A/N: I'm ba-ack... again. I hope you've all been enjoying the story, but we are nearing the end at this point. Needless to say, I'm not going to give much away. We've got another brief change of pace this chapter, but things will pick up again soon.

As usual, credit to the epicness of my reviewers! Since the last update, these include: Bella1992, yowzers, islay12, Isilady, VoiceInMyHead, MmmStrawberryLips, SawyersNumberOneFan, JAMES-EAI, mia bella jacob, TheUltimateGleek123, KairiNamineStar and GGSVHM.

As usual, the title comes from a song. For the record, that song is Daughtry's It's Not Over.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee. Or the characters. Or McKinley High. But Christmas is coming, so I'm hoping for a Puck-shaped package under my tree...

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When Kurt Hummel opened his eyes, he knew beyond any reasonable doubt that he was dead. Several indicators alerted him to this fact:

Firstly, he was dressed in a rather divine cream Armani blazer and a pair of matching dress pants with a faun bow tie and those delicious nude coloured brogues he had been lusting over at the mall every weekend since they appeared in the window of the shoe store. None of these items were in any way dirty, soiled or ripped. In fact, they were in immaculate condition, and felt clean and crisp and cool against his pleasantly warm skin.

Come to think of it, every part of him felt pleasant. He had a vague memory of a searing pain in his abdomen but that was all it was, a memory. He recalled feeling dirty and defeated, battered and bruised, but now his skin was as soft and rosy as that of a newborn baby. His hands roamed over his own face, no longer feeling the bumps and contusions which had served as a souvenir of Puck's attack on him earlier. He felt as clean and rejuvinated as though he had just stepped out of a hot bubble bath. A peaceful feeling of contentment was wrapped around him like a blanket swaddling a baby and he felt healthy and happy and whole. His fingers did not come away stained with red when he pressed them to his stomach, and the visceral rusty aroma of congealing blood did not assault his nostrils. A swift peek beneath his tailored shirt revealed that the flesh on his stomach was blissfully unbroken. He was fine.

The main indicator, however, that he was dead and not simply suffering from short-term memory loss which had caused him to lose the time between being stabbed and waking up at home was that standing before him, smiling sadly and holding out a small, peachy hand, was his mother.

Iris Hummel looked just like she had when she dropped to the kitchen floor all those years ago, felled and taken from Kurt and Burt by an undetected clot in her brain. Her rosy-cheeked, heart-shaped face was unblemished by wrinkles, except for the laughter lines that surrounded her sparkling green eyes. Her long brown hair fell in gentle waves past her slim shoulderblades, a pink satin ribbon pulling it back slightly from her face. She was dressed simply but classically, as she always used to be, in a floral blouse in pastel colours and a neat white skirt. Her feet were bare and she smelled exactly the same as Kurt remembered, a sweet mixture of springtime blossoms and musky vanilla.

"Kurt," she breathed, her voice as gentle as ever. "My Kurt."

She beamed tearfully at him, and the boy hurtled into her waiting embrace. His eyes were moist as he drank her in, the mother he had mourned for so long. His arms wrapped themselves fiercely around her neck and he inhaled her aroma in gasping, shuddering breaths. Iris held him close and stroked his hair wistfully.

"I- I'm so so-sorry!" Kurt managed to choke out with supreme difficulty. "I-m sorry, I'm sorry, I..."

"Baby, what on earth for?" exclaimed Iris in incredulity. She pulled back and took his face between her tiny, childlike hands.

"D-dying!" the boy wailed. "I- I've left Dad on his own, and y-you told me not to do that, never to do that, b-before..."

"Oh Kurt, don't be silly. You did everything you could for your father, he and I both know that. You were so brave baby, at the end. You protected your friends, even though you knew what that meant for you. I've never been more proud."

"You- you were watching?" Kurt asked, shocked. Iris pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead.

"Baby, I'm always watching," she informed her son. "Always. I've watched you hold our family together since... well, you know. I've watched you struggle, and it has hurt like you wouldn't believe, but I've also watched you come to terms with yourself and learn to love the person you have grown up to be. I always knew my boy would have his father's courage, but I never knew just how much you had. Kurt, you are the single most courageous person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I'm proud to be your mom."

Kurt made a face, embarrassed. He pressed his face into his mother's hair and grinned.

"I've missed you," he murmured quietly.

