If Michael wasn't feeling like pure garbage before, he sure was now.

He couldn't think what was worse, hitting potholes every minute or so, the occasional whiff of something foul through the backseat of the car, or the constant stream of,

"How are you doing, buddy?"

"It's okay, we're gonna get to the hospital really soon."

"Are you going to be sick again? Do you need me to stop the car?"

Michael wanted nothing more than to unbuckle his seatbelt, open the car door, and tuck and roll to escape this embarrassment. But, his stomach was beginning to ache worse than before, so that idea was scrapped as soon as it was created. Traffic sucked, but that was normal for Manhattan. Michael leaned his head against the window, feeling the heavenly breeze bless his boiling face. The window was open, so he could hear all the beautiful sounds of the city, including such gems as;

"Watch where the fuck you're going, asshole!"

"Hey baby, how 'bout a smile?"

"Listen, I'm running late, can I call you back tomorrow morning?"

New York City was weird, but weird was right up Michael's alley, so it was okay. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he was so sick at that point, that he wouldn't mind a little coddling from his parents.

Just a little.

THUMP.

"Owww…"

"Sorry, Mikey, I'm trying to avoid the potholes."

"It's okay, Dad."

Blaine looked back at Michael from the passenger's seat, looking frightful. "Are you sure you're not going to be sick again? Do you need water? I can get you the blanket from the trunk."

"Blaine…"

"Wait, hold on, I have Pepto-Bismol in the glove box…"

"Honey!" As the car (thankfully) came to a stop at a red light, Michael saw Kurt turn to Blaine. Blaine looked up from the glove box he was currently searching in.

"Yeah?"

"I think getting Michael to the hospital should be priority number one, right now, sweetheart."

Kurt reached over and rubbed Blaine's shoulder, resulting in Blaine dropping his head almost immediately, sighing.

"I know, I'm worked up over nothing."

"Hey."

"Yes, Kurt?" Blaine smiled softly.

"Courage."

With that, the two shared a kiss. Michael's lap became the most interesting thing in the universe, and he continually twiddled his thumbs, unsure if the current 'I'm going to puke' feeling was from his ailment, or from his parents. Kurt and Blaine caught sight of him, eyes locked on the floor.

"Like you haven't seen this before!" Blaine laughed, readjusting himself to sit comfortably.

"I already feel gross, you guys are making it worse."

Kurt chuckled. "That's just your appendix talking."

"No, that's my common sense talking…" Michael pouted. He caught sight of himself in the mirror between his parents, and nearly got sick again. His black hair was stuck to his forehead, and he was a sickly shade of green and gray. Michael was then stunned out of judging himself by a loud car horn behind them.

"The light just turned green, impatient bastard!"

"Kurt!"

Kurt tightened his grip on the wheel, breathing deeply. He eyed something on the road up ahead.

"Another pothole, Michael, I can't avoid it."

"Dad, I told you it's okay."

THUMP.

Michael leaned his head back, trying once again to only feel the cool air from his window.

"I know this is Manhattan, but why all the holes? What the hell are my taxes paying for?" Kurt grumbled.

Michael opened his eyes to joke, "A new yacht for some rich guy?"

Both his parents laughed. It was a relief for Michael to feel his stomach swell with pride rather than vomit, for a change.

It felt really good.

The rest of the car ride was a blur of head pounding, nausea, and road rage. Michael was struggling with his seatbelt, as it locked whenever his father hit the brakes. Despite his attempts to calm his parents down, both remained anxious. He had a vague idea of why, though it happened before he had even met Luke, over a decade ago.

But that story could be saved for when Michael didn't feel like garbage.

Trying to park was… interesting, to say the least. Parking in Brooklyn was bad enough, but Manhattan was a whole new level, like trying to find a needle in a haystack. As such, Kurt and Blaine decided to split up, so Blaine could take Michael into the hospital, and Kurt could hunt for a spot.

Michael quickly realized that home was, in fact, not the worst place in the world, as he had thought earlier. It seemed the worst place in the world was every hospital waiting room ever. It was loud, cramped, and cold. Plus, it smelled strongly of hand sanitizer, which didn't help with Michael's nausea. Blaine seemed to notice this, because as they were looking for a place to sit, he kept scanning the room for chairs with easy access to either a trashcan or a bathroom.

