So sorry, this is a lot later than I intended. It was written out weeks ago, but I've been away, and then the editing process took over a week - longer than the actual writing. Man, this was a really difficult chapter to write and edit! But I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much to everyone who reviews - you really help me to keep writing even when tough chapters like this try to resist me.
Blaine didn't know how long he sat, crouched by Burt's side, helplessly screaming for someone, anyone who could help. Because he couldn't let Burt die. He wouldn't just sit around and watch him die. He knew he wasn't very bright, and he didn't know for the life of him what had happened, but he could tell just from the way that Burt's chest was no longer rising and falling that this was life-threatening.
Desperate for aid, but not wanting to let his guardian go, Blaine kept a hand on Burt's forearm whilst craning his neck to glance around wildly. As the garage was off the main shopping street, situated on a far less glamorous, grimy and unpopulated lane, no one but Burt's customers ever had need to go down there. No one could hear him. Or perhaps some did, and they just didn't want to help them. No one ever wanted to help him. He wasn't worth being helped. But glancing into Burt's peaceful, but slowly paling face, he knew that this man was worth it. He was worth everything, and Blaine would fight with everything he had to help him; to even just see him breathe again would be a blessing.
"Please!" He blubbered, trying to gather his thoughts.
At first, there was nothing but fluff and panic and fear. He couldn't shift those awful images from his head. They replayed again and again in a vicious cycle: his father informing him his mother was dead; the night… that awful night where he finally explained that it was Blaine's fault; the day Elizabeth Hummel died and Kurt wept and wept because his mom wasn't ever going to come home. Blaine screamed in frustration, and inhaled deeply, trying to shock his frozen brain into gear by slapping his forehead hard with the palm of his hand.
"Think." He pleaded tearfully, praying that today of all days he wouldn't simply crumble. "Please, think!"
As he muttered hysterically to himself, his eyes semi-consciously flitted over the contents of the garage, and finally landed on the office. The office which he remembered held a phone. Quivering from head to toe, his face contorted as he battled with himself over his next dilemma. He had the opportunity run and call somebody, but he didn't know any numbers, plus he didn't want to leave Burt's side. Furthermore, it had been so long since he was allowed to use a phone, in his panicked haze, Blaine wasn't confident he could remember how to work one, or indeed if his trembling hands could manage to fumble their way through pressing the digits.
Yet another few seconds passed. Still, nobody came when he desperately continued to call out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he made his decision. He clambered shakily to his feet, and continued to sob as he remembered that nearly all the decisions he made turned out to be wrong, however his feet seemed to ignore his brain's protests because they guided him to where he needed to be.
Once in the office, he seized the phone and upon spotting that there was no cord connecting it to the cradle, he dashed back over to Burt's side. Keeping a vice-like grip on the phone, Burt's only lifeline, Blaine hastily wiped the sleeve of his cardigan under his runny nose, and tried to calm down enough to figure out who to call. He didn't remember the Hudmel household phone number, and he knew that there wouldn't be anyone there anyway. He recalled that Kurt now had a cell phone, but he didn't know the number.
Suddenly, it clicked, and he practically gasped in relief, clumsily punching in those three numbers he had never had the courage to use for himself. The phone seemed to ring forever, though in fact it only rang three times before someone answered.
"911 emergency, what service do you require?"
Blaine's voice caught in his throat. It began to rapidly dawn on him that he would have to actually speak to the person on the other end of the line. He would have to talk to, and ask a complete stranger for help. A stranger who, if he gave away his location, could come and take him away; return him to his father, and he didn't ever want to go back. However, one quick look at Burt's prone form told him to pull himself together. This was for Burt.
"P-Please help him!" He managed to squeak out, unable to help the sob that followed.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
"Which service do you require, sir?" A cool, female voice repeated, and Blaine felt like he was back at his old school, with his teachers coldly pressing him for answers to questions he was just too exhausted to possibly be able to get right.
"I…" He screwed his eyes shut again and tried to think. "I d-don't know. Please h-help h-him. He's n-not b-breathing and I d-don't know what to d-do! What do I d-do? Please… d-don't l-let him die! Please!"
"I'm connecting you to the ambulance service, sir, and will dispatch an ambulance to your location immediately. Where are you?"
Even when Blaine ignored the queasiness in his stomach triggered by the demanding question, he still couldn't find the answer. He knew it, but it just wouldn't translate from his mind to his mouth.
"I… I don't know." He wept, knowing he had already failed Burt. "I… I don't kn-know." He looked up at the garage door for aid, and rushed to repeat the pertaining information. "We-We're at Hummel's Tyres and Lube… it's a t-t-tyre shop. I… I can't r-remember which street… I c-can't… but it's in Lima."
He could see why his father hated him so much. He really was a waste of space. He couldn't even relay a simple address to save the life of a man who, along with his family, had pretty much saved his. Another pause was audible at the other end of the line, followed by the sound of a keyboard clicking, before the woman answered steadily:
"That's fine, sir, that's enough information. I've found your location. I'm patching you through to the ambulance services, and an ambulance will be with you shortly."
Blaine sobbed again in relief, and was still in the process of repeatedly thanking the woman when the changeover took place, and another female voice sounded down his ear. It was softer and more reassuring; calm and measured. It reminded him of Carole.
"Hello, how can I help?"
"P-Please…" Blaine begged hysterically, terrified at the prospect of wasting even more time by relaying this information all over again, because surely Burt hadn't been breathing for about a minute or two by now. "Please… what do I d-do? H-He's not breathing, a-and he just c-c-collapsed… and he was in p-pain… like… h-holding his ch-chest and… and p-p-please help him. P-Please."
"Okay, love, just take a deep breath and try to calm down a little bit for me."
Blaine tried to comply, but it was difficult because whilst she was telling him to breathe, Burt didn't have that luxury.
"B-But, p-please, he's not breathing. I… I n-need to d-do something. I-I need to h-help him."
"Okay, try and focus for me, love." The softly spoken woman soothed. "How long has this person not been breathing for?"
Tears overwhelmed him, and he simply allowed himself to weep for a second before responding, "I… I think a c-couple of m-m-minutes. P-Please… is… is he gonna die?"
He didn't think he wanted to hear the answer. His fear was heightened by the small pause at the other end of the line.
"It sounds as if he's had a heart attack, love. If he's stopped breathing, then that means there's going to be a shortage of oxygen getting to his brain."
