When he later looked back at this day, he would not remember how he got home. It was probably a miracle that he hadn't gotten into any accidents, because his thoughts were anywhere but driving. Maybe Karma wasn't mean enough to kill both Hummels in one day, who knew.

It didn't seem real. After he'd found Kurt's name and talked to someone from the airport whose face he'd already completely forgotten, about how likely it was that there were errors on either list (not very, but in a crisis situation like that mistakes could be made), his brain had still not quite caught up with the idea that he wouldn't be seeing his son again.

The drive home had passed in a blur, and he couldn't quite remember what he had talked about with the airline people but it didn't seem to matter much. They couldn't fix this. It would not be fixed. Fact of the matter was, Burt Hummel had now lost both his wife and his son.

As he fumbled with the keys to his front door was the first time, that it occurred to him that he would have to eventually tell other people about this. He would have to tell Finn, and Carole, and possibly some of Kurt's friends if Finn and Carole didn't.

But he didn't even know how to begin to say it. The words were simple enough, really, but saying it out loud…

He pushed open the door and carelessly threw his keys into the little basket by the door. Kurt had insisted on getting something like this, something where everyone would be putting their keys so they didn't get lost so often anymore.

As he looked around, he realized that there was hardly any decorating choice that had been made around this house without Kurt's input. Most things were picked as a sort of compromise between his sense of aesthetic, their budget and what the other residents of the house wanted, but his influence was obvious.

All things to remember him by…

The idea that he would need things to remember his son by felt like a punch to the gut. Someday those memories would be faded, but no new ones would be added anymore.

Just like his wife's old dresser, that used to smell like her perfume, but now honestly didn't smell like much of anything anymore, except for the fact that both Kurt and Burt willed it to, and imagined it did.

After his wife had died, after those terrible weeks full of grief he hadn't really cried for years. Now the numbness of the initial shock was fading, and he could feel the long forgotten but still awfully familiar sensation of his breath hitching and his eyes filling with tears.

He rubbed at his face, trying to blink the tears away, because he just didn't know if he would be able to stop ever again if he started now.

Except that wasn't really true, was it? He hadn't believed that he could ever be happy again after his wife's death and sure enough, a few years later there he was, married again, proud father and stepfather, and he'd gotten to be okay again. Someday he would probably be okay again after this, too, and that felt like the worst thing of all.

Life would go on. All around him, and as much as it pained Burt to consider it, his own as well. The world would keep spinning without ever seeing the bright star Kurt should've been, shine. Everything else would continue, except for Kurt.

His room was always full of change, whether he was redecorating, or deciding that the throw pillows were just wrong, or buying outlandish new outfits, and throwing others out, because they were just so two seasons ago.

Now it would be static. However he had left it, it would stay exactly the same, things gathering dust, and missing all future seasons of fashion.

Fighting against the tears was completely useless. He should've known. He still hadn't moved from the hallway, unable to focus on anything else. He noticed the light of the answering machine blink, and he toyed with the idea of just deleting the message, because he didn't feel like he'd be able to mimic a functioning human being just now.

He wasn't quite sure what compelled him to push the play button, after all, but he did it anyway.

"Hey Dad…" Kurt's voice sounded a little shaky, but it was most definitely him, and Burt pretty much forgot to breathe for a moment.

"I… um… not quite sure how to say this, but… well the plane's crashing. Okay, that's actually not too complicated to say, I guess…"

There was some noise in the background, and then Kurt was heard, saying, "Yeah? Well the plane's already crashing, pretty sure my phone's not gonna make that worse. Maybe you should think about talking to people, too"

The answer was indistinct, but then Kurt said, "Well look at that, we're still going down. Apparently you're doing it wrong." Kurt's voice grew a little more distinct again, as he was apparently talking into the phone again. "Sorry about that, I was just yelling at the praying lady." He paused, then sounded like he wasn't talking into the phone again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

Again into the phone, he said, "You know that thing about there being no atheists in foxholes? Turns out, not accurate. It's a dumb assumption anyway, you know? Near-death situations don't make Christians pick a different religion at random, either, now do they? Why should they overthrow someone else's world view and not theirs?"

There was a pause, and then he continued much more quietly, "I… I hope that… that I'm wrong, and we'll be able to laugh this off soon… but just in case…" There was another pause.

"Don't let this destroy you", he whispered, and Burt let out a sob. "I need you to be okay. I love you, Dad, and I just can't stand the thought that if something happened to me that you'd…" Kurt trailed off. "Just… you need to be okay." He finished, as though he hadn't been quite sure what he'd been meaning to finish that sentence with, either.

"After an appropriate mourning period, of course", he added and sounded a little more lively. "You can tell everyone that anyone who isn't wearing something outrageously fabulous to my funeral will be haunted. Thoroughly." Burt had to laugh at that and the tone in Kurts voice, but he was barely able to keep up a smile after the initial chuckle.

There was another pause, and then Kurt said in a much more quiet tone, "Bye, dad."

A long beep announced that the message was over, and it left an all encompassing silence in its wake. There hadn't really been any sound in the house before Burt had played the message, but now it felt like the quiet was pressing down on him.

Because this was it. This was the last thing that Burt would ever hear Kurt say. And at that thought Burt couldn't be bothered to stand upright anymore. He slid down the wall next to the answering machine, almost hearing Kurt chide him in his head for wrinkling his clothes like that.

But Kurt would never again say anything to him, or anyone.

The silence was replaced with the gut-wrenching sobs that were the soundtrack of a father's heart breaking.