As if God himself was blessing them, there were two chairs right next to a men's bathroom for Michael to finally sit down in and rest his eyes. Attending a New York City public school gave Michael a sort of superpower, the ability to drown out constant noise, which came in handy when waiting for his father to sign him in. And while there were no complaining middle-aged women or crying babies in middle school, it was still easy enough for Michael to relax just a bit.

"Hey, buddy, you think you can fill these out, or do you want me to do it?" Blaine had joined Michael, clipboard in one hand, pen in the other. Michael opened his eyes, squinting against the bright lights above him.

"Don't you have to do it? I'm under eighteen…"

Blaine slowly closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "You're right, you're right…" He clicked the pen clenched in his hand nervously.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"What do you mean we have to wait? My daughter is extremely sick!" There was a woman standing at the front desk with her daughter, who looked as though she wanted to sink through the floor.

"Mom, I said I feel fine!"

"Haylee, be quiet!"

"Can we please go home?"

"Will you hold on one second?"

The bickering between mother, daughter, and receptionist continued as Michael battled his stomach aching, wrapping his arms around himself. Blaine looked up from the forms he was filling out, trying and failing to stay calm.

"Are you going to vomit again?" Michael wanted nothing more than to say no, but in that moment, his gag reflex kicked in. He nodded, eyes watering and throat burning. Blaine was standing in less than a second, practically throwing the pen and clipboard onto his once occupied chair. He hoisted Michael up by his armpits, wrapping both arms around his son and dragging him into the bathroom. Thankfully, Blaine had asked early enough so that Michael got to a toilet, rather than decorating his front with half-digested chicken nuggets. In fact, they almost got all the way to a stall when Michael's knees buckled beneath him, nearly bringing both him and Blaine to the floor.

"I'm sorry!"

"You're sick, I have more important things to worry about than a few bruises!"

Once Michael was in a stall, it took all of five seconds to be violently sick, complete with more gross retching and coughing. All the while, Blaine was rubbing his back. Michael couldn't mistake the fear in his voice when he tried to comfort him.

"It's alright, you're okay, we're gonna get you feeling better real soon…"

In the midst of his sickness, Michael heard the bathroom door open once more, followed by loud footsteps.

"Is he alright? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Michael picked up his head and saw a man that was absolutely shredded. He looked as though he ate weights for breakfast, and his bicep was bigger than Michael's head. To his surprise, this mystery guy was wearing scrubs, so he must have worked at the hospital. Blaine made this connection, as well, and sighed in relief.

"Yes, he has appendicitis. I don't know how serious it is, but he passed out in school today and has been throwing up every half hour."

"I'd say that's pretty serious." Buff Guy chuckled. "We do appendectomies here all the time, the doctors can practically do them in their sleep. May I?"

Buff Guy put Michael's arm over his shoulder and supported the side opposite of Blaine. "Alright, if you guys would wait a minute right here," He gently sat Michael down in the waiting room. "I'll go get a wheelchair, so you guys can see a doctor as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how worried we were." Blaine sat down next to Michael with another relieved sigh, rubbing his face. Michael sat up, hoping the new posture would ease the pain.

"Papa, are you okay?"

Blaine moved his hands away from his face, tried to smile for a moment, then dropped the act. He wrapped his arms around Michael and pulled him into a hug. Michael hesitated for a moment, then rested his head on Blaine's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I worry about you a lot."

"Really? I couldn't tell!"

Blaine looked down at his son, looking stern for a moment, then sighing with a smirk. "You get a pass because you're sick, but I really want you to start checking your attitude from now on."

"I mean, I can try…" Michael cringed inwardly, and for the first time in a while, felt self-conscious. "I-I can't really tell when I'm being a dick, though."

"Alright, first of all, don't use words like that outside of the house." Blaine ruffled his son's hair, and Michael didn't have the energy to push his hand away. "And, I'll make sure that everyone at home tells you if you're being rude, so you can take the time to calm down if you need it."