"B-But…" Blaine tried to process this, he really did. "D-Does that m-m-mean it'll be t-too late by the t-time the… ambulance… g-gets here? I-Is he gonna die?! Is he d-d-dead?"
There followed another brief pause.
"How old are you, love? You sound quite young."
Blaine released another sob, this time in complete confusion, because he didn't understand how this would help Burt. "F-Fifteen."
"Is this person your friend… a family member?"
"He…" Blaine stumbled, looking down at the adult he loved most. "He's my… g-guardian… please ma'am… wh-what do I do? I h-have to do s-something. I… I c-can't let him d-die!"
He didn't know how many times he was repeating these same pleas, but it sounded like he was regurgitating them more or less every moment. They just kept reverberating around his head, teasing him. The word 'die' echoed most prominently, and he briefly clamped his eyes shut to block out the noise of everything but the woman's voice.
"Is there anyone else there with you?"
Blaine shook his head helplessly, even though he knew the woman couldn't see him. "N-No."
There was another pause.
"Okay, love." The voice said firmly. "Try and calm down for me. I'm going to need you as calm as you can possibly be for what you're about to do."
Blaine swallowed, but upon hearing that he was finally going to be able to help Burt, inhaled deeply and refused to allow the exhaling breath to shake.
"Try and get your breathing down to a fairly even rate. If your hands are shaking, place them under your armpits. The warmth will help them to stop."
He complied with everything she said, and the woman must have felt he was ready because after a few seconds, she said slowly.
"What's your name?"
"B-Blaine."
"Okay, Blaine, have you ever done CPR before?" She asked calmly.
Blaine felt his heart leap into his mouth and he immediately wanted to start sobbing again. CPR? He hadn't done CPR! Was that wrong? They had never taught it at school. What if this was the only chance to save Burt and he couldn't do it?!
"N-No." He sniffled resignedly.
"That's okay. Just listen to me very, very carefully and I'll talk you through it. Place the phone on the floor so that you can hear me and make sure your guardian is lying on his back. Then, if he's wearing a buttoned shirt, or a jacket, undo the top few buttons so that his airway is clear."
He did as she instructed, before obeying her following commands, first to tilt Burt's head slightly, then to pinch his nose, and give two, second-long breaths of air (with his breath rate as normal as possible). This was what Blaine struggled with the most, as he was still shaking like a leaf.
As the woman ordered, he ensured that Burt's chest rose with each breath. He had never been more thankful to see a chest rise and fall. As a result of this, he became ever so slightly more confident. Despite knowing that it wasn't Burt breathing on his own; that the breath was aided, it allowed him to pretend for just a moment that things would be okay.
"Okay, Blaine, you're doing great." The woman praised. "Next, I want you to put one hand on your guardian's breastbone – that's the centre of the chest, between each nipple. And after that I want you to place your other hand on top of that one. Interlock your fingers."
He did.
"Now, press down hard and fast… to about a third of his chest. Make sure you don't press your fingers into the chest, okay, love? Just keep them interlocked. Now, I want you do thirty of those movements."
Blaine began to panic once more, because he wasn't sure he could muster the brain power to even remember how to count to thirty. But suddenly his saviour was counting for him, so he just concentrated on pressing down hard and fast in time to the beat she provided.
"What do I do now?" He choked hoarsely once he had finished, seeing no sign of improvement in Burt. He had taken too long. He had panicked for too long before calling and now Burt was going to die. It was all his fault!
"Just start the cycle again, Blaine. Two breaths and then thirty chest compressions. Keep going, love, you're doing great. You just need to keep doing those until the ambulance can get there."
If there was one thing Blaine was good at, it was obeying orders. So he kept going. Gradually, he began to perform the process on automatic, and he didn't even need the woman to count to thirty for him. However, he was so, so grateful that she didn't leave him alone, because he knew that if she did, he would probably crumble again.
When the ambulance did eventually arrive, Blaine was at the end of his tether. He had no doubt in his mind that he had messed up; done something wrong, and that Burt was already dead. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen – perhaps for the mechanic to simply sit up and reassure him that things were okay, but of course, that didn't happen. Instead, the second the EMTs reached him, he once again burst into tears, emitting huge, heaving sobs as a female EMT guided him away a few paces. Her two male colleagues set to work on Burt immediately, muttering things to each other that Blaine couldn't decipher. He didn't even recoil away from the woman when she placed a steady hand on his shoulder, too upset over what he had done.
He hadn't noticed that he had subconsciously picked up the phone again as he was steered away, and he could still hear the soft spoken woman on the other end commending him; telling him what a good job he had done. He couldn't bring himself to listen anymore. He didn't deserve such praise. Not now, not ever.
He was crying so hard that he wasn't aware of the female EMT wrapping a foil blanket around his thin frame, whilst extricating the phone from his hand and attempting to get him to communicate. Nor did he become distressed when he was ushered into the passenger side of the ambulance, whilst the two men took Burt's inert body in the back. He didn't even react to the fact that there was now typically a small, curious crowd forming around the tyre shop; people who had chosen now to appear, when no one had been around to come to Burt's aid before.
Blaine just rested his aching head against the cool glass of passenger seat window, and schooled his breath until the sobbing stopped. By the time the ambulance set off, complete with sirens drilling their way into his skull, the only thing Blaine could do was allow silent tears to fall, as he thought about how Burt Hummel had died because of him.
Kurt could barely focus in his lessons, his mind continuously drifting off as he worried about Blaine and his first major trip outside since the attack. He was extremely conscious that it was a big deal for his friend; the events of that day could very well influence and conduct how comfortable Blaine was outside the sanctuary of the Hummel-Hudson household, in the future. It was the opportunity for a major step forward, but on the other hand, it could also lead to a disastrous three steps back. After Blaine's small freak out that morning, Kurt had to admit that he was doubtful as to how good today could be for Blaine's well-being. Perhaps things were going too fast…
It was incredibly difficult to override his protective instincts to simply wrap his broken friend up in a massive wad of cotton wool and cuddle him until he felt ready to face his demons. However, once he did, he found himself channelling Logical Kurt: the sarcastic seventeen year-old who constantly had to point out to Rachel Berry that she couldn't rightfully sing every song as a solo during competitions, because then the glee club wouldn't actually be a choir. Hence, they would probably lose or even be disqualified.
