So Kurt prayed. In the waiting room and in the bathroom, as his dad finally returned and steered him to the hot water and into sterile, stiff hospital trousers. The stream of water was purifyingly hot, as hot as the red that poured from his hands, scalding him and momentarily replacing the burning pain inside his heart. But at the same time it drove the prayers more desperately through his mind.

Dear Lord…
Our Father…
Forgive me…
Please…
Please, please…please let him…her…it…live. Protect them. Protect them both. Protect Blaine, let him be safe so that it is safe in him. Keep it safe in him. My child…our child…your child…
Help the doctors, help them know what to do.
Let me know what you want me to do and I'll do it…anything.
Please…

Kurt never reached an Amen. Or if he did, he ran straight over it and continued praying, using anything he could remember from the handful of times he'd been to church, from weddings he'd been to, his distant cousin's christening, even funerals. He didn't know if he was praying in hope of something happening or in fear of the same. But there was a solemnity, a pace and a rhythm to the words in his mind and the strength of the expressions that felt necessary, and above all sincere. If he could do nothing else for Blaine and his child, then he could pour out his heart in the quiet silence of inaction. At the same time, the fear of the time when he would have to act and do something loomed larger and larger within Kurt, because that would be the time when he would find out whether his prayers had been answered or not.

All this time Burt had his hands firmly on Kurt's shoulders, fearing to break his son's fragile silence, but wanting to hold him close, wanting him to cry, wanting him to empty himself out in a wave of emotion. Because emotional Kurt he could cope with; he'd lived with emotional Kurt for close to 21 years. But quiet, inexpressive Kurt was something completely alien and terrifying. Burt dealt in absolutes and fundamentals; simple beliefs that would see a person through. He was going to get through this second cloud of cancer; there was no doubt in his mind about that. As soon as the doctor had told him, his mind had asked his body if it could do it, and his body had replied 'Yes'. It was as simple as that. But in the same day as he had tried to gather his courage to give Kurt the same certainty in his health, this had happened.

"Son?"

Burt thought he felt Kurt tremble ever so slightly at the word, but his back stayed hunched and his eyes stayed closed. Burt quaked, hating it. Hating himself for not having the right words to say to his son to make this all better. Hating himself for the way that he'd relied on his son all these years. Why couldn't Burt save the ones he loved? He couldn't stand to see Kurt stumble away from almost losing another of the pillars in his life; he'd watched, minute by minute, as his son had rebuilt himself after his mother's death, but who could have the strength to do that twice? His heart broke at the thought that Kurt might have to bear any more pain, any more hurt, any more loss on the tiny shoulders that he held in his hands.

Burt took a breath. Whatever happened, they would be more grown up after tonight.

He closed his eyes, running out a short, fleeting prayer that his wife, Kurt's mom, was looking down, watching over their son now. She would know what to do.

"Hey kid…"

But then Burt stalled again, as his mind ran full circle round the problem. There was that extra…that unknown…that possibility…the baby…But Burt worked in certainties, through processes and down lists. He had to go one by one, step by step. So he backtracked.

"Listen, son. Blaine…he's gonna…they said…he's stable…so…"

He trailed off but stirred himself in his chair, rose up straight and tried to carry on, working Kurt's shoulders in rhythm.

"And…and his parents, well…as soon as they get my message…"

Burt silently thanked God that no one had picked up the phone. How could he ever have told another parent that they might just be losing their son…their family…and more?

"Then, I'm sure they'll phone straight back and say you can…"

Kurt sat straight up and threw his hands down to his knees, cutting Burt off before he could start another word.

"Did you know?"

"Kurt?"

Burt had no idea what to do with his hands. Thrown off from his son's shoulders, they now hung stupidly in mid air, giving him no distraction and perfectly framing those burning eyes that were now glaring into his own.

"Did you know?"

Kurt's voice had sunk lower than Burt could ever remember.

"I…I…"

"Jesus."