A few seconds of silence between the two, then, "Okay, I can do that."

"Alright, we ready to rock and roll?" Buff Guy had made his triumphant return, complete with wheelchair. The woman who had been bickering with the receptionist focused her angry glare at Blaine and Michael.

"We were here first!"

"Mom…"

"Haylee, shush!"

Buff Guy tightened his grip on the wheelchair, never once letting his winning smile slip from his face. "Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but as you can clearly see, this young man is really sick. As such, he takes priority over you and your daughter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a patient that needs attention…"

With this, Buff Guy ignored the woman's complaints and helped Michael into the wheelchair. Michael bit his lower lip. "Do I really need this?"

Blaine answered, "Unless you'd rather walk."

Michael huffed. He felt a hand trying to rub his shoulder every five seconds, which didn't quite make him feel better, physically. Michael would never admit this, but it made him feel way more safe than he had felt at school. Make no mistake, he hated when his parents treated him like a little kid, but with how sick he was, a little coddling wasn't the worst thing in the world. As he was wheeled down hallway after hallway, and more corners than he could count, he began to feel his eyes droop.

I need to stay awake for Papa, he'll freak out if I don't...

What can I think of that will keep me awake?

'Borderline personality disorder, also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder, is a mental illness characterized by a long-term pattern of unstable relationships, distorted sense of self, and strong emotional reactions.'

"Sweetie, your mommy is very sick right now."

'You quickly learn that your role is to satisfy your mother's demands, however unrealistic, unstable, and conflicting, and she often seeks to exert control and limit your autonomy as a frantic effort to avoid abandonment.'

"So you're going to be staying with a new family for a little while."

'Parents with BPD can have reactions that are wholly disproportionate to the perceived infraction. Occurrences of prolonged rages and angry outbursts are common.'

"What's wrong with you?! Do you know how late it is? I can't drive you to the hospital!"

"Mommy, my arm hurts."

"Just- go back to bed, I don't want to deal with you right now…"

"Oh… okay."

"Buddy, we're here…"

Michael forced himself to open his eyes to look upon a standard hospital room, crisp, clean, and neat. He didn't realize how tired he was until Buff Guy tried to get his attention.

"Hey little man, you wanna…" Michael began to drift away again, until he felt a hand rubbing his shoulder.

"You heard what he said, Mahal?"

That got Michael's attention. Blaine only called him that when he was really worried. Michael struggled to sit up in the chair. "Hey, I'm sorry, can you repeat that, please? My head feels like it's underwater…"

Buff Guy shrugged, grinning. "No big deal! I asked if you wanted help changing into your hospital gown."

"Oh… no, I think I'm okay."

"Alright, in that case, it's time for me to head out. The doc will be in with you two shortly, to discuss the surgery, to put in the IV, and all that fun stuff!" Michael caught a glimpse of his father turning green out of the corner of his eye. "Do you guys need anything before I go?"

Michael thought for a moment. "What's your name?"

Buff Guy chuckled, and responded, "The name's Justin, little dude. You?"

"Michael."

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Michael! I'm glad I could help! Now, I gotta get back to one of my other patients. Feel better soon!" Justin practically skipped out of the room, leaving Michael and Blaine alone for the first time that day. Blaine once again wrapped his arms around his son to help him to the bed. Michael was thankful he didn't stumble like he had done before, surprised, too, seeing as how he could barely keep his head up, he was so tired. As soon as Michael was comfortable, Blaine collapsed into the chair closest to the bed, sighing heavily. Michael heard Blaine begin to mutter;

"We're in the hospital, a doctor is seeing him really soon, it's okay-"

"Papa?"

Blaine looked over at his son, who appeared just as concerned as he felt. "I'll manage, Michael. It's you that needs attention right now, not me."

As always, Michael's natural instinct was to argue, but at that moment, his body decided that he was too tired to stay awake. As he began to drift off, he heard his father laugh softly.

"You haven't gotten much sleep in the last few days, have you?"

"No, not really…"

"It's okay, you need rest. Dad and I will be here when you wake up."

Sources for this chapter (in order) are Wikipedia, Bridges To Recovery, and Borderline Personality Treatment)