Kurt flexed his hand; he was stuck lying on his side, having just received his second biopsy.
His dad had sat beside him this time, wringing Kurt's hand and continually asking if he was alright. Kurt had almost wished for Finn, but when he'd started feeling sore and his dad had demanded they give him more for the pain, he'd been grateful.
"You okay?"
"Yes," Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes," I'd like to sit up, though." His dad hummed in acknowledgement and shifted in his chair; Kurt had a feeling that his dad was fighting the urge to get up and stretch his legs until Kurt was given the all clear to move.
"Another twenty minutes, bud." Burt rocked back in his chair, exhaling nervously and glancing at the poster on the wall–Mike had turned out to be quite the sketch artist and had drawn a massive picture of the entire glee club for Kurt–and running his hands on his jeans.
"Dad?" He stopped, recognizing the trepidation in his son's voice, "Is something wrong?"
"No," his dad smiled, obviously trying to reassure Kurt, "I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Okay…" he drew out the last syllable, automatically preparing himself for his dad to attempt the sex talk–the sure-to-be uncomfortable and mortifying "gay sex" talk–when he was incapable of moving, let alone fleeing.
"I wanted to–When you're out of the hospital, I–" he cleared his throat awkwardly; Kurt just waited –if his dad couldn't even start the conversation, he wasn't going to help. "Look, Kurt," he put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, sending a shiver of nervous energy though him, "I'm going to ask Carole to marry me."
It was so far from what he'd been expecting; all Kurt could manage was "No way."
"Kurt, I know this is fast, but–"
"Not a bad 'no way', dad." Kurt let his face explode in a sunny smile, "Awesome."
His dad looked surprised, blinking cautiously, "I thought I'd have to talk you into this."
"I'm just happy you're not trying to give me a sex talk," his dad's face slackened, "Not that we need to have that–Did you buy a ring yet?
His dad gave him a look that told him it had been a very big mistake to bring up sex and then smiled, "I haven't yet. I was hoping you–as my very fashionable best man–" Kurt nodded, smiling proudly, "–would come with me to pick one out. When you're out of this place."
"Of course. I get to dress you, right?" his dad nodded, somewhat reluctantly, "Finn too?"
His dad's eyebrows lifted–he'd never perfected the single swooping arch quite like Kurt had, "Finn might end up as his mom's… Uh–"
"Honor attendant?"
"That's the one." Kurt closed his eyes, trying to visualize the ideal ring for Carole, and his dad's hand threaded into his own, "I'm so proud of you, kid," Kurt opened his eyes, but his dad was staring at something over his head, "You've been so brave, dealing with all of this–Carole and me, the Hudson's moving in, this Puck boy. And leukemia on top of everything.
"I couldn't have done it," he laughed, choked up, "I could barely handle it anyways."
Kurt froze up, his hand clenching around his dad's. He stared up at the sheen of tears in his dad's eyes, "Dad, I'm okay. Don't–"
Burt waved him off, "I just wanted you to know I'm proud of you."
Puck kept his fingers hooked in the straps of his backpack, hoping the nurses wouldn't stop him; they'd been wary of him since figuring out he'd snuck past them three nights previous.
He really hoped Finn could keep Burt–and anyone else who might interrupt–away from Kurt's room, at least for the next hour or so.
Sure enough, when he turned into the hallway that led to Kurt's room, he spotted Finn guiding Rachel in the opposite direction. Burt and Carole followed behind, holding hands loosely like they'd been in love for years.
He side-stepped into Kurt's room just as Burt's head started to turn, letting out a loud sigh of relief. Kurt was sitting up, watching a tape–where Finn had managed to find a VHS tape and how he'd managed to record Kurt's show, Puck couldn't begin to figure out. When Puck slid in, he knocked against the door clumsily and Kurt looked over, his face melting into a shy smile.
"Hey," he took a couple steps forward, swinging his backpack–from middle school. Puck didn't use backpacks anymore–onto Kurt's bed, "I brought you a big, cheesy picnic."
The surprised laugh Kurt let out when Puck pulled out a pair of plastic plates and two packages of clear utensils was worth all the trouble he'd gone to–not only had he prepared food that wasn't made in the microwave, but he'd also managed to convince Finn to keep the family distracted while they had their picnic.
He pulled Kurt's tray towards him and started setting out individual containers of food. Kurt took the plates from him, "You made all of this?"
Puck grinned, forgetting about the food for a minute and leaning over to kiss Kurt. He pulled back over a minute later, leaving Kurt blinking dazedly, "I figured since I can't take you out, I'd bring our first date to you." He flicked a Tupperware container open and held it out in front of Kurt, "Ham and cheese good?"
"Ham and cheese sounds perfect." Kurt took the sandwich, delicately laying the two halves on his plate, "Is this why Finn was so eager to abandon me today?"
Puck nodded, squeezing himself in beside Kurt on the bed, "Yep. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to manipulate him."
Kurt knew how easy it was, but he refused to say anything around his food.
"All it took was one teensy threat to tell your dad that he used to toss you in dumpsters," Puck chuckled, taking a bit of his sandwich and chewing thoughtfully, "He didn't seem to realize that he could just tell your dad that I used to do shit too and he'd probably forget all about Finn."
