I'm afraid this chapter is quite a lot shorter than the ones I've been posting recently, but I did promise in my last chapter that updates would be either every week or every two weeks, and the two week deadline has arrived. Thus, here is the next chapter, as promised. There was originally more to it in my plan, but I wanted to get used to updating regularly, so this is the part I have chosen to publish first. It was originally the first third of the chapter, but the other two parts will be kept for the next instalment as they fit better together. The good news is that most of the next chapter is already written (just the last third to go), so you might well receive another update within the week.

Kurt steered himself down the hospital corridors on autopilot. His eyes were so swollen and clouded with tears that he could barely see, but he had been forced to navigate his way around this hospital so often lately, that he had come to learn every nook and cranny of the building. Sight wasn't a sense he desperately required right now. Instead, his hearing seemed to have taken precedence over everything else. Miss Pillsbury's revelation of his dad having suffered a major heart attack reverberated around his skull every five seconds so there was no way to not listen to it; no possible way of pretending that this hadn't happened.

All he wanted was to see his dad, alive and healthy, assuring him that it was all a mistake; a terrible, terrible misunderstanding. That Burt Hummel was fine. He had to be fine. He was always fine. His father was the only constant, sturdy presence in his life. He had been there for him, eventually, when Kurt's mom died, had comforted and supported him when Blaine vanished for six long years; had loved him with everything he had, even after he came out. Kurt couldn't… no… wouldn't imagine a world without his father. He wouldn't!

He could still hear the light-hearted, dinner table banter from that morning: Burt yearning to meet his Kurt's future kids. And Kurt's stomach clenched painfully at the mere thought that his dad might not be around to see him meet his destiny, whatever that was: whether it was making it big on Broadway, or settling down with a man, or even having kids. He had always been so secure in the knowledge that whatever happened, Burt would always be there. He had never considered for one second that he might actually lose him, especially so early in his life.

With Kurt's hearing heightened to the extent that every miniscule sound made his head ache, he processed each guzzle of every IV as he passed from ward to ward. Every steady beep of a heart monitor assaulted his senses and led him to feel mocked, like some all-powerful presence was purposely toying with his dad's life – perhaps because they had a sick sense of humour and found it amusing, or maybe it was yet another unjustly punishment. Unjustly punishments were being inflicted upon his family one by one, Kurt thought bitterly, as he sobbed out his panic and he turned into yet another ever-lasting corridor.

Kurt couldn't decide whether he hated or appreciated the lengthy walk from the car park to the waiting room. On the one hand, it was preventing him from seeing his family, and really, all he was holding onto right now was the prospect of a hug from his best friend, who he knew must be equally devastated. After all, poor Blaine had probably witnessed the heart attack as it happened. Perhaps, regardless of his friend's aversion to strangers, Blaine had even been the one to summon an ambulance, because his dad must have been rushed to hospital somehow.

However, at the same time, he felt like he didn't want to see anyone at all. He wanted the long walk to literally be ever-lasting, because that would mean that he would never have to hear of his dad's fate. What was that clichéd saying? No news is good news. For the first time in his life, Kurt understood the full meaning of that proverb. He wanted to go on pretending so that his heart wouldn't get trampled on again. As it was, when Miss Pillsbury had told him the news, it was as if the pre-existent cracks in Kurt's heart, precariously held together by hobby glue and gaffer tape following his mother's death, had expanded dangerously. To be told bad news, he knew would shatter the organ completely.

Earlier that day, he had been so tired and angry and upset, but this… this was the final straw; a weight added to a tottering pile that was already crushing him bit by bit. The pain Karofsky inflicted by shoving him into a measly locker each day was nothing compared to the agony of possibly losing his father.

Amongst the overwhelming nausea that had Kurt doubled-up in agony, he couldn't help but also feel selfishly angry at his father. Not just for collapsing and possibly leaving him all alone in horrible, homophobic Lima, but because the man just hadn't listened to him when Kurt voiced previous concerns about the mechanic's health. They both knew that a hefty number of heart attacks were caused by poor diet, and though he hadn't related his irksome fussing over his dad's love of junk food to the potentiality of him having a heart attack, he had badgered Burt time and time again to eat healthier. And his dad had brushed him off each and every time with some excuse that the fatty foods kept his energy levels up; stubborn and immovable as always. And now this had happened!

