Fifteen, he counted. Fifteen cracks in the tiles above his head. Fifteen different beeps he could hear. Fifteen days since he'd last been in this bed. Fifteen minutes until visiting hours commenced. Fifteen days until his life was apparently, going to change, as to why, he would find out in fifteen minutes.

Kurt closed his eyes, in hope for succumbing to sleep, hopefully one with less nightmares than the rage of fits he'd encountered whilst unconscious, if you even dream when you're unconscious, he wasn't quite sure.

Kurt dreams however, were not colourful and wonderful in the slightest. Oh no. They were filled with drunken brawls and the freedom felt when he'd smoked too much he'd forgotten his name. And of a worried father; awaiting the phone for a call to say 'I'm okay dad,' when really, he was expecting an officer at his door in the middle of the night, or Kurt's car on the late news. There were loud moans of boys and girls who he'd been too drunk to remember names, or where they'd gone in the morning. There were wonderful colours that combined a bright blue to the opaque, and the palest pink to a dark black. There were sounds of birds, but always strangled and dying, and of choppy water asking to my dived into, head first, and to never surface. His dreams were of over-turning cars and empty bottles and powder on a credit card. Of lost clothes, and smuggled cigarettes, and always being careful to be careless. There were boys with no pants and girls with no names, drinks with no taste and grass that was blue, water too cold and nights too bright. In his dreams, Kurt was never whole. Because his dreams were nightmares and his nightmares were his reality. And screams and tears always managed to secrete their way out in some magical way, which could never be taken back, which made machines to crazy things, and his mind explode with a thousand bad thoughts.

And whilst they tried to wake him up, all he could think was, fuck, what the fucking hell have I done and why doesn't it feel as good as it used to when it was all colours and sounds. And when the hell did I become so fucked up.

"Kurt."

Go away.

"Kurt. Kurt."

Now there was another voice.

"Kurt Elijah Hummel, you wake up this second."

There was his father. More of a reason to continue to be absorbed in the way the yellows and the oranges meshed together to make blue.

But then the poking started, and that would only bring on another round of bad memories and blinding lights, and he was too tired for that, so he cocked an eye open to see his father looking concerned, and his mother looking scared, and his brother looking confused.

"Finn, chill out, dude, you'll get worry lines if you're not careful."

It's funny, Kurt thought, that despite the reckless things he did, and how often he would forget his own name, he prized beauty, in and out, over much else. Huh.

"Sorry, Kurt. You okay little bro?" Finn sounded genuinely concerned for him, and that was a touching gesture in itself.

"Yeah, I'll be right."

"Cool."

But Burt, nor Carole, looked convinced. Neither did the Doctor. And as an examination took place of his body, and fractures and bruises and whatever else was wrong with him, he could dread the silence that carried, because of whatever the words would carry.

Finally, his doctor left.

~~~OOO~~~

There it was again, another nightmare.

But this time, it was something different. Not the past, not the present, maybe the future, or a side effect of whatever was pumping through his veins.

Because this time, he was walking down a stretch of sand he'd never seen before, surrounded by waves a colour he hadn't even known existed. And up above was a different coloured sun, surrounded by whiter than white clouds, on a perfect blue sky. And there were footprints everywhere, but there were no people, which was sort of the nicest thing. Because it was just Kurt, Kurt smiling and dancing with the waves, and coming alive in the sun, counting breaths he took as they matched to patterns over his head.

And up ahead, there was a silhouette moving towards him slowly, mirroring the way he danced, and the laugh echoed, and closer and closer it came, every move was the same, but the sun was too blinding, and the waves were too pretty for Kurt to make a face, until, there he was. Right in front of him.

Not another person, who was a magician at copying actions, oh no. But a boy with the same quiff in his hair, the same chest that had lost its shirt, in hope of finding relief from the sun, the same blue-green-colour-that-has-no-name-eyes. Because there, staring right back at him, was himself.

But not really. Because his eye was purpling, and his lip bleeding, scratches lined his face, and scars and bruises dotted his arms and chest and legs. Blood was caking on his hair, and eyebrows, and his eyes were different. Pain. Or maybe it was flying. But, they're really the same thing aren't they.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. But the sun never moved from it's spot and the waves never stopped crashing, and neither of the boys blinked. It was just perfectly whole Kurt, looking into broken and lost Kurt and seeing everything and nothing, and tearing because, what the hell had he become. And shattered Kurt was looking at sculptured Kurt and wishing, hoping, praying to whomever, that he wasn't really as broken as he looked, and that if he was, he'd find his way back to being that boy again.

Because both the boys were lost, and confused, and the waves kept breaking, and footsteps kept forming, but no one else walked the way or danced in the waves as the two just tried to figure everything out.

~~~OOO~~~

His father and 'mother' looked so stern, so set, so lost and broken and unwilling to release the next words. But Finn had gone in search of snacks, and the doctors were coming back soon and they had to start making arrangements.

"I can see whatever the hell it is peering from your eyes, so why don't you both just come out with it already." Because, fuck, he was angry, he had a thousand different suspicions and he prayed that none of them were true.

"Kurt, you're going to Australia."

Well, Kurt hadn't been expecting that.

And then he drifted off into the land of breaking waves and dancing clouds to hate himself some more.