"That's probably true," Kurt leaned into Puck's side, taking a sip from the container of lemonade Puck had brought, "I'm surprised my dad managed to tear himself from my side, actually."
Puck squeezed his arm, leaning down to steal the last bite of Kurt's sandwich from his fingers, "Why's that?"
Kurt sighed, watching Puck lick at his fingers, and then stuck his arm out. A small piece of cotton was taped to the crook of his elbow.
"I had another biopsy last night and they took my blood this morning. We should know–one way or the other–by later today."
Puck sucked in a breath, barely hesitating, "There's no way it's bad. It just–I've got a good feeling today."
"Thanks, but I can't help feeling nervous about it."
Puck lifted Kurt's plate onto the tray and pushed the whole thing out of the way, "I'm not great with the romantic gestures, but we could make out." He rolled over, climbing on top of Kurt and forcing the smaller boy back against the pillows, "I'm sure I can take your mind off it." He winked, leaning down to capture Kurt's mouth.
The knock at the door was a normal volume, but it reverberated through the room as if the doctor had used a hammer. The final note of Puck's song died out eerily and Finn's hand reached for Kurt's instinctively.
Rachel stood up, pulling her skirt down in a twitchy movement, and then squeezed past the doctor, "I'll go get your dad."
Kurt took a deep breath in as Puck stood, moving to stand against his bed; he could feel the press of Puck's legs heavy against the mattress for support.
Dr. Cartell looked up from her notes, closing the medical folder with a snap that felt like a bone breaking, "Would you like to wait for your father?"
He glanced at Finn, who met his eyes with a thin, reassuring smile, and then at Puck, who kept his eyes focused on Dr. Cartell but reached down, capturing Kurt's free hand–the other was clasped tightly around Finn's large fingers–and giving them a gently, panicked squeeze.
"No," he breathed, "Just tell me." His closed his eyes, braced for the worst; Dr. Cartell's face was usually blank and unreadable, but Kurt didn't want to see any sort of emotion.
"You boys don't have to look so terrified," he could hear the smile in her voice, the subtle inflection that let him know she was undeniably happy, "Kurt, you're in remission."
He opened his eyes, blinking slowly; a haze settled around his eyes and then Puck was on him, hauling him forward into a crushing hug and pressing his face against Kurt's neck.
"I told you," he whispered, his breath ghosting along Kurt's skin, "Fuck, Hummel. I told you."
Another arm closed around his back; Finn's gangly arms wrapped around the both of them and Kurt gasped, letting it sink in.
He was in remission. He was going to be okay. He wasn't going to die.
He had a boyfriend.
He was going to have a date for his dad's wedding. He was going to have hair for his father's wedding.
Burt cried when he got back to the room, out-of-breath and followed by a teary-eyed Carole and frantic-looking Rachel. He'd stared around the room, sagging into a chair when Kurt flashed him a brilliant smile and Finn swept Rachel up in a twirl of a hug.
"You're clear?"
Kurt nodded, breathless against Puck, who'd only let go of him when Dr. Cartell had cleared her throat. "I still have consolidation therapy, but Cartell says I'm in complete remission and the consolidation will reduce my chances of relapse to less than three percent."
Rachel laughed as Finn set her down, running over and squeezing Kurt gently; he returned the hug, chuckling quietly in shock against a long wave of her hair.
They spent the day talking–occasionally one of them would burst into happy laughter or a sigh of relief–and detailing plans for Kurt's release from the hospital. When Kurt finally dozed off around nine thirty shortly after Carole had left to drive Rachel home–Puck stood up, kissing him on the cheek and whispering a goodbye in his ear, even though his breathing had evened out and his face had relaxed to the point that he had never reached while awake.
He pulled away, watching Kurt's face for a moment–and wondering how he'd fallen so far–before leaning down to pick up the backpack filled with half-empty food containers.
"You really care about him."
Finn's voice sounded genuinely surprised, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Puck glanced sideways at Burt, whose eyes were glued to Puck's face, "Your point?"
"I just–" Finn shrugged, "I never know with you." Puck's brow knitted together–Finn always knew what Puck was feeling, what he was thinking.
"Well, yeah," Puck slung the bag over his shoulder, "I'm not–I'm not the guy who took Quinn from you anymore." Burt cleared his throat, reminding Puck that he was there, "I used to be a jerk. I'm trying really hard to be something else, Finn."
Finn nodded jerkily, turning his eyes downward to watch the gentle rise and fall of Kurt's chest. Puck inhaled through his nose, walking around the bed and opening the heavy door.
"Puckerman," Burt's calm voice stopped him in the doorway, "I couldn't protect him from cancer, but I can sure as hell protect him from you."
He turned, but Burt was watching his son as well.
"Yeah," Finn chimed in, his voice amused but serious, "I mean–I can't beat the shit out of cancer."
"I promise, Finn. Sir," Puck nodded to both of them, even though they couldn't see him, "You will never have to beat the shit out of me for hurting him. Not if I can help it."
Burt met his eyes then, "That's all I need," he smiled, offering his hand, and Puck stepped forward to shake it firmly, "See you tomorrow, then?"
Puck grinned, "Sure thing, Mr. H."
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