"Dad?" Kurt called as he shut the front door behind him. "I stopped by the garage on my way home and got the snow tires."Kurt rounded the corner just in time to see his father reach for the television remote.

"Good," Burt grunted as the game abruptly switched off. "Did the new guy charge you? He should know who you are by now."

Kurt rolled his eyes as he saw down at the opposite end of the couch. "Yeah, he tried, but I reintroduced myself and there weren't any problems," he explained as he set his bag down on the floor next to him.

Burt nodded. "Why didn't you call, Kurt? I was worried."

Kurt dropped his eyes to his lap. "It didn't cross my mind. Sorry."

"Really?" Burt's eyebrows almost disappeared under the rim of his baseball cap. "How come?"

Kurt sighed. "I got distracted when I decided to wait out the snow in the Lima Bean."

Burt took of his cap and scratched idly at the back of his head. "What'd you get distracted by, Kurt? Coffee can't be that interesting for an hour."

Kurt glared at his father as he clutched the strap of his bag. "Not coffee, Dad. I met someone."

"A, um, male someone?" Burt asked, deliberately looking Kurt straight in the eye.

"No!" Kurt exclaimed. "Well," he amended a split second later, "Yeah, but more importantly, a dead someone."

Burt's eyes narrowed. "I see," he said slowly, "And they didn't cause any trouble, did they?"

Kurt shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, no trouble at all," he murmured.

"Did you, um, help them?"

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know, Dad. All I did was talk to him – he seemed kind of lonely."

"Well, he is a ghost, son. There's not many of them out there; he's entitled."

"He's been a ghost for fifty years," Kurt explained with a sigh.

Burt whistled. "And he hasn't moved on yet?"

Kurt shook his head. "Obviously not. He pretty much said he was murdered, though, over at that prep school in Westerville, Dalton."

Burt sighed. "Is he looking for revenge? Does he know who killed him? Because that's usually why they stick around."

Kurt frowned, trying to remember the vague hints Blaine gave him about his death. