A/N: AHHHH this week's Glee was so good. At first I was like, "hee hee" but then I was like "whaaa?" and then I was like "WTFRUDOINGBLAINE" and then I was like "hee hee" again. On the same note, for the purposes of this story, I'm pretending that the last few episodes didn't happen. No surfer/stoner Gap Boy, no drunken tongue wrestling with Rachel, nothing. Whoosh. Gone. To make up for the update delay, this one's long... er than the other chapters. Also a bit sad again, so I'll have another bad joke for you at the end.

Five hours earlier

Blaine could smell raw skin and his mouth tasted like iron. He felt a white-hot pain running from the base of his skull down to his left hip. He could feel his heart thumping in his neck and he sensed a dull, grey light behind his closed eyelids. He could hear a faint hissing and a slow drip, drip, drip... He listened to the drips for what felt like hours, days, years. The only indication at the passage of time was that the heat in his back slowly dissipated into an unbearable chill that sent tremors through his body so furious, he might be having a seizure.

He heard a loud crunching from below that shook the whole world like an earthquake. Below? No, it wasn't below, but it was in the opposite direction from his head. Then he realized he was upside-down. He took a shuddering breath that made his chest ache as if stabbed by a fire poker and the chill spread further throughout his body. He had watched enough TV to know that he probably shouldn't fall asleep, but his eyes were refusing to open and his mind felt like it was drowning in sludge.

Stay awake. Stay awake. Play a word game. Umm, countries through the alphabet.

Algeria.

It was the strangest sensation, as if every bone in his body had been replaced by ice replicas.

Bahrain.

Then, slowly, it felt as if all of his bones evaporated and he was left as a limp doll.

Cambodia. Denmark.

He wanted to wiggle his toes or make a fist or do something, but he was too fragile and disoriented to even remember how to use his muscles.

Estonia. Um, Finland.

He couldn't even remember if he had muscles anymore.

G... Gibraltar. Is Gibraltar a country? I don't think so... Okay, Ghana. Germany. Gabon.

His skin tingled and crawled as if millions of ants that were dipped in hot alcohol were crawling all over him. His skin burned, but his insides still pulsated with an extreme cold.

Honduras. Indonesia. Don't fall asleep. Indonesia. Um, Jakarta. No, Jakarta is in Indonesia. Java. Also in Indonesia. Um, Japan.

The sound of his heartbeat was clouded over with a low buzzing that now filled his head. A black hole spread from his chest throughout his body, and, suddenly, he couldn't feel anything anymore. The light behind his eyes disappeared and was replaced by total darkness.

Stay awake, Blaine. What am I at? K? K. Kiribati. Where the fuck is Kiribati anyway?

He gasped involuntarily, ripping his dry lips apart, breaking the skin. He tasted more iron and all of the warmth in his mouth floated away immediately. His tongue felt dry, cracked and swollen.

Lithuania. Madagascar. Madagascar. Um, Norway.

Through the droning in his mind, he thought he heard voices. Muffled voices that seemed so far away. The light reappeared on the other side of his eyelids. Was he dying? Was this heaven? No, Blaine didn't believe in heaven. But maybe he should start to, maybe it was his only hope.

O. Oman. P. Philippines.

The darkness swallowed him whole and he fell fast into a coma.

Six hours later

Lima General Hospital smelled like antiseptic and cold plastic. Harsh, fluorescent lights cast a blue-white light over everything and the grey, linoleum floor amplified every footstep like a megaphone. Kurt dashed to the receptionist's desk.

"Blaine Anderson?" He asked, out of breath.

The receptionist checked her computer at a glacial pace and her face remained apathetic. Kurt silently cursed a pox on her firstborn.

"Hmm," She said, pursing her lips, "that name's not showing up here. That might mean he doesn't have a room yet. Maybe he's in the ER."

Kurt whipped around without another word to the emotionless hag and glanced up at the hanging signs, looking for the one that would say EMERGENCY ROOM - . He found it and ran off in the direction of the arrow, Burt trailing close behind.

"Kurt. Kurt!" Burt shouted, "they won't let you in there." Burt finally caught up with Kurt and grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around. "We need to wait out here, Son, they don't let anyone but family in the ER." Burt remembered the protocol from when his first wife was in the hospital.