Logical Kurt knew that even if Blaine wasn't quite ready at the moment, he would have to take this step sometime – he couldn't stay in the house forever. Also, Carole had already taken way beyond her standard period of leave and Burt now had to do the work of two absent people, as these men had dutifully covered for him whilst he visited Blaine in the hospital, so in return he had to do the same for them whilst they were on their respective breaks. Yes, Kurt could reluctantly admit that Blaine accompanying Burt to work was the right decision. He just wished he could have gone with them.
School was still Hell on Earth. That morning, after he and Finn had gone their usual separate ways after carpooling, he had seen Karofsky lingering outside the front entrance with Azimio and another jock whose name he didn't know. They had caught sight of him, and snarling like smug wolves that had spotted their prey, had begun to move forwards to antagonise him when a school bus fortunately passed directly in front of them. This bid him time to slip away and hide behind some nearby dumpsters.
The smell was putrid and made Kurt gag, especially from the sense memory of having been thrown inside them countless times. However, he knew from experience that he would rather be behind them than in one. He was running out of Marc Jacob scarves that hadn't been stained with frying pan oil or mouldy processed meat.
The Neanderthal jocks, as he hoped, had been too unmotivated, or perhaps too stupid, to search for him after that. When the bell rang for first period, they gave up and sauntered back into the school. Kurt was late for class because he had waited a full ten minutes after that just to make sure that he wouldn't have any surprise run-ins with them.
Karofsky was the worst. The shoving; the harsh words, intensified each time they crossed paths, as if the jock's hatred of him grew by day, which he couldn't understand, because Kurt never did anything to him. It wasn't fair. He had been bullied all his life for his voice and now, since he came out last year, for his sexuality. Honestly, he was beginning to give up on finding an explanation for such bigotry. He doubted there was one.
So far, Kurt had endured Calculus, History and Home Economics, all of which he sat through restlessly, glancing up at the clock every five minutes to check if the hands had miraculously fast-forwarded, only to be disappointed. The lessons ticked by in slow motion, and even Mercedes and Tina engaging him in small talk wasn't enough to distract him.
Now however, he stood alone at his locker, swapping the necessary books whilst he decided how to fill his free period. Mercedes had had to go off to the library to finish an assignment, and Tina, mid-conversation, had begun to make out with her boyfriend, Mike, in the middle of the corridor, so Kurt, struck by the small twang of loneliness that had been plucking at his heart for years now (worsened by his now very extinct crush on Finn), swallowed solitude's bitter taste and left them to it.
Although he too desperately wanted a boyfriend to look at and be looked at by, in the same adoring, overly romantic way that Mike and Tina stared at each other, he knew that with everything else going on, that would probably have to come fairly low on his list of priorities. Kurt sighed and roughly shoved his calculus book back into his locker in exchange for a can of hairspray. He had just finished generously treating his hair, when he heard a familiar voice shout his name from down the corridor.
He half turned to see Will Schuester fighting through the hoards of students to get to him. Kurt closed his eyes, shoved the can back inside his locker, and shut it hastily, meaning to scarper before the teacher caught up with him. He was probably going to demand why he hadn't been at glee and Kurt just wasn't in the mood. He was tired and angry and upset all at once, and he didn't want to deal with a teacher who was more enthused with glee club than the majority of students in it.
"Hey, Kurt! Wait up, I want to talk to you!"
Kurt began to escape down the corridor, hoping to avoid confrontation by pretending he hadn't heard the man. All previous considerations of shutting out childish instincts in exchange for adult logic flew from his head as he justified to himself that ignoring the teacher was vaguely acceptable. Because, hey, most people (and he was sure, even Mr Schuester, sometimes) turned away and ignored the fact that he was tormented by Karofsky or shoved against sharp, bruising lockers every single day. Why shouldn't he do the same thing with other people? With the exception of Mercedes and Tina, people at McKinley only ever acknowledged his existence when they wanted something. And Kurt doubted Mr Schue even wanted his voice. He just needed a willing participant to drive the numbers up so they had twelve people to compete – eleven to stand at the back harmonising whilst Rachel sang every solo known to man. And that was a lot of songs!
"Kurt, slow down. I know you can hear me!"
Alas, he could pretend no longer, because the wiry-haired teacher caught up to him with surprising speed, tapping him on the upper arm so that he would do him the courtesy of facing him. Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes, finally whirling around the face his teacher. He didn't even bother to hide his irritation.
"What?" He snapped exasperatedly, wincing himself at how aggressive the retort came out.
Schue's eyebrows furrowed.
"Kurt, there's no need to be so rude."
The teenager wrapped his arms around his middle, defensively: "I-I'm late for class." He invented.
Mr Schue continued to frown disapprovingly, his expression signalling to Kurt that he knew he was quite obviously lying.
"No you're not." He rebuked. "This is your free period. I actually checked with the administration office, when you weren't in class so that I could talk to you. Every time I've seen you lately, you've disappeared before I can speak with you, and when I asked Finn why you weren't at glee a few weeks ago, he gave me some spiel about your house being infested with racoons and that you had to help deal with it. But strangely Kurt, I can't really see you as the type to help with driving small, dirty, furry animals from your house. In fact, since I know that Finn now lives with you, I would have thought he would be the more obvious candidate. And yet he was at glee club, and you weren't."
Kurt rolled his eyes and adjusted his messenger bag. He tried not to get too worked up, because lately anything and everything seemed to set either his tears or his temper off. He felt almost as emotionally fragile as poor Blaine.
"It's a little offensive that you're categorizing me as that type of person: the stereotypical effeminate gay. And Finn is being cast as the straight, manly jock." He said stoutly, trying his best to retaliate with the usual snarky comments, but it was getting more and more difficult by the second. Especially when he was so frustrated because, really, what did glee club matter in the vast scheme of things in his life at the moment?
Mr Schue sighed, closing his eyes in equal exasperation, "That's not what I'm saying, Kurt."
"It kind of is." Kurt snapped back. "Please can I go now? I have an essay to finish. I was on my way to the library."
"It can wait for a bit, Kurt, surely." Mr Schue replied in a firm, no-nonsense tone; a voice Kurt had only known the man to use when he refusing to let the glee club perform a specific song that detracted from his personal ideals or from a Sectionals set list.
Kurt sighed, but remained still. The man really was too nosy for his own good and Kurt desperately didn't want to break down in the middle of the corridor.
