The autopsy was quite possibly the most disgusting thing Kurt had ever witnessed, and he'd been on that bus shortly after the accident, but seeing your own body being cut open and severed…

He didn't have anything in his stomach, but he very nearly threw up anyway right there on Daisy's shoes.

"I used to watch those autopsy shows on TV with my dad," he said as Daisy rubbed his back. "But that…I think I'm scarred for life…" he swallowed as he realized what he just said. "So to speak. This is supposed to help me, how, exactly?"

"Do you like to cook, Kurt?" Rube asked

"How can you even think about food while looking at…" he pointed to the bodies below. At that moment, they were switching Brittany's head with Quinn's, and oh dear god…he was going to be sick again.

"You ever made something really delicious," Rube said. "Then just… dropped it all over the floor?"

"No," Kurt said, thoroughly confused.

"You ever try to re-watch a game on TV?" Mason asked.

"No. I generally make it a point not to watch sports period."

Daisy patted his arm. "It's like re-wearing Versace or Steve McQueen," she said. "As divine as the outfit might've been the first time wearing it, when you repeat the look, it loses the appeal."

Kurt nodded, but he still didn't really understand.

From the time Burt Hummel hung up the phone (or to be more accurate dropped the phone) the whole world sounded as though it were underwater.

He was drowning, and there was no way he was coming out from the under-tow. He'd just talked to Kurt not even an hour ago for Christ's sake.

Gary Youngblood who'd worked at the shop with him since before Kurt was born had heard the phone drop on the floor with a thud.

"Yo, Burt?" Gary hollered. "Everything okay?"

No, everything was decidedly not okay.

When Gary asked what was wrong, Burt couldn't answer, because he didn't know.

All Burt knew was something bad had happened to Kurt, and that he needed to get on the first flight available out to Seattle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Burt asked when Gary started turning off the lights and turning the lock on the office door.

"You realize what kinda grief I'd get from your wife if she found out I let you drive all the way to Columbus on your own in your current state?" he said grabbing Burt's coat and keys. "I'd never hear the end of it."

"Someone's gotta look after the shop."

"It's a slow day, Burt," Gary said with a shrug. "What are you gonna do? Fire me? Come on. You're buyin' lunch on the way."

The tension in the halls of Dalton Academy was palpable as everyone prepared for finals. It was the only time in the year when the whole school was quiet and still.

Wes hated studying with the television on. It was a disruption for him, but Blaine insisted he needed the noise to concentrate. The distraction was vital to his academic success. Besides, it was MSNBC. How entertaining could that be?

"Isn't that what you're about to text Kurt for? Distraction?" Wes said with a smirk.

Blaine took a Dorito out of the bag and aimed for Wes's head, and that's how he happened to glance up at the television.

"This just in…" a woman droned on. "In Seattle, Washington, police are still on the scene investigating an accident that happened roughly an hour ago. Six are dead, one is injured and in unknown condition. Twelve students and four supervising adults were on their way to a singing competition from a small town in Western Ohio when sheet metal, which had had loosened from the trailer hitch, literally sliced through their bus. The names of the victims have not been released out of respect for their families, who have yet to be notified."

"Oh my God!" Blaine said, making a mad dash for his bag and rummaging through it for the phone. "Kurt…I have to call him."

"Blaine…I'm sure it's not…"

"How many other singing competitions could there be in Seattle, Wes?" Blaine said, color draining from his face as his trembling fingers scrolled his contact list for Kurt's number.

"It could be Vocal Adrenaline," David offered.

Wes continued to watch the news report, though, as Blaine scrounged around his bag for his phone, which he'd hidden from himself so he wouldn't be tempted to use it while he was studying.

"That's Mr. Schuester, isn't it?" Wes said, swallowing as the camera focused in on the group.

He called Kurt's number and got his voicemail. "Kurt, it's me," he said, voice trembling. "Please…call me back. I'm watching the news and I'm really freaking out right now."