Kurt stumbled blindly into the final corridor. He could both hear and feel Finn's blundering steps, and the careful, respectful paces of Miss Pillsbury and Mr Schue behind him. Once they had told and fetched a bewildered Finn, Mr Schue had insisted on driving them both to the hospital. Kurt knew the two teachers were doing this out of the kindness of their hearts, but the awful, rebellious side of him felt angry at them too. Every sad, doleful glance they sent his way told him they had already given up on his dad. Every woeful 'I'm sorry' they uttered felt like a nail in Burt's coffin, because wasn't that what you said to someone when a friend or relative died? Kurt didn't want to listen to their needless apologies. He refused to believe his father was a loss that they had to be sorry for. Heart attacks weren't necessarily fatal, were they? He had learnt in biology that the survival rate of heart attack victims had rapidly increased in the last forty years. So why couldn't his dad, one of the strongest people he knew, be one of those survivors? He was just sick. Temporarily sick. The cruel irony didn't escape Kurt that he had been told the news about thirty seconds after he denied to Mr Schue that it was his dad who was sick.

Kurt hadn't noticed he had stopped until he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder blade. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Mr Schue. It was too gentler a grasp for Finn, and Miss Pillsbury never touched anyone if she could help it: too many germs. Sniffing, he dried his tear-obscured, red raw eyes just enough to be able to make out the overhead sign reading 'Waiting Room'. He froze. This was it. Going in meant properly admitting to himself that something awful had happened to his dad. Bad things took place in waiting rooms. He had sat in a similar space with Blaine the day his mother died. He could recall the feel of the rigid, impersonal white plastic chairs against his back and bottom. The memory of his dad appearing, eyes puffy and haunted, to tell them that his mom was finally resting, was still so horribly vivid. Kurt didn't want to go in there, only to receive similar news about his father.

He could feel Finn shuffling awkwardly beside him, and he had to swallow down his irritation at the action. The jock was shocked by the news, certainly, but not devastated like he was. Finn had only known Burt properly for a matter of months, and though he had come to see him as a father figure, Burt wasn't his dad. He was Kurt's. He was Kurt's only remaining, blood relative, and it only just hit Kurt there and then how absolutely terrified he was of losing him. He sobbed again and buried his face in his hands so that the other three people at least wouldn't see his tears, even if he felt like his weeping could be heard by the entire floor.

An awkward pat to his forearm told him that Finn was trying to reach out to him, in his own clumsy way, but Kurt was too far gone to accept the kind gesture. Instead, he shrugged him off, and in the process, Mr Schue's consoling shoulder clasp. He didn't want their comforting touches. He just wanted a hug from his dad. And if he couldn't have that, he realised, he wanted… Blaine.

"Do you want Emma and I to go in with you?" Mr Schue questioned sympathetically.

He shook his head amidst his tears. He appreciated that they had taken the time to bring him to the hospital, but he didn't want to see any more of their sorrowful stares.

"Are you sure? We can stay, if you want."

Kurt sniffed and shook his head again, despondently, "I'm grateful that you brought me and Finn here. But…"

He trailed off, not really knowing how to phrase that he didn't want anyone but his family there, without sounding rude and churlish.

Thankfully, unlike the scene earlier that day in the school corridor, Mr Schue didn't push him, and quickly seemed to catch onto what he was trying to communicate.

"It's okay." He said understandingly. "We get it."

Kurt nodded and once he was sure that his tears were somewhat under control, he slid his hands back down from his face, hating how cold and clammy they were. His circulation always seemed to cut off when he was frightened, and today was no exception.

Heaving in a deep, shaky breath, he pressed his palm flat against the glass door in front of him, and pushed it open to enter the waiting room. Once inside, Kurt fought the desperate desire to throw up when he caught sight of the mass number of people crowding the space. He instantly felt claustrophobic; like they had no right to be there when he was only trying to find one person amongst the hoards. The one person who could comfort him and understand what he was going through, because they had undergone a similar experience together nine years previously.