"Fine." He murmured resignedly, losing whatever remaining fight he had left. Silently seething, Kurt directed his gaze at the linoleum floor and steeled himself for a long lecture about show choir commitment.
"I've got to admit, I'm concerned about you, Kurt." Mr Schue began, though Kurt seriously doubted the sincerity of his words. "I know that you had some family stuff going on a few weeks ago, and hence, you were absent from school, but since you've come back, you've been quiet… evasive… rude… and just now you told me a pack of lies." He finished critically, raising his eyebrows in demand of an explanation.
"It wasn't a pack of lies, Mr Schue." Kurt argued, though his voice sounded weak and defeated to his own ears. He hoped Mr Schue didn't notice. Weakness gave people power. "It was one tiny white lie because believe it or not, I didn't want to have this conversation."
"Why not?" Mr Schuester pressed relentlessly, clearly not seeing how drained his student was becoming. Or perhaps, Kurt thought bitterly, he didn't care. "Do you not want to be in glee anymore? Is that it? Because once upon a time, glee was your life."
And with that, Kurt finally snapped. The weeks of emotional floundering, the hardships he endured at school at the hands of Karofsky, and the knowledge of Blaine's suffering all suddenly caught up with him. And he was angry. So, so angry. Angrier than he had been with his dad when Blaine supposedly disappeared that time, and even more furious than he had been with Finn when the jock accidentally terrified Blaine to the point of a panic attack, the first time they met. No, at this moment in time, he was absolutely livid. Because how dare Will Schuester, who lived his lost dreams of performing through his students, accuse him of existing for stupid glee. Show choir didn't matter!
"Once upon a time, Mr Schue!" He exploded, finally relinquishing complete control of his emotions. He didn't even care that he looked like a toddler having a tantrum when he threw his messenger bag to the ground in a show of frustration. "Perhaps it was, once upon a time, when I was shallow and craved the same self-centred dreams as Rachel Berry, because how else am I going to get out of this cow town?! But perhaps lately I've seen the bigger picture… seen how I can make a difference just by being there for someone who means so much to me… someone so kind and so… hurt… who actually needs me, unlike a stupid show choir that only needs me to make up numbers so I can doo-wop behind Rachel!"
Mr Schue looked entirely confused throughout Kurt's impassioned speech, and somewhere in the back of Kurt's rage-addled mind, he knew that was probably justified because of course, Mr Schue, didn't know anything about Blaine and their past. However as Kurt mentioned show choir, Schue's features lightened, as if he had found a solution to some great, life-changing problem. Kurt soon found out why.
"Kurt, if this is about you wanting more solos, I'm sure we can-"
Red-faced and unheedingly irate, Kurt released an infuriated groan.
"Geez, you think that's what this is about-"
Mr Schuester raised his palms in the air, in a belated attempt to quell the boy's anger.
"Kurt, just calm down."
Kurt snorted derisively, "You know it's funny." He sniffed bitterly, blinking back tears because there was no way he was going to cry in front of Will Schuester. "You and… everybody else… you're only concerned when you want me to do something. Otherwise I probably wouldn't even register on your radar. Well, where are you when I'm getting shoved into lockers all day and slushied at every turn?! Do know how… tiring it is to come to school after facing problems at home, only to be pushed around and mocked and scorned for something I can't change? Do you know how… awful it is to be the only person out of the closet at this school?!"
Mr Schue, for the first time during the conversation, had the decency to look genuinely troubled. He reached forwards, as if making to place a hand on Kurt's shoulder, but the boy flinched away.
"Look, Kurt." He sighed, taking a step back from the claustrophobic teenager. "I… I don't really know what this… outburst is actually about. Maybe it's just been a long time coming. But I swear to you that I didn't know the bullying was that bad. We both know that being pushed around is just a… and I hate to say it… it's a right of passage to being in glee… and to being different from the rest of the 'cattle' – to use your metaphor of Lima being a cow-town. But if it's as bad as you say it is then why didn't you just come to me, or Principal Figgins-?"
Kurt gave another disbelieving snort.
"Like anyone can do anything about a gay person being bullied in Ohio, especially in High School. Kids are worse than adults with their hate because they know no boundaries. They can just use the excuse that they weren't brought up with certain ways or values; that they're still learning, when really, they just don't want to learn anything different."
Schue sighed again, his features now laced with a sympathy that Kurt didn't want to see. In fact, Kurt didn't really know what he wanted from the Spanish teacher anymore, except for him to leave him alone.
"I don't have eyes in the back of my head, Kurt." Schue defended, his tone quiet and firm, reminding Kurt of the same calm and collected way his dad spoke to him when he was trying to get him to be reasonable. It also prompted the seventeen-year-old to remember that sometimes, just sometimes, the teacher did show concern for his students beyond his obsession with glee. "If you're having problems, you need to come to me so that we can deal with them. And as for you having problems at home, just know that you can always talk to me… whether you're still in glee or not. It kind of hurts to hear you talk like you don't think I care. Because I do."
Kurt's anger withered away as quickly as it had risen, so that by the time Mr Schue had finished, he just felt incredibly guilty for his rant. He knew deep down that Mr Schuester did care, in his own way, for his students, even if his generosity was hidden behind an egotistic, self-centred agenda that all performers (including himself, sometimes) maintained.
There was an awkward pause during which both student and teacher took the time to calm down. Kurt was extremely fortunate that the corridor had emptied long before he began his angry rant. He didn't want to have to worry about Jacob Ben Israel popping up out of nowhere to film his breakdown as a juicy story for the school blog. That was the last thing he needed.
"I can talk to Figgins about the bullying if you want." Mr Schue offered, but Kurt shook his head dismissively. Involving the principal meant bringing his father in, and the family had enough strain to deal with at the moment. Also, if Blaine came to learn of Karofsky's bullying, Kurt just knew that the kind-hearted boy would start to blame himself again, for not being there to protect him. And that would be yet another step backwards.
"I can handle it." Kurt lied flatly, bending down to pick up his discarded messenger bag.
"Well, after what you just admitted, and the manner in which you said it, clearly you're not." Mr Schue argued dryly, once more sparking Kurt's irritation.
"I'm fine." He insisted, gritting his teeth so that he didn't give anything else away.
"Well, you're not 'fine' either. I meant what I said. If you're having problems at home, you can talk to me. I'll do my best to help."