Kurt sank onto the floor, defeated. Burt tenderly pulled him up by the elbows and supported him as they walked to the waiting room. They each plunked into a red, canvas chair and sighed deeply. Then, Kurt's phone rang. He reached into his pocket, glanced at the caller ID and answered.

"Hello?" He paused. "We're at the hospital, Finn. No, I'm fine - seriously - just - shut up, Finn! It's Blaine. He was in an accident." He paused again, longer this time. "Hi, Carole. No, I'm fine. Yeah. Mm-hmm. Okay." Kurt hung up. He turned to Burt and said, "Carole and Finn are coming."

The doors opposite them opened and Betty and Bonnie walked through, still holding hands. Kurt jumped up and ran over to hug Betty. He felt so close to her already.

"He's in the OR," Betty said, answering Kurt's unspoken query, "they can't tell me much, but they said he'll be in surgery for at least a few hours." Her voice cracked as she tried to hold in her tears. Kurt led her over to the chair he had just vacated. She collapsed into it and breathed loudly and slowly. Kurt got her a cup of water from the nearby water cooler. She clutched onto it with both hands, staring at the surface of the water with unseeing eyes.

"Mommy?" Bonnie said timidly.

"Yes, Dear?" Betty said, not looking up from her water.

"I'm hungry."

Betty's head jerked up and she looked at Bonnie. Betty's face looked greatly conflicted, as if she was trying to choose which of her children she liked best.

Burt jumped up. "I'll take her to the cafeteria,"

Betty shook herself back into rationality. "No, no, it's fine. I'll go."

"No," Burt argued, "I wouldn't mind a little something to eat, too. We'll bring back coffee. Kurt, coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Betty smiled at Burt and nodded slightly. Her eyes were full of nothingness, like two great chasms that fell forever.

"I want chicken," Bonnie said as she grabbed Burt's hand. They left, leaving Kurt and Betty alone.

As soon as Bonnie was out of sight, fat tears rolled down Betty's cheeks in quick succession. Her petite shoulders shook and sharp gasps replaced her heavy breathing. She placed her water on the floor by her feet then leaned forward, resting her head on her knees and clutching her hands against her chest.

Kurt crouched on the floor in front of her and placed his hands on the sides of her wet face. "He'll be okay. It will all be okay," He said, starting to cry again himself.

Bonnie was very chatty and charismatic. She kept asking Burt questions as he tried to hold on to her hand. She was swerving back and forth and bumping into people and things as if out of her control.

"Are you Kurt's daddy?" She asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Are you a nice daddy?"

"Um. Yeah, I think so."

"Are you a lumberjack?"

"What? No, I'm a mechanic."

"Mechanics don't wear plaid! They wear those blue things."

"Well, I wear a blue thing at work," Burt smiled a little in spite of himself. He had forgotten how much fun little kids were. "Here we are," he said, steering them into the hospital cafeteria.

Five minutes later, Bonnie and Burt were sitting across from each other at a small, round, grey table. She was munching on frozen chicken nuggets and he was poking his pasta salad suspiciously with a fork. Bonnie was full of energy, but quite polite and well-behaved. She refused to sit on her chair normally, but at least she stayed sitting in it as she rolled around and flung her legs wildly.

"Mister Burt's Daddy?" She said.

"You can call me Burt, Bonnie." Burt smiled again.

"Oh, okay. Are you going to be my new daddy-of-law?"

Burt tilted his head. "Your what?"

"Daddy-of-law!" She responded, matter-of-factly, "If Blaine marries Kurt, then you'll be my daddy-of-law, right?"

"Huh? Oh!" Burt realized what she was asking. "Um, I don't know. I guess so." Burt was thrown off by Bonnie's nonchalance.

"Good. I've never had a daddy before." Bonnie went back to her chicken.

Burt just stared at her, wordless. Her was this little girl, full of so much life that it spilled out onto everything she touched, as if she couldn't ask for anything in the world, yet she wanted a father. She reminded him of Kurt after his mom died, missing something so significant yet smiling and laughing like every day was precious. Behaving like a mood ring, Burt's mouth started to taste bitter and sweet at the same time. Or maybe it was the pasta salad.

A/N: What do you call a midget psychic who escaped from prison? A small medium at large!

Boo-yah! 'Nother chaptah! I had some serious dental work done last week and I was incapacitated by horse-strength painkillers for a few days, but I'm back! Yay. Have you heard Darren Criss' EP? I've been listening to it for weeks. It's pretty smfah.