"I've missed you too baby," Iris sighed. "Like you wouldn't believe. But I'm always with you, always."

"I know."

Iris slipped her hand into her son's and pulled out of the embrace, leading Kurt down a neat pathway.

"I didn't believe in God," Kurt whispered to her. He felt guilty saying it, now that he was here. Dead. "But this is heaven, isn't it? I thought if it was real, my heaven would have more shopping malls."

Iris giggled, a soft silvery tinkling of wind chimes. She pulled Kurt along without answering his question, past pastel-coloured fields of lilac and buttercups. The path beneath their feet was a quaint, old-fashioned cobbled one over which they glided effortlessly. The sky overhead was the clearest shade of blue, with only the faintest trace of whispish white cloud filtering through. Kurt thought he could hear the faraway tinkling of piano keys in the distance, and possibly the chirping of exotic songbirds. He clutched excitedly onto his mother's hand as he followed in her wake, overcome by how safe it felt to be in her presence again. He had missed her, of course, but he had never really realised how much until now.

"Mom," he said, enjoying the taste of the word on his lips without its usual coating of loss. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see soon enough baby," replied Iris. She smiled once more, and the action seemed to cause her whole face to light up. It was as though she had been struck by a ray of purest golden sunlight. She was nothing less than angelic, soft and sweet-smelling and achingly familiar. Her pace quickened slightly after Kurt's enquiry and she seemed to be moving with more purpose than before. She led her son over a small humpback bridge which traversed a trickling stream and gave a contented sigh.

"We're here," she said happily. Kurt looked around expectantly for some sort of pearly gates, or perhaps a bearded man holding a parchment list. What he saw instead was rather less impressive. The only things of note in this small field were a weeping willow tree and the delicate red bench which it overhung. Slightly disappointed, he glanced questioningly at his mother. Iris smirked. "We're just waiting for someone baby."

Kurt nodded uncertainly and allowed himself to be led over to the bench. His mother perched daintily on the edge of the seat, hands clasped in her lap, and began to hum softly under her breath. Her foot jiggled in time to her soft lullaby and her signature aroma filled the air. Kurt looked at her and wanted to cry. He wanted to just curl up in her lap like he used to when he was little and had a bad nightmare. Iris would take him in her arms and cuddle him close and feed himchocolate milk through a purple straw until he stopped shaking. Then she would carry him back to his little four-poster bed with iits red velvet hangings and lie down next to him until he drifted back into dreamless slumber. Kurt had never forgotten the soft touch of her hands as she held him close to her, drumming a soothing rhythm against the pale skin of his arms. Her particular scent had enveloped him like a security blanket and Kurt remembered that he had never felt safer than in those moments, with his mother lying next to him warding off the bad dreams of a hulking five-year-old named David Karovsky holding him down in the sandpit as Noah Puckerman and some kid called Azimio laughed and Kurt cried and waited until Finn Hudson pulled him out, sobbing and choking on grains of sand.

Kurt was about to drop his head to Iris's lap when a sibilant sigh slipped through the woman's teeth. She smiled sadly and rose to her feet. Confused, Kurt followed her gaze.

A figure was crossing the humpbacked bridge, striding swiftly towards them. It was the figure of a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders. He was dressed in an impeccably neat military uniform, a couple of gleaming medals pinned to his breast pocket, and his hair was combed in a neat side parting. Kurt was certain he had never seen the solider before- he would remember a face like that, he was sure of it- and yet there was something in familiar in his loping gait and awkward, lopsided smile. He strode across the distance between them on long legs and hugged Iris briefly before releasing her and turning to face Kurt.

"Hi there son," he said in an easy drawl. "How're you feeling?"

"Uh- I'm f-fine thank you sir," said Kurt breathlessly. "I... uh... who exactly are you?"

Verity smiled coyly and the stranger laughed a loud, booming laugh that came frm the pit of his stomach. He stuck out a hand and clenched Kurt's palm tightly in his, shaking it so fiercely that a shot of pain ran up the smaller boy's arm to his elbow. He flinched and the man smiled good-naturedly.

"Sorry son," he apologised hastily. "Chris Hudson, pleased to meet you."

Kurt gaped at him.

"Y-you mean... you're..."

"Yeah kiddo, I'm Finn's dad. How's my boy holding up?"

"He... uh, he's good, we..."