Seconds later, he spotted him sitting huddled in the corner of the room, with Carole clutching his hand. Blaine was embedded in a huge foil blanket that only served to illustrate his starved frame, and though Kurt vaguely registered that his face looked unusually blank (even more so than recently), all he could focus on was Blaine's mere presence. Kurt needed him now more than ever… and there he was. And that was all it took for him to start running towards his best friend.

"Blaine." He heard himself whimper, his voice sounding so much like a frightened child's, that had he the strength, he might have felt embarrassed by such an emotional public display. But he just didn't have any such power left in him. All energy had been sucked away. He was emotionally drained and all he sought were the arms of his best friend.

Even when he heard Finn's mutters of 'Dude, slow down' behind him, reminding him that he was still very much in the present, Kurt felt himself helplessly reverting back to his eight year old self, running heartbrokenly to Blaine for comfort because Ty Peterson had destroyed the final notebook his mom gave him before she died. Without his dad there to cling to in the face of fear and potential loss, he found himself drawn to the next most constant being in his life, Blaine – regardless of how much the other boy had changed.

He felt the piercing stares of surrounding strangers as he ran, but he didn't give damn. He just focused his own gaze on the other boy, sitting tall and straight – in that moment, bizarrely a picture of strength and resilience – though Kurt put that down to his mind playing tricks on him. He was projecting the way he wanted Blaine to behave, onto a boy who was most likely just as terrified as he was. But for the first time in a month, since they had found Blaine, Kurt allowed himself to be selfish and pretend; to forget the events of the last few weeks, and permit himself to depend on Blaine as he once had. He wished that Blaine would look up from his blank stare to catch his gaze; give him something to hold on to until he could reach him.

Right on cue, Blaine suddenly glanced up at him, and though Kurt would have liked to believe that it was because Blaine heard his silent willing, he knew it was more likely that the younger boy had caught sight of him running. Still, it didn't matter, because he was almost there. He was so, so close. He watched as Blaine stood to meet him, the foil wrap sliding from his shoulders to fall neglected onto the linoleum floor.

Seconds later, Kurt hurled himself at Blaine, winding his arms around the younger boy's neck, and sobbing with wild abandon into his shoulder. There was only a slight hesitation before Blaine reciprocated the embrace. Kurt could feel the other boy's good hand gently rubbing circles into his back – a small, silent gesture of comfort. And unlike when Finn had tried to console him, Kurt didn't shrug him off. On the contrary, he found himself leaning into the welcome touch, pressing even closer, and Blaine, despite his recent fears of people touching him, willingly accepted this.

"Oh, Kurt. I'm so, so sorry, honey." He heard Carole whisper wretchedly from somewhere behind him, but he didn't dare pull out of the hug to look at her. In Blaine's arms, for the first time since Miss Pillsbury had blurted out the news, he felt that maybe, just maybe things might stand a sliver of a chance of being okay.

The two boys stood there for a long time, wrapped in an embrace of mutual understanding and grief, whilst Carole and Finn looked on helplessly. When they did eventually part, Kurt's crying had momentarily ceased, his tears replaced by an unbearable hollow emptiness in his stomach. Perhaps Blaine sensed how bereft Kurt felt without him as an anchor to cling to, because without Kurt even needing to say anything, he slipped his hand into the older boy's, squeezing it in show of support. Kurt gripped back tightly.

"Where's my dad?" He croaked, directing the question at nobody in particular. Anybody's answer would suffice. "Is… Is he dead?" He asked in a small voice.

There was a pregnant pause.

"We… we don't know, honey." Carole answered, her voice distinctly nasally as if she had also been crying. "The cardiologist is still with him. He'll come and tell us when there's news."

"Is he gonna die?" Kurt asked flatly, the painful memory arising of asking his father that same question when his mom was taken to this exact hospital for the last time. It was such a sense of déjà vu that Kurt shrank even further into Blaine's body, just as he did when he anticipated the answer nine years ago. Blaine's grip on his hand tightened in return.

He had been trying to convince himself on and off for the last hour or so that his dad was invincible; that there was no chance of him dying from a stupid heart attack. But surrounded with the mournful faces of his family, he couldn't help but ask that nagging question.