Somewhere in Kurt's sleep-deprived brain, he knew that Mr Schue was trying to be supportive, a great achievement in light of how rude Kurt just was to him. However, he almost laughed out loud at the thought of Mr Schuester stepping into the Hummel-Hudson household and miraculously healing Blaine. No one could. That was what broke Kurt's heart.
"Please, just leave my private life exactly that… private."
"Is someone at home giving you a hard time?" Came the next push.
"No." Kurt snapped, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, no matter what, I can be safe with the knowledge that at home, I am loved." He almost smiled at the fact that, overlooking all the years of abuse his best friend suffered, with Blaine's return, he felt more loved than he had in a long time. The fifteen year-old had always had that effect on him. "But every person is affected by family… illness at one time."
Kurt winced as he referred to Blaine's state as an illness. He hadn't meant it like that. He just couldn't think of a way to describe it to a person who didn't properly understand the situation. When Blaine eventually arrived at McKinley, he knew that his dad intended to talk to Figgins and the relevant staff members, to alert them to Blaine's circumstances, but Kurt wasn't about to start explaining it all yet, especially in the middle of a corridor.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Mr Schue instantly hurried to apologise, backing off surprisingly quickly. So much so, Kurt wished he had just used that as his explanation before. "I… I hope whoever is sick gets better soon. Is… Is it Burt? Is he okay? I know you and your dad are pretty close."
"He's fi-"
Kurt was in the midst of quashing Mr Schue's prying, when a movement to his left caught his eye. He and Mr Schue turned to see Miss Pillsbury pelting down the corridor as fast as her sensible heels would allow her to. Her large, bush baby-like eyes were wider than ever; her pale skin whiter than he could ever remember it being. Kurt searched for any evidence that a student had perhaps thrown up on her. Her petrified expression was certainly similar to the time he accidentally vomited on her shoes, following his first experience of being drunk last year. However, he saw no such sign. In fact, with the exception of her flustered face, she looked as immaculate as always.
In the midst of her race down the corridor, Miss Pillsbury caught of them standing there. Yet instead of simply passing them by, as Kurt anticipated, she made a beeline for them. As she drew closer, he heard how short of breath she was, causing him to wonder whether she had run a long way, or whether this was induced panic. Her expression certainly seemed to indicate the latter.
"Oh my gosh." She panted, as she neared them, and Kurt was alarmed to see that her eyes were trained on him. What… What had happened? His heart stuttered as he remembered the last time Miss Pillsbury had gone searching for him. Blaine had been found after that horrible, monstrous attack. Was Blaine hurt again? Did something happen to him at his dad's shop? Suddenly, Kurt wanted to double up and be sick, however, before he could contemplate such an idea Miss Pillsbury was inches away from him, and he doubted whether she would appreciate him throwing up on her again.
"Emma." Mr Schuester reached out to prevent her from falling over as she clumsily stuttered to a stop, in front of them. "Emma, are you okay? What's going on?"
However, despite the heart eyes Kurt often saw Emma flash in Mr Schue's direction, in that moment, Miss Pillsbury only seemed to have eyes for Kurt. And that terrified him. Because he had known, deep down, from the instant the ginger-haired woman spotted him on the corridor, that there was bad news involving someone he loved. And that person was most likely Blaine. What if he had been hurt in some way? What if he had had another, much more serious breakdown? What if… what if Jonathan had come looking for him?
"Kurt." She fumbled for words. He paled as he took in the overwrought sympathy in Miss Pillsbury's eyes. "Kurt… I'm… I'm so sorry."
Kurt had been desperate to rage and cry all morning. He had, in fact, just launched an emotional tirade at his glee club teacher, during which tears and anger had been easily accessible. However, now, he couldn't even bring himself to cry or get angry at her for being unable to articulate an important piece of information. He couldn't even bring himself to move. He stood stock still, glasz eyes wide, tear-ducts empty; skin pale, waiting for the impending blow.
"Kurt… Kurt, your f-father's in the hospital. I-I'm so sorry. He's… he's had a heart attack."
Carole had had a fairly quiet shift so far, assisting various doctors with their rounds, and helping old Mr Withers, a gastritis patient and outrageous flirt, to and from the bathroom multiple times. He had been there for a few weeks, and had apparently taken to flirting with all the nurses. There was no need to take it to heart; he was a sweet man, and had informed her that she and all the nurses ought to be better paid as they 'pampered everyone like princes', he stated. The man was also a dementia sufferer from a nearby residential home, so this statement had been repeated many times, alongside the promise that, as he had just turned eighty-nine, he would definitely make it to ninety. Dementia patients like Mr Withers always slightly saddened her, but she had learnt to take it in her stride, and each time indulged Mr Withers with a fresh response that made it seem like she had never heard the declarations before.
She finished clearing out her final bedpan of the hour, before calculating that it was about time for her break. Peeling off her gloves and disposing them in a nearby sanitary trash can, Carole wandered aimlessly down the ward corridor, debating whether or not to get some lunch, or call Burt and see how he and Blaine were doing. Deciding to go halfway and get herself a simple coffee before ringing Burt, she headed towards the lounge and slotted some spare change into the machine.
She was just in the process of sweetening her ditch water coffee when Amelia appeared at the door of the lounge. She and Amelia and been friendly since their training. Carole had liked Amelia's sharp wit and her blunt way of getting to the root of a matter; she had a way of distancing herself from patients to see the bigger picture that Carole had often found difficult. Though Amelia now worked in the ER, on a completely different floor, they were still good friends and Carole had been exceedingly grateful to Amelia when Blaine was brought in. It was her fiery-eyed blonde friend that allowed her to stay with him until the doctors took over, and she was given with the opportunity to call Burt.
However, for all Carole's reflections of Amelia being a usually light-hearted person, the instant she leapt into the doorway, she looked anything but happy. She was red-faced, out of breath and sweating, as if she had run all the way up five flights of stairs from the ER.
"Amelia," Carole frowned in concern, meeting the woman in the doorway. "What's the matter?"
"Carole." Amelia panted, her usually lively face subdued. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. You've… You should come with me, now."
"What?" Carole asked, instantly on alert. "Why? What's happened?"
Somehow, just from Amelia's silence; her inability to force out any words when the woman hardly ever went without a thing to say, Carole knew that this visit was aimed at her. It had something to do with her… something personal… something involving her family. A member of Carole's family had been hurt, and judging from Amelia's panicked face, it was something very, very serious. Carole tensed.
