanted to be home again. He missed his bed, he missed his clothes, he missed his room, and he missed everything else in that house.

The door opened, and Kurt almost did that stereotypical gay boy clap, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal. Instead, he just looked around, his eyes wide. Everything looked like a fucking rainbow compared to the plain white walls of the hospital room. There were reds and blues, greens and yellows… Hell, he was even excited about the browns and tans. Anything but black and white, he openly welcomed.

And the sounds! He was surprised at how many things he had missed hearing. A clock was ticking monotonously in the background, and he was thrilled that it didn't match his heartbeat at all like the heart monitor had. The air conditioning whirred somewhere behind him, and he could faintly hear the neighbor's dog barking. And there wasn't any obnoxious beeping and buzzing from any nearby machinery, so he considered that a plus.

The smells, however, were something he had grown accustomed to not having to deal with. Anything that smelled too strongly made him sick to his stomach, and the doctors had told him it was a gag reflex or something. Luckily, Kurt couldn't really smell anything too bad besides a strong vanilla scent coming from a candle. He inhaled deeply, figuring he might as well try to get used to the smell quickly. Instead, he just caught a sour scent from somewhere else. It didn't make him feel nauseas, but it was pretty gross. He looked around for a moment, then paused, frowning. He tilted his head down so his chin hit his chest, and he sniffed, groaning. It was him.

"Hey Dad?" Kurt mumbled, tilting his head back so he could look as his dad. Burt looked down at him, seeming worried. He didn't doubt it was because he had nearly blacked out when his dad got him out of the car.

"Yeah, bud?"

"Can I take a shower?" Burt laughed, rolling him into the living room. Finn walked in from the hallway, smiling at Kurt and sitting on a recliner.

"Kurt, you can't even stand on your own. And unless you want either me, Finn, or Carole to help you out with it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. Kurt frowned and tried to ignore the ugly smell coming from his body. Did nobody else smell this? he thought, thinking that if they did, they'd immediately submerge him in a bath.

"We could call Blaine over and he could help you out," Finn piped up, making all heads turn first to him, then to Kurt. He felt his face grow red, and he glared over at his brother.

"I'm going to have to nix that idea in the bud," Burt said, clapping his hands together, "but nice try."

"It wasn't even my idea," Kurt protested, crossing his arms. His dad walked from the room, and he turned to his brother. "Really, Finn? Really?" Finn just shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

Burt was freaking out. Kurt was hungry, but everything he tried to feed him made him gag by the smell alone. He was dead tired, but he couldn't sleep because he was in too much pain. He wasn't allowed to have painkillers for another twelve hours by doctor's orders, and Burt had no idea how to make it better. He had already put him on the couch so he could lie down, but it wasn't helping. Kurt was currently curled into a ball, clutching a pillow to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Burt had called the hospital twice already, but they insisted it was normal that he would be experiencing pain, and it was fine as long as he wasn't bleeding or dying.

If this was normal, he would hate to see what their definition of bad was.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Burt asked, rubbing his back gently as Kurt moaned tiredly.

"Painkillers?" he slurred, looking up at him with those pathetic, sad eyes. Burt sighed, sure that his heart just broke.

"Kurt, you know I can't give you them for another," he checked the clock and frowned, "nine hours."

"I know," he squeaked pathetically, hiding his face in the pillow.

"Come on, there's got to be something I can do for you," he begged, hoping there was. He wanted to help in any way possible. He just hated seeing Kurt in so much pain, and he felt utterly useless.

From the kitchen, Finn walked in, whistling obnoxiously loudly. In his hands, he held a big plate of waffles soaked in maple syrup. Burt didn't have to look down at Kurt to know what was going to happen, but he did anyway. Kurt looked up from his pillow, staring right at the plate of food. His nostrils grew slightly wider as he took a whiff, and his face suddenly fell and grew white as the color disappeared.

"Finn! Get out!" Burt ordered, and the tall boy paused for a moment, then seemed to realize what he had done. Finn gripped the plate tightly and sprinted back into the kitchen, screaming apologies on his way out. When he was gone, Burt grabbed Kurt's shoulders and held him up, holding a small rag under his chin to wipe away spit as he gagged. They didn't bother to put a bucket or trashcan by the couch, because Kurt didn't even have anything to throw up. His body racked as he coughed, and tears spilled down his pale cheeks. After a few seconds, he calmed down, his chest moving up and down violently as Burt laid him back down.

"Do you want the cannula?" he asked worriedly, watching his son struggle for calm breath. Kurt shook his head, attempting the breath out of his nose but failing miserably. It killed Burt to see him so desperate to be independent. He knew it must be terrible to be so weak he couldn't even breathe properly on his own. Despite his protest, Burt wheeled the small oxygen tank over to the couch, holding out the clear, plastic tube. After another moment of Kurt trying to breathe out of his nose, his son nodded, allowing him to put the cannula around his head. "You okay now?" he asked, and Kurt nodded meekly, looking away and playing with the plastic tube. "Throat hurt?" he ventured, seeing the pain in his eyes.

"Really, really bad," he whispered laboriously, tearing up again. Burt pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug, wishing he could be the one in pain instead. He'd give anything to switch places with his son.

"Carole, I'm so bad at this. I can't help him with anything," Burt said, covering his face with his hand. "I know I'm just making it worse."

"Stop this," she said, pulling his hand away and gripping it in both of hers. She looked at him sternly, shaking her head. "You are not causing him this pain. If anything, you're making it bearable. You are his father, Burt, and he needs you. Without you, he wouldn't be able to do this." She smiled and kissed his knuckle, standing up. She patted his head as she walked around the table and to the sink. "Now go be his dad and help him out."

She was right, Burt thought, standing up. He headed into the living room, thinking up several things he could do to help. He could get a better pillow for him to grip; he could change the channel on the TV or rent a movie for him to watch; he could even try to get him to eat something again. In fact, there was a plethora of things for him to help with. He wasn't useless, he was his dad. And he would help in every way possible.

"Kurt, do you—" he froze, looking down at his son, who wasn't moving. His heart nearly stopped, and his stomach did a flip. Kurt's face was turned towards him, his eyes shut and his forehead slightly crinkled, like he had been in pain. Burt suddenly remembered a doctor warning him that it was a bad sign if his son passed out from pain. In a split second, Burt was on his knees, holding his son's face in his hand. "Kurt?" he said intensely, shaking his head ever so slightly. Kurt's eyelids dragged open, revealing glazed-over, tired eyes. He blinked a couple times before looking up at him and frowning. Burt's heart sank.

"Whasit?" he slurred, blinking a few more times. His grip on the pillow tightened, and he groaned quietly.

"You… You were sleeping, weren't you?" Burt asked, and Kurt nodded, his face contorting slightly in pain. "Oh, God," he muttered, "I'm so sorry, Kurt." His son just moaned in reply, sighing and looking away. Burt stood up to leave, wanting to crawl into a ditch and die. He was so bad at this…