"I…" Carole stammered, obviously desperate for the same answer. "I don't know, baby. I… I don't know."

Kurt wished that Carole would say something other than 'don't know', because it only intensified his irritation. Sighing shakily, he wiped his eyes with his free hand and glanced around. Various strangers were still ogling them, intrigued by the commotion. Finn, though he was usually so tall and burly, in that moment seemed to shrivel under Kurt's desperate gaze, like a tortoise retreating into its shell. He didn't have any more answers than Kurt did, so he couldn't offer him any comforting words either. Even Blaine didn't look at him or say anything. His eyes simply burned holes in the floor as he gave all he could offer – a hand to hold.

"All we can do right now is wait..." Carole reasoned lowly, rubbing Kurt's shoulder. "let the doctors do their best. Come on, honey."

She waved him and Finn towards two seats opposite the ones she and Blaine had been occupying. However, Kurt couldn't seem to relinquish his grip on Blaine's hand, so as he numbly lowered himself into one of the chairs, he ended up dragging Blaine down into the one beside him. Blaine didn't react or protest. He simply followed Kurt's needs, rubbing his thumb tenderly across Kurt's cold knuckles. The foil blanket was left forgotten on the floor.

Finn gawked bewilderedly for a few seconds, before Carole, taking this in her stride, guided her son into the chair next to hers.

Kurt didn't know how long he sat there, crying and brooding, Blaine's hand crushed in his, but it felt like a lifetime. The formerly busy waiting room was almost empty by the time a middle-aged Asian man, clad in scrubs, entered the space. He surveyed the room's few occupants with narrowed eyes, as if searching for someone, but Kurt convinced himself that the man was not there about his dad. That way, when the doctor went to give news to some other waiting family, he wouldn't feel disappointed. However, this only led to increased anxiety when the man actually called:

"Family of Burt Hummel!"

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Kurt scrambled up from his seat; his and Blaine's attached hands once again pulling Blaine along with him. Across from him, he thought he sensed Carole and Finn do the same, but he didn't bother to turn around and look. He was terrified that if he made any sudden movements, he might throw up. So he just stood stock still, shaking, as he watched the doctor realise them and approach. This was it. This was the moment that was going to establish whether he had lost the only real family he had left. A single tear made its way down his cheek. He didn't want to lose his daddy and from the solemn expression painting the doctor's face, he was petrified that that was indeed what had happened.

By the time the man reached them, Kurt felt overwhelmingly dizzy, and his knees were trembling violently, like he was about to faint with fear. Apparently noticing this, Blaine slipped his healing arm gently around Kurt's back to steady him.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Ellis. One of the nurses who often works in the ER with me asked me to come and talk to you personally. I've been taking care of Burt for the last-" The doctor babbled by way of introduction, but Kurt couldn't bear to listen to the formalities.

Such formalities sugar-coated the situation and lulled families into a false sense of security, so that when bad news came, the pain was ten times worse. The same thing had happened when a nurse had escorted him and Blaine from the room shortly before his mom died. She had introduced herself brightly, bought them hot chocolate and cookies and made things look like they really weren't as bad as they seemed. Except they were, and the blow hit harder than he ever anticipated when his dad re-emerged from the room to tell him the news.

"Is my dad dead?" Kurt blurted out bluntly.

Right now, that was all he wanted to know.

The doctor didn't even flinch at the interruption, clearly used to hysterical relatives.

"No. He's alive and stable, for now." He informed Kurt, before adding gravely. "But that's about all the good news I have."

He heard Carole and Finn heave huge sighs of relief, like the simple phrase 'he's alive' changed everything. Perhaps, Kurt thought, he also should have felt relieved, but he didn't. Of course, the knowledge that his dad was alive was incredibly good news and helped him to feel a little less nauseous, but Ellis's 'for now' filled Kurt with a brand new sense of foreboding. The middle aged doctor made it sound as if they were just hanging around waiting for Burt to die; like there was little hope of a recovery.

Kurt tried to assemble his thoughts enough to be able to articulate another question, but Carole beat him to the punch.

"What do you mean by stable?"