"Who?" She asked simply.
Amelia looked pained, "Burt."
Carole hadn't even been aware that she had still been clutching her cardboard coffee cup. In fact, she thought she left it over at the condiments table when she went to meet Amelia at the door, yet she suddenly heard a huge splat as the liquid was sloshed all over the floor, and seconds later, she felt hot water stain and seep through the legs of her scrub pants. Amelia must have suffered a similar fate, because the other woman looked down as well to take in the same brown stains. Yet her friend didn't comment, too busy worrying about her now apparently numb friend.
Carole was indeed numb. Her shock was only ostensible by the fallen coffee cup, and her fear apparent merely by the shaking of the outstretched hand that had, until a few seconds ago been holding said cup. She simply stood there, all memories of getting the phone call that Finn's father had died flashing before her eyes. She had loved that man so very much, and she had almost had a breakdown when she realised that Christopher wasn't coming home anymore. Even when he had been away with his battalion, she had always felt tethered to him; like she knew he was coming back to her one day. And however an awful thought it was, Carole realised that perhaps, in time, the reason she was able to move on, was because of the knowledge that she had spent and cherished at least some happy years with Christopher. They had been married. But Amelia's words and doleful expressions frightened Carole. She might not even get to marry this man who had repaired and recaptured her fractured heart.
"No." She whispered. "Tell me he's not… he's not d-"
"He's had a heart attack." Amelia answered quickly and quietly, getting down to business in that way Carole had always admired, but in this instance, it just winded her. It was a flurry of information all at once, because there was so much that a heart attack entailed. Victims could die on the spot; they could lose consciousness; some were able to sit quietly and call an ambulance; others relied on someone being there when they suffered the cardiac arrest, because they couldn't make the call themselves.
"He's… he's not…" Carole couldn't say it. A stray tear leaked from her eye and made its way down her cheek.
Amelia stepped over the coffee, lying untouched and spattered on the floor, and placed a gentle arm around her friend, guiding Carole out of the lounge, towards the elevator. "He's not dead, Carole. He's not dead, honey. They got him here in time. Doctor Ellis is working on him. He's a cardiologist. I've worked with him a few times Carole, he's good. He's going to do his very, very best."
Carole didn't care that she probably wouldn't be able to see her fiancé when she reached the ground floor. Upon hearing that Burt was still alive and fighting, all she knew was that she had to be as near to him as physically possible, even if that was in the waiting room. She broke into a run, Amelia close behind. They caught the elevator just as it was going down.
Carole struggled to breathe evenly as she waited impatiently for the elevator to take her to the right floor. She made a valiant effort not to lose her cool when people kept popping in and out at different floors. It gave her time to reflect; time to mentally kick herself because she should have seen the signs. She had seen the way Burt had been constantly coughing over the last few days; the way he rubbed his chest but upon being questioned, passed it off as indigestion or heartburn. She was a nurse for goodness sakes, and she didn't identify the symptoms. They were plain and clear before her very eyes and she didn't see it! A stray tear fell as she realised that she could have potentially prevented this. She also realised that because the symptoms had been allowed to manifest for a couple of days, the likelihood of recovery was even slimmer. She bit her lip and rested her forehead against the cool metal of the elevator, ignoring the stares of people around her. Carole glanced at Amelia, who was eyeing her worriedly.
"How bad is it?" She asked fearfully.
"He collapsed at the tyre shop. He was immediately unconscious."
Carole just wanted to curl up and cry, but she held herself firm. She was a mother, after all. She had to be there for her kids. Eventually, she would have to call the school and get someone to tell Kurt and Finn. Poor Kurt had already lost his mother. The boy couldn't lose his dad as well! And she would have to tell Blaine who she knew, for all his struggles, adored Burt almost as much Kurt… Carole's eyes widened. Blaine. Oh God, Blaine had gone to work with Burt that morning. What had become of Blaine?
"B-Blaine…" She croaked bleakly, looking searchingly at her friend.
Amelia's face grew increasingly wretched. She knew that the boy had gone to live with the Hummel-Hudson clan; knew what this seemingly homeless boy meant to them all.
"He came in with Burt. He's in shock. The EMTs say that when they arrived, the poor thing was terrified out of his life and screaming for Burt to wake up."
Carole closed her eyes, growing even more impatient to arrive at the correct floor, because now not only was her fiancé fighting for his life, and she an emotional wreck, but a young boy suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder had had to witness someone he loved endure a cardiac arrest. This was just getting to be too much.
"Who called the ambulance?" She enquired softly.
Amelia attempted to give a small smile, but it came out as more of a grimace:
"Blaine did. When the services operator sent the EMTs, she connected her to the ambulance services here at the hospital. One of them stayed on the phone with Blaine. The kid was in hysterics apparently, but she managed to get him calm enough to talk him through basic CPR."
"CPR?" Carole repeated incredulously, alarmed because most of the doctors she knew specified that only a trained specialist should actually practice CPR. It was incredibly dangerous for an untrained practitioner, let alone a troubled fifteen year-old (he was still practically a baby!), to perform resuscitation. He could have broken Burt's ribs if he wasn't careful, and her fiancé really didn't need anymore injuries on top of a major heart attack!
"He had to do it, honey. The alternative was for him to just sit there and watch Burt die." Amelia reasoned bluntly, as if sensing Carole's reservations. "No one else was around, the ambulance was dispatched on time but delayed on the roads, and it was a severe cardiac arrest. Burt wasn't breathing for at least two minutes. It was a miracle he kept going until the ambulance arrived. Had that woman not talked Blaine through CPR, oxygen would've stopped coming through entirely and Burt would have… well… there wouldn't have been anything the EMTs could have done when they got there." As at long last, they approached their destined floor, Amelia fixed Carole with a beady stare. "Your little runaway probably saved Burt's life."
Carole was a nurse. She knew all of the medical facts with which Amelia was bombarding her, and deep down, she knew that her friend was right. With how long Burt experiencing symptoms, of course it would have been a serious heart attack, and had Blaine not been there, no one would have found him. Her fiancé could already have… no she couldn't think like that!
All she could be sure of was that she… well… they had all drastically underestimated the little boy she found lying battered in Queen's Park. Blaine was suffering badly, and she had no doubt at all in her mind that he must have been frightened out of his wits when seeing Burt collapse. But he had ploughed through it to get help. Blaine, who hadn't even been able to muster the courage to step out of the house by himself since they found him, had, when the crucial moment came, summoned the strength to interact with another human being so that the necessary help would arrive.