Kurt swore, throwing a hand against his leg again, trying to pound out the frustration, anger and confusion that was threatening to overthrow him.

"It's a simple enough question."

"Yes," said Burt, swallowing. "I knew. He told me." But that's not it, Burt thought. Kurt didn't know. Kurt hadn't seen the Blaine that had walked into the tyre shop that winter morning, clinging to himself in shame in a way that Burt had hardly recognised him.

"Every time I talked to you about Adam? About how things were getting back to normal? What were you thinking, dad?"

He swayed wildly in his chair as he began an imitation.

"Oh, hah, Kurt. Little does he know. How funny it'll be for him to find out that all the time he's been trying to ground himself in New York, his life's been spiralling out of control in ways and directions that he couldn't even dream of…"

"Kurt…"

"No, dad. How could you? How could you not tell me? I was…I am…was going to be…"

A father, he tried to say. But it wouldn't come.

"Kurt." Burt reached out and held Kurt by the shoulders again as he began sobbing deep down into his chest. "I didn't know. Not till last week. And…and…"

He turned his gaze away in shame as Kurt looked up. He couldn't bear to look into those bottomless, overflowing eyes.

"Kurt, I…Hell, Kurt, I had no idea what to do. A few years ago none of us even knew this kind of thing could happen. And there you were, flown from the nest, grown up and gone off to New York with this brand new life, brand new job, brand new friends, with no idea that you'd left anything behind."

Kurt let out another deep sob. Every minute, every few seconds, the clouds that were filling his mind would part on the simplest fact that he, even for the briefest time, was now a father, and the wave of terror and loss and dread would come crashing into his chest once more. Burt finally brought himself to look his son in the eyes.

"We both new Ohio was never the place for you, kid. But then there was Blaine, walking into the shop, pulling me into the office. He must have only just found out, Kurt. And I could see that even then it was killing him. And…and…I had no idea what to do. This couldn't be happening to you, kid, you know? Not to my Kurt. Finn, yeah, but not you. You had dreams. And I don't know what I thought, Kurt."

Burt took a breath and looked down at the floor between them. Most of the waiting room had melted away in the moment and all he could feel was the heat and the weight of Kurt's body between his hands.

"He knew I was coming to visit you, Kurt. I guess Rachel must have told him or something. But I had my own problems, my own things I needed to tell you. Kurt, my mind was so full of the fact that I'd got cancer that I wasn't taking in most of the stuff he was saying, To be honest, at first, when he was just babbling about having something to tell you and about having made a huge mistake and regret and future and God knows what else, all I was thinking was pack it in, Anderson. No way you're piggy-backing the pity of my situation. Take your broken heart and clear off; let me have my moment of grief with my son, and then let us get on with our lives…"

Burt sighed again.

"But then he came straight out with it. Kurt, if you'd have seen him…I couldn't have told you even if I'd have wanted to. It was like…it was as if the pain of his confession was the only way he could prove to you that he cared so much about you that he would do anything not to have to tell you what he had to tell you…And from then on he had to come here."

Kurt closed his eyes in pain. His thoughts were black and numb and his prayers had ebbed away with the ever growing fear of any kind of future.

"Kurt, I don't know what happened between you two. But something that should have been the most joyful moment of your life…something that came from a moment of joy…"

His voice grew quiet.

"Well it's almost killed two people tonight."

Kurt stifled a nod with a sniff and wiped a hand furiously over his eyes, willing them to stop streaming, willing everything to stop. But Burt's gaze and his grip had momentarily hardened.

"But, listen, if you can come back from that, then…then…there's no reason you can't make this right."

Kurt just managed to raise his head and look his father in the face. The two Hummel men sat there, drinking in from each other the depths of their fears, but also the force of their strengths. Suddenly a voice rang over the waiting room, calling Kurt by name. Burt turned and then glanced over at his son, gripping him by the arm as he began to rise. But Kurt thrust out a hand and held him back, his chest, which had been rising and falling all night in time with his tears, suddenly still.

"Dad. I'm so scared."