Kurt quickly looked back at the doctor, impatient for a response. Though the man looked and sounded as solemn as one would expect when talking to the relatives of a sick man, Kurt felt his irritation flare once more as he realised that Ellis probably didn't really care. He would just go home after his shift and forget all about Burt Hummel, the man who suffered a severe heart attack, whereas Kurt and the rest of his family would be forever shaken by this event.

"Burt is currently comatose."

Kurt erupted into silent tears, not registering Blaine tensing beside him.

"What… what exactly happened?" Carole asked quietly.

Ellis's eyes raked over her, clearly identifying her as a nurse, which explained why he suddenly launched into medical jargon, as opposed to the simple, almost patronising manner in which he had spoken to Kurt.

"He had a heart attack, brought on by an arrhythmia, which caused a lack of blood to his brain. That's what made him lose consciousness, and is what's keeping him comatose."

"But… Blaine…" Carole muttered incoherently. Her eyes flitted to the thus-far, silent curly-haired boy, but he hardly reacted. Instead, he stared impassively at a spot just behind Doctor Ellis's head. Kurt caught Blaine's name amidst his bubble of tears and misery, and frowned confusedly. He turned sparkling eyes on his friend, but was unable to work out why Carole had just said the younger boy's name when she pressed onwards with a seemingly completely unrelated topic. "CPR… CPR was administered at the scene. Surely that-"

"It helped, certainly." Ellis agreed, flashing Blaine a small smile that only furthered Kurt's confusion. He looked back at his friend, searching for answers, but came up empty because Blaine was still refusing to look at him. In fact, he wouldn't look at anybody. Kurt only just then realised that the younger boy's grip on his hand had slackened, straying towards non-existent. "Without the necessary resuscitation, Burt wouldn't have even made it to the hospital."

With the fading light in Doctor Ellis's eyes, Kurt recognised the negativity of the impending sentence.

"But?" He prompted, his voice coming out as no more than a mere squeak.

Ellis exhaled softly, "We've got him on lidocaine but there's no knowing what damage there is to his brain by the lack of oxygen."

Kurt's heart shattered completely. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening!

"B-Brain d-d-damage?" His words were slightly slurred because his lips were growing dry and numb with shock. "He could have b-b-brain damage?"

For a horrible second, he almost wished Ellis had told him that Burt had died, so that his dad wouldn't have to suffer, but he hated himself instantly. He didn't want his dad to die. But he also didn't want his father to have brain damage! And what exactly did brain damage mean, anyway? Would he not be able to move parts of his body? Would he not remember things? Would he… oh God, would he not remember Kurt?

"I'm afraid we don't know at this stage. We'll know more if or when he wakes up."

"If he wakes up?" Kurt repeated hysterically. "What do you mean, if he wakes up?"

The doctor regarded Kurt sadly, "Anything can happen. These moments of recovery are vital."

"Do you know what could have possibly caused the heart attack?" Carole asked softly, though as far as Kurt was concerned, the answer to the question was pretty obvious.

Ellis shrugged, "As I said, it was brought on by an arrhythmia, but that can be triggered by a variety of things. One of the highest causes of cardiac arrest is the consumption of too many fatty foods, and Burt's blood cholesterol level was very high-"

Kurt glanced over at Carole and was alarmed to see that her face had drained of all colour. She provided most of the main meals in the Hudmel household, and as a nurse, always tried her best to encourage a balanced, healthy diet, so he hated that she seemed to be blaming herself for this. It was the snacks that Burt had on the side, mostly at work, that were probably the cause of this disaster.

"But other things can also be responsible: if Burt has any family members who have a history of heart disease then those sorts of problems can be hereditary-"

Kurt immediately pictured his family tree, trying to check if anybody from his dad's side had previously suffered a heart attack. If they had, he couldn't remember Burt telling him about it.

"-Being overweight, over-exposure to air pollution, stress – that causes high blood pressure, lack of exercise-" Ellis reeled off. "There's a long list of reasons."

Kurt was so immersed in his mental sifting of family members that he didn't notice Blaine's breath catch suddenly during Ellis's report. Nor did he feel the younger boy's hand finally slip from Kurt's to curl protectively round his stomach. Kurt gave up on his search, and instead addressed the one thought running continuously through his mind.