Carole was shaken from her shock when the elevator chimed, finally indicating the ground floor. Numbly, she stepped from the boxed space the instant the doors parted, though she halted a few paces outside, a little lost as to what to do now. She now couldn't remember why she had been so impatient in the elevator coming down; she had known there wasn't anything she could really do for Burt by being there. It wasn't as if she could just walk into the operating room and hold Burt's hand, regardless of how badly she wanted to. Despite being a nurse at this particular hospital, she would have to play the same waiting game as everyone else.
She felt a warm hand on her forearm and she glanced up at her taller friend, who was still surveying her worriedly.
"I… I guess I don't really know what I can do now." She admitted, visibly deflating.
Amelia smiled sadly, but gave nothing away. "Yeah, you do, honey." She said instead, her eyes flicking pointedly to a space behind Carole.
Sniffing, Carole followed Amelia's line of sight and was confronted with a large space, crammed full of miserable people sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs: the waiting room. Amelia sympathetically noted her companion's petrified face. She had known Carole for years; been her colleague when she received news of Christopher's death, and when Carole still came into work the day after to cater for Finn, who was still too young to know much different at the time. Carole had a heart of gold, and Amelia knew that with just a nudge in the right direction, the other nurse would remember that her kids were currently her biggest priority. Or at least she actually stood a chance of helping them, whilst Burt's fate was entirely out of her hands.
Amelia saw the recognition of this pass over Carole's face, though her sagged posture didn't change. In fact, she didn't really move at all. The blonde nurse didn't blame her. Carole was still trying to assimilate what had happened, and to now be aware that she had to be strong for her family… well… Amelia knew from experience with her own kids, that being a parent – someone who had to ooze resilience, confidence and have all the answers from the get go – just sucked. Being unable to worry and or grieve for yourself because of the need of others sucked.
And then Amelia thought of the curly-haired boy who had stumbled into the ER behind Burt's stretcher, with EMTs and doctors buzzing around him. Everybody had been so focused on Burt, that after the mechanic had been rushed to Doctor Ellis, Blaine was just left standing there all alone, his too small frame encased in a foil blanket; his eyes wide and unseeing.
Though Amelia had been shaken to her core over the fact that her friend's fiancé had just been wheeled in following a potentially fatal heart attack, she had taken care of the boy, seating him in the waiting room. He didn't respond to her at all, and when she coerced a young nurse-in-training to mind Blaine for a short while, he didn't seem to acknowledge her either. Amelia had hurried off to find Carole shortly after that. Looking at how Carole's face mirrored the expression Blaine had worn when he was led into the ER, she suspected that the other nurse probably needed him (and her other family members) just as much as he needed her, right now.
Carole stared, almost blankly up at the large sign above the waiting room, knowing the task that lay ahead of her.
"Blaine's in there." She said eventually. Perhaps it should have been a question, but she knew her blonde friend too well by now to not know where she would have put Blaine whilst she went to fetch her from the opposite end of the hospital.
Amelia nodded. Carole just nodded back, before sniffing, and running a hand across her dry mouth, focusing on what needed to be done before she went to console Blaine. She glanced around for the nearest phone. She wasn't too familiar with the ground floor. She hadn't worked in the ER since her early years at the hospital, and it had been refurbished since then.
"I need to call Kurt… and Finn."
"I've already handled it." Amelia soothed. "I called the school. They're sending someone to get the boys."
Carole nodded gratefully, staring up at her taller friend, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
"You're welcome."
Unable to fight back the possibility that had been clouding her thoughts since she had heard of Burt's condition, Carole allowed herself one last moment of weakness:
"W-What if I lose him, Amelia? What if this is just history repeating itself?"
Amelia swallowed, looking troubled, because of course, Carole knew there was nothing her colleague could do to properly reassure her. Kurt's dad… her fiancé's fate was resting in the hands of a cardiologist who she hadn't met; whose reputation she only knew of courtesy of Amelia.
"Because it's Burt." The blonde woman eventually replied. "Burt's not Christopher. And the circumstances are completely different. Don't think like that, and for goodness sake's, don't let those kids think like that."
"But-"
"Don't." Amelia commanded, silencing her friend with a raised hand. She indicated the waiting room. "Go and sit with Blaine. I've got to get back into the ER, but first I'll go and make sure that as soon as Doctor Ellis has an idea of Burt's condition, he'll come and tell you."
"Thank you."
Her friend just smiled kindly, before striding off purposely in the other direction.
Sighing, Carole smoothed a hand across her tired face, dabbing at her eyes to ensure that her mascara hadn't run too much. Giving herself a stern inner motivational monologue, she entered the waiting room. The nurse's eyes darted around quickly for a head of dark curls and within seconds singled out the boy she was searching for.
He was sitting beside a nurse who was presumably watching over him until Carole arrived – something Amelia undoubtedly had a hand in. The poor boy however, didn't even seem to be aware of his surroundings. Her heart instantly went out to him, though she conceded that for the moment, this unawareness was probably a good thing. She was sure that he would probably become anxious if he acknowledged the fact that he was sitting in a crowded waiting room, full of (to his eyes) potentially harmful strangers. A thin sheet of foil had been draped around him like a blanket, the physical indication that he was in deep shock. He sat bolt upright in his white plastic chair, his body rigid; every sinew locked and tense with fear. His soft, hazel eyes were wide like a child's, as if taunting both her and Blaine with the irony that this boy's youth was being cruelly snatched away from him, piece by piece. First, by his suicidal mother, then by his abusive father, followed his rapist, and now this to add to the ever lengthening list.
Carole had been anxious that maybe, on top of her fraying nerves, she would be faced with a teary, distraught Blaine, but the teenager didn't appear to be crying anymore. His cheeks and the rims of his eyes were stained red, as if he had indeed been sobbing, but now he was simply catatonic.
As Carole neared the boy, she realised that his hands were shaking, and it suddenly dawned on her that those hands had probably saved her fiancé's life – or at least had given Burt a fighting chance. This impassive, withdrawn little boy was, to all intents and purposes, a hero. And it then became all the more important to her to remain a beacon of strength, because she recognised that it was now solely her responsibility to take care of him, because it was Burt who had been appointed as his principal temporary guardian and caregiver. With her fiancé… hurt and hospitalized, it was up to her to support the boy in his recovery.