"Oh Chris, stop teasing the poor boy," Iris giggled, ruffling her son's hair affectionately. Finn's dad shrugged sheepishly and shot Kurt a goofy grin so reminiscent of his son's that Kurt's head spun.

"Sorry kid, I just love freaking the newbies out," Chris chuckled. "I've been keeping an eye on Finn, my Carole too. You and your dad seem to be good for them."

"I... thank you," said Kurt uncertainly. He looked despairingly at his mother; this situation was starting to get altogther too weird for him.

"Don't worry baby," Iris soothed. "We just need to wait a few minutes more."

"Who else is coming?" Kurt whispered softly.

As though on cue, a hum of voices began, growing progressively louder with every second they waited. Then there was a flurry of movement on the bridge. Christopher Hudson and Iris Hummel raised their hands in silent greeting to the newcomers. Kurt placed a trembling hand to his temples, feeling weak.

Walking towards him, looking sad and tired, were the lot members of New Directions. Towards the front of the group, he could see Miss Pillsbury walking next to that girl from Vocal Adrenaline, Candace-something-or-other. Behind them were Mike, Santana and Brittany. Tina wheeled Artie's chair in their wake, and bringing up the rear was the slight, poised form of Quinn Fabray.

"I- oh God," Kurt breathed, his head swimming. He staggered shakily back to sit on the bench and dropped his head into his hands. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I-"

"Kurt, don't," Miss Pillsbury said softly. She was as immaculate as ever in a fitted pastel twin-set, a string of pearls around her delicate throat. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have... I mean, I could have..."

"Kurt, they were too strong," Tina said, her tone sombre. She clutched Artie's hand tightly. Both of them were perfectly whole and undamaged. They looked exactly as they had in life; Tina wore her usual Goth garb, and Artie his typical chequered sweater vest and shirt. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled sadly at his friend.

"She's right, you know," he informed him. "There was nothing you could have done."

"You were so brave," Santana piped up, and Kurt turned to stare at her. The pretty Latina girl wore her usual crisp, awe-inspiring Cheerios uniform, but her hair hung around her face, softening her sometimes hard features. She didn't roll her eyes, and her words held none of their usual biting sarcasm. Kurt was horrified to see tears welling up in her eyes. "You saved Matt and Mercedes. I could never have done that."

"You saved my best friend," added Mike. His voice was quiet, almost hoarse, and tears were slipping silently down his sallow cheeks.

"I like Matt," Brittany said dazedly. "And Mercedes is nice but when she sings sometimes she makes me cry."

"I didn't know you," Candace said. "But I still think what you did was really-"

"No!" Kurt exclaimed shakily. He sood up and glared at the little cluster of people before him. "No, just stop talking. All of you, just stop! Stop saying that I was brave, that I saved them, j-just stop! I couldn't help any of you, could I? Mike, Quinn, I was too late, you two were gone by the time I got to you, and Artie, we found you... found you... If I was any sort of person I would have finished that creep off when I had the chance! But I got myself k-killed, and he's still out there, and 'Cedes and Finn and the others are still in danger and... Just don't call me brave. I'm just a stupid little boy who got myself stabbed and left my friends to the mercy of... to the mercy of..."

"Kurt!"

A voice broke him off and suddenly his arms were full of Quinn. The blonde girl, her hair a mess of loose, gentle curls, held his face and wiped away the tears which had begun to spill over from his eyes. She sat him down firmly on the bench and wrapped her thin arms around him. Kurt struggled, but Quinn hadn't earned the position of head cheerleader for nothing and she didn't budge. Eventually, Kurt stopped thrashing and lay prone in her arms. Quinn stroked his hair gently as he gasped and tried to control his emotions.

"Listen to me Kurt- no, listen. You are not allowed to feel guilty because that psychopath Jacob Ben Israel decided to slaughter-"

"Jacob?"

"Yes Kurt, it was Jacob," Quinn said softly. "Jacob and Mr Schuester's wife, they're the ones doing all of this. Well Jacob, mainly, but Terri took down Miss Pillsbury and Britt, and she helped him with what he did to Santana too."

"I... but, why?"

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that you did everything you could. You sacrificed yourself for the sake of your friends. No matter what you say, you saved them Kurt."

"I didn't do anything any of you wouldn't-"

"Oh for heaven's sake, stop arguing Kurt!" the blonde girl exclaimed. "Just accept that you're a hero. It takes something special to do what you did Kurt but..."