Blaine didn't know Mr. Schuester very well, but he'd never seen the man look so tired, or sad, or, well…old. He watched, mesmerized, as he rambled in broken syllables about how he didn't know what happened, and Blaine had never felt so helpless in his life.

It had been Burt's first time on the plane and he'd never been further west than Toledo, but this wasn't exactly how he wanted to see the country.

When his first wife died, it was hard. He remembered how final the click of the switch had sounded when the doctor finally turned off the ventilator that kept Elizabeth breathing. He remembered how silent the room was after that awful tone sounded, signaling that her heart had stopped.

But this?

There was no wrapping his head around this.

Kurt being, well, Kurt he always worried. As a parent, that's just part of the job, but there was that first time he came home from school with a black eye. He'd told his mother they'd called him queer and made him eat dirt, but Burt figured it was just stupid kid-stuff. He did the same thing to other boys when he was Kurt's age, but nobody got hurt. Badly.

Then the phone-calls started. Some asshole calling him at work telling him his son was a fag and then laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world and hanging up. There were always glares people gave him when they went grocery shopping just because Kurt had the nerve to breathe the same air.

Kurt was different, so people were afraid of him.

It was better once Kurt joined New Directions. He had friends.

And then there was that Karofsky kid.

Burt knew there was something about what went down between them that Kurt wasn't letting on. Burt knew that whatever happened to make Kurt believe the threat Karofsky made had to have been pretty damn terrifying, and Burt was just sure something was going to happen to his kid when he came back to that damn school with those damn teachers who didn't do a damn thing to protect his kid.

It would've been so much easier if it had been that Karofsky kid.

It would've at least made sense.

Carole had never felt so helpless in her life. She kind of hated herself for not being strong enough to make that call to Burt an hour ago. She'd never seen Finn look so…lost, and she really didn't know how to make him feel better, because she was just as lost as he was, for all the same reasons.

Mostly, she just wished there was something she could do.

It was all just so awful. She was an ER nurse (had been for seven years) and had seen death and loss first-hand on a regular basis. A lot of long-time nurses had become callous to the grief over the years, but not Carole. She remembered how it felt when she had to bury Christopher. She couldn't even fathom the kind of grief she'd be going through if she had to bury Finn.

And now…

Now they were going to have to bury Kurt.

Kurt might not have been her flesh-and-blood, but that didn't make it hurt any less. She knew that nothing was going to change the fact that Kurt was dead, that as soon as her husband landed, they'd have to go down to the police station to give a statement and sign papers and collect his things.

She grasped Finn's big hand in hers.

"Honey… you want something to eat?" she asked. Mostly because it was the only thing she could think of to say.

Finn took his hand away, stuffed his fists in his pockets, and shook his head.

"Hi, Sweetheart," Carole said as soon as Burt came off the Tarmac. Her eyes were blood-shot and swollen from crying. Her lip trembled, but she inhaled sharply and bit back the tears that had threatened to spill over again. "How was your flight?" It seemed like a stupid question to ask, but for a second she just wanted to pretend that things were normal, that Burt was just there to visit...not...because of what happened only a few hours ago.

"They made me pay for a damn bottle of water. Made me pay through the damn nose for a ticket, you'd think they'd give me somethin' besides crappy snack mix for free. I wanted a regular Coke, but you know how Kurt—" he stopped himself short and inhaled sharply. "When can I see him?"

"We have to go to police station and sign a few papers. Then we can get a cab to the mor—to the hospital."

"Mr. Hummel," Will said as he approached.

"How did this happen?" Burt asked, tone low and dangerous.

"I don't…I am so so sorry…."

"You're damn right you're sorry," Burt snarled. "Your sorry ass couldn't protect my kid while he was at school. What the hell made me think you could keep him out of harm's way clear across the country?"

"Burt…" Carole soothed, but he was having none of it.

"I TRUSTED YOU TO KEEP MY BOY SAFE!" Burt shouted.

"Burt!" Carole scolded. "If you don't calm down, we'll get ourselves on the No-Fly list and then we'll have to drive back to Ohio and that is not happening. Understood?"