Carole stepped within Blaine's line of vision, and his supervising nurse glanced up. She flashed a small, blatantly grateful smile as she caught sight of Carole. Carole recalled having seen this woman once or twice in the hallway, though only a handful of times, so perhaps she was fairly new to the hospital. She was certainly very young, looking to only be in her mid-twenties, and she was distinctly uncomfortable minding the catatonic teen. She stood as soon as Carole approached, eager to leave her post and return to her normal duties. Carole had barely murmured her thanks before the young nurse scuttled off. She didn't even check to see if Carole was indeed the person she had been waiting for, the older nurse thought angrily.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, she crouched down in front of Blaine and gently, ever so gently extended a hand to rest on his. They lay in his lap, clasped and shaking, knuckles white, almost as if he was immersed in silent prayer. Her intention was to stop the shaking, but on instinct, Blaine recoiled, his hands lurching away, as if burnt by a scolding hot iron. He raised his head and simply looked at Carole. She caught the recognition in his eyes, though the change was infinitesimal enough that had someone not been looking for it, it wouldn't have been immediately discernable. She was privy to the knowledge that he knew who she was, but otherwise, he remained unresponsive.
"Hey, honey." She greeted in a low whisper, hoping to eke some form of verbal response.
As expected, he didn't make a sound. Instead, swallowing down another threatening onslaught of tears, she attempted to regain a physical connection to him. She supposed that he might need a familiar touch to lull him into an albeit brief sense of comfort. And she was certainly desperate for something to help her feel anchored… needed… like she was doing something, when she couldn't do anything to help Burt. So Carole slowly reached out again, and placing the tips of her fingers on Blaine's too-pale hand, as one would when taming a wild, frightened animal, she silently encouraged him to reciprocate her touch.
This time, the fifteen year-old did not pull away. Nor did he react. Carole was just considering getting up, to sit in the now unoccupied seat beside Blaine, when she felt the lightest of touches to her fingertips. Keeping her head rigid so that she didn't make any sudden movements that would startle Blaine, she cast her eyes down in time to see Blaine's hand tentatively wrap around her own.
It was as if this was the catalyst to snapping Blaine out of his expressionless stupor, because within seconds, he was shaking horribly and uncontrollably. The foil slid from his jerky body and fell to the floor. Although his chin trembled slightly, it appeared he was incapable of tears, as he didn't begin to sob as Carole had expected him to. Instead, he overcompensated by gulping down large, frequent quantities of air, reminiscent of someone choking or suffocating. It reminded Carole of the time Blaine had a panic attack, and she instantly began to worry that she had wrong-footed. She hurriedly prepared to move away, but before she could, the teenager's previously cautious grip on her hand tightened, and he clung to her as a small, terrified child would with their mother. When she finally caught his gaze, she didn't see the impassive expression of the past few minutes, but the frightened eyes of a horribly broken teenage boy.
Blaine's throat began to make small, dry, choked noises, a sign she had come to realise was him trying to formulate what to say. This lasted several seconds, as if he was now searching, not only for the right words, but simply for the ability to speak.
"I…" He rasped, his scratchy voice a key tell that he had been screaming. "I-I'm sorry."
That was all it took for Carole to take the teenager in her arms. She hauled herself up to sit in the next chair, and embraced him, squeezing as tightly as she dared; rocking him slowly from side to side. It seemed they both needed the hug, because it took only another few seconds for the fraught tension in his body to ebb away, and he fell limply against her.
"Oh, honey." She cooed softly. "Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. You did a great thing. You were so, so good."
She felt a movement against her shoulder and realised that Blaine was shaking his head.
"You are." She insisted firmly. "I heard what you did for Burt, and you were so very brave, honey. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. If he's alive now, it's because of what you did."
Poor Blaine just continued to shake his head, in complete denial of her praises. She accepted that she wasn't going to be able to get through to him whilst he was still in such a deep state of shock, so she sighed and rubbed his back a couple of times before gently disengaging herself from the embrace. Carole reached down and retrieved the foil blanket from the floor. She then wrapped it back around the trembling boy, before tenderly reclaiming his hand.
They sat in thick silence for a while. Carole didn't know what else she could possibly say to the boy that weren't bland reassurances, or praises he refused to believe, and Blaine seemed too caught up in his own devastating world to really know what was going on.
"Kurt." Came a sudden agonised whisper, and her heart broke yet again when she turned and saw that Blaine was back to his rigid posture, staring helplessly at the whitewashed walls of the waiting room. He didn't appear to be speaking to anyone in particular. He probably didn't even know he had said it aloud. Still, Carole knew she had to try to communicate with him.
"He's been called, honey. He's on his way. It's going to be alright." She assured, squeezing his hand. Carole considered how distraught Kurt would be when he arrived and thought it best to prepare the younger boy, so she continued softly, "Kurt's going to be devastated so we're going to have to be strong for him, baby, okay? As strong as we can possibly be."
Despite her worries that he wouldn't hear her poor words of comfort, it became quite obvious that he had. The sudden difference in Blaine occurred as quickly as someone flicking on a light switch. Upon hearing that Kurt was on his way, Blaine's shaking stopped; his posture straightened and his jaw tightened. Within seconds, his emotive face became masked and expressionless again. She could no longer tell what the boy was thinking or work out why he was reacting this way. She couldn't read fear, or hopelessness, or even shock. There was nothing: just a blank, empty canvas.
Carole swallowed thickly and leaned the back of her head against the wall, wishing she had her fiancé by her side to deal with this. But she didn't. That was why they were in this state in the first place.
Just a couple of notes for this chapter. Firstly, I am not a medical professional, so some of this chapter was written with the aid of extensive research, though other parts were written from personal experience, so I'm hoping it should be okay. Secondly, in this verse, Finn's dad was still deemed an honorary soldier, and he died on duty in a shell blast when Finn was very young. Thank you very much for all your comments about chapter lengths. The majority of you still seemed to like the long chapters, so I've kept going with that format for this chapter. I'm aware though that I have quite a prolix way of writing so if more people would like smaller chapters, please comment or PM me.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. What will happen to Burt? I'm afraid there are no spoilers for the next chapter, but please review and I'll try to get it written and up on the site asap. I know that readers like quick updates, and I may not be able to update every week, but providing people still like the story enough, from now on I certainly hope to do so at least every two weeks. Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see. All the best xx