She trailed off and glanced nervously at Iris. The older woman smiled sadly and nodded. Kurt could see the lump in Quinn's throat as she swallowed.

"But you're not finished yet."

Kurt stared at her, feeling darkness tug at the edge of his vision. Quinn nodded tearfully.

"What?"

"I know it's hard, but you need to understand that-"

"I- I'm dead," Kurt squealed hysterically. "I'm dead, that's it, job done, right Mom?"

But Iris was shaking her head and coming towards him, hands outstretched.

"Baby, you're not like us. You're not spirit, not yet. You... you're floating. In limbo. Half-dead."

"But I'm tired," Kurt whispered brokenly. "I'm tired and I'm done. Why can't I just go on, with you?"

"Kiddo, if that's what you want, none of us will try to stop you," Chris Hudson said evenly. "But frankly, your friends are in one hell of a pickle. If nobody does anything, they... well, let's just say they'll all be joining us pretty quickly too."

Kurt felt bile rise in his throat. Unwillingly, his mind was invaded with images. Finn. Mercedes. Heck, even Rachel. Matt, Puck, Mr Schue, Ms Corcoran... they would all die. All of them. And then what woud happen? How would Carole and his dad cope? And Rachel's two gay dads, who had given up so much for her? Rachel, who would never win her Tony, never sing on Boradway. Finn, who would never play football again. Mercedes, who would never have a proper boyfriend, and Matt who would never learn to be himself. Mr Schue would never see his glee club, his pride and joy, succeed, Ms Corcoran would never get to raise her daughter and Puck would be remembered as a Lima Loser. None of them would ever fulfill their dreams, none of their families would see their children grow up.

Kurt turned to smile at his mother, tears blurring his vision.

"A-alright," he whispered shakily. "I'll do it."

Iris beamed at him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Chris nodded sharply and the others clapped their hands in soft appreciation, as though he had just hit the high F in Defying Gravity. Kurt got to his feet once more and smiled at them all.

"That's my boy," Iris murmured to him.

"Good luck Kurt," Mike called, his sentiments echoed by the others as they rushed forward to engulf him in embraces and hugs and kisses.

"Tell Puck I'm sorry I took Beth away from him," Quinn whispered in his ear, the last to reach him. Kurt nodded as he pulled away. The rest of them stayed clustered together and he was left standing on his own, feeling slightly foolish. Then a thought struck him.

"How- how do I get back?" he asked. "To... to Earth, or whatever it is?"

The others smiled, and he thought he saw a flash of Santana's patented eye-roll before Brittany rushed forward and took his hand, dressed like Santana in her Cheerios uniform and clutching a tiny teddy bear.

"I thought I was the dumb one," she told him seriously. Then her pretty features split into a smile and she stroked the skin of his palm, probably still revelling in the soft, baby-like texture of his skin. "Maybe you should try waking up."

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Kurt opened his eyes groggily, and pain immediately exploded in his abdomen. He could see dirt and leaves all around him, and a winding trail of dark red blood. For a moment, he was confused. Then realisation hit.

"Finn," he whispered wildly. "Finn... 'Cedes..."

He sat bolt upright, clutching at the bloodstain spreading across his stomach. Face contorted with pain, he dragged himself towards Shelby Corcoran's car and popped the trunk. He hauled himself to his feet, still wincing, and began to sift through the mess of baby toys and CD cases with increasing desperation. Finally, he found one of the woman's spare blouses. His hands were trembling, but he managed to rip a wide strip of fabric from the shirt and tie it tight around himself, compressiong the wound. Then he reached further into the trunk until he found Shelby's roadside emergency kit. Being the son of one of the most popular mechanics in Lima, it seemed, had its uses after all.

After sifting through blankets and tangles of jump cables, he finally found a heavy steel wrench. A cruel smile crossed his face as he held it up victoriously.

"This will do nicely," he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. He braced himself and began to stagger back up towards the cabin. His stomach felt like it was on fire, but all he could think of was the fact that his friends were still in danger.

He hoped he would meet Terri Schuester on his way. Making her pay was the least he could do for Britt and Santana and Miss Pillsbury. And Jacob... well, he had a lot to answer for.

Not least getting bloodstains on Kurt's clothes.

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I'm sorry I made you all think Kurt was dead, but I hope you liked this chapter. Please drop me a line to tell me what you thought!