"I want to see him."

Manners weren't even a consideration at this point. He just regarded the middle-aged doctor and Carole, silently daring either of them to deny his demand. Thankfully, Carole understood the urgency of the matter and conveyed the request a little more politely, to which Doctor Ellis nodded and beckoned them to follow.

He swept from the waiting room and down a series of corridors at such a swift pace that Kurt could barely memorise the route. But he didn't mind. As far as he was concerned, he wouldn't be leaving the hospital room for a long time. Kurt would be there with his dad every step of the way; he didn't care if people attempted to make him leave. If he was bombarded with hospital policy then… screw said policy!

They passed white-washed door after white-washed door. Kurt was convinced that he had even passed some of the rooms on his journey to the waiting room with Mr Schue and Miss Pillsbury, and if not, he could only conclude that every hospital room looked and sounded the same. Each ward smelled like illness and disinfectant, and every person seemed to either be hooked up to a drip, or moaning in pain (or both). He shivered and allowed another silent tear to slip down his cheek.

It was then that he realised Blaine's hand had parted from his, and he jumped, casting around wildly for his friend. His racing heart only slowed when he caught sight of Blaine trailing ever so slightly behind him. The younger boy's shoulders were hunched and defeated, causing him to look smaller than ever, whilst his face was chalk white, his eyes blankly burrowing into the ground. Kurt reached out and tentatively nudged his hand back into Blaine's. The boy accepted the touch and squeezed again by way of comfort, but still he didn't raise his eyes as Kurt had been seeking.

Finally, they came to a stop outside a small, closet-sized partition just within the holds of the ICU. Surrounding them were the unconscious inhabitants of other beds, but Kurt didn't dare study them properly for fear of breaking down again. As it was, his stomach ached with the need to throw up when he caught sight of a blanketed figure on the cot inside. Though he couldn't see the person's head, he just knew that it was his dad. Suddenly, he was afraid again. He had hardly ever seen his dad weak, let alone fighting for his life in a hospital bed. He knew it was selfish, but he didn't want to see his dad like that; didn't want to spoil the childish illusion he had built up in his head of his father being an unassailable superhero-like figure.

Doctor Ellis turned to face them and gestured towards a row of chairs outside the glass doors of the ICU.

"I'm afraid that in consideration of Burt's condition, and with regard to how small the space is, I must say only two visitors at a time." He stated quietly.

Kurt didn't know where his temper was rearing from recently, or why he was lashing out at the man who had saved his father's life, but before he could stop himself, he snapped, "But we're his family. We should all get to see him."

Carole stepped forwards to quell the argument before it began. She ran a soothing hand down Kurt's back.

"And we all can, honey. We'll just take turns, is all." She explained softly. "We have to be careful of Burt's health. With all four of us going in there at once, we might knock something or do something accidentally that might put him in danger. And there are other people in here who are receiving emergency care; we don't want to put them at risk, do we?"

"What do you mean, knock something?" Kurt asked, eyes widening fearfully.

"Your father's hooked up to a fair few machines at the moment." Ellis supplied gently. "A ventilator is helping him breathe, a drip is providing him with fluids, and the other machine is monitoring his heart rate."

Kurt almost lost it at 'helping him to breathe'. His dad had never needed help to breathe in his life. His own breath quickened, a fresh onslaught of tears threatening to take hold. However, before they could, he felt another hand on his back – a touch he knew very well.

"Kurt," He spun around to acknowledge Blaine who was speaking and looking at him properly for the first time since he had arrived. The younger boy's voice was hoarse, as if he had also been crying, or perhaps even screaming, and Kurt cursed himself for not checking how Blaine was actually feeling. He had been so wrapped up in his own despair that he had temporarily forgotten Blaine's. How could he? "P-Perhaps you and Carole should go in first."

Kurt was dismayed by Blaine's gentle, but firm reasoning, especially considering the younger boy's recent almost catatonic state. It almost reminded him of… of younger Blaine. He had always been able to calm Kurt down and talk sense into him when he panicked – or at least he had resorted to doing something completely crazy to help him forget about the panic. Had the situation not been so devastating, Kurt might have admitted that he actually quite liked Blaine slotting somewhat back into his old role… his stronger, more assertive self.

"But you and Finn should-"

"Kurt." Blaine whispered softly, immediately silencing Kurt's frantic qualms. His beautiful brown eyes bore into Kurt's and silently communicated with him in a way that no else could. "He's your dad. You should be with him."

Kurt gulped, not wanting to admit that he didn't want to enter the room without Blaine. He also wanted to argue that Blaine had known his dad longer than either Carole or Finn had, and thus should be permitted to go in with him, but that wouldn't be fair to Carole. She had an air of strength about her, however her trembling hands gave away that she was almost as shaken by the heart attack as Kurt.

"Yeah," Finn added, also inputting for the first time. "And he's mom's fiancé. You two should go in first. Umm… Blaine and I can wait out there." He nodded to the door through which they had just entered.

Carole regarded Blaine worriedly, then glanced back at the partition, looking torn. She, like Kurt, so badly wanted to see Burt.

"Are you sure? You'll be alright?"

"We'll be fine." Finn assured her, and Blaine nodded, quietly following Ellis and the older boy outside.

Finn visibly settled himself into one of the chairs, no doubt preparing for a long wait, but Blaine stayed standing, sending Kurt encouraging glances through the glass right up until he was ready to enter through the curtain. Kurt's stomach churned, threatening to spill his breakfast all over the disinfected hospital floor, and his wobbly legs fought him every step of the way, but he finally made it to the edge of the cubicle.

Although Carole had claimed his hand in a bid to replace Blaine's as a source of consolation, Kurt couldn't help but look back at his friend for solace one more time. The right corner of Blaine's mouth drew up a little, flashing him another small, coaxing smile. And that was enough to haul Kurt once and for all through the curtain.

His eyes were drawn instantly to the bed's occupant. However as soon as he realised what he was doing, he quickly averted his gaze and trained it on the bedclothes instead, just as he did when he saw Blaine in the hospital. That way, he wouldn't have to face up to this person being his father right until the last second. However, despite his desperation to pretend, he couldn't ignore reality any further – not when it was right in front of him. So when he caught sight of the man's calloused, ever-so-slightly aging hands – hands he would know anywhere… his father's hands, he began to weep. And the sobbing only increased when he finally summoned the courage to look into the face of the owner of those hands. His daddy.

Kurt closed his eyes and once more, his hearing was accentuated. He could feel Carole's hand breaking from his to wrap instead around his shoulders; could hear her shuddering breaths and bland words of comfort; could make out the distinct beeping and guzzling of machines… so many machines. He opened them again.

His dad looked so peaceful that he may well have just been napping as opposed to lying comatose in a cold, clinical hospital bed. Except there were the giveaway signs: the small tube feeding into each of his nostrils to provide him with the necessary air; the heart monitor sounding on every second or so; the horrible white hospital gown encasing his dad's body.

"Dad?" He whispered, not even bothering this time to wipe his eyes. He hunted madly for any change; any indication that he had been heard. "Daddy?"

Kurt placed a quivering hand on his father's, and almost sighed at the warmth emanating from his dad's body. Burt's hand was actually warmer than Kurt's. Surely that had to be a good thing?

"Dad." He squeaked again, closing his lips briefly as he felt one of his tears trickle to the edge of his mouth. "Dad, if you can hear me… squeeze my hand."

He meant for the request to be gentle, but it sounded pleading even to his own ears. He didn't care. In fact, he was pleading. He was that little eight-year-old boy again, begging for one of his parents to not leave him; for them to respond to his cries and tell him that everything would be okay after all.

But Burt didn't respond.

Oh dear, everything's a mess! A few of Ellis's lines in this are not entirely mine - they are adapted from Canon Glee's 'Grilled Cheesus' episode, because I wanted Kurt's reaction to be quite close to the way he reacts in the series (though obviously, he's a little angrier than in canon). This was a filler chapter, mostly with character thoughts and exposition, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Please let me know what you thought. Like I said, I hope to update within the week with the next instalment. Thank you to everyone who continues to review, favourite and follow this story - I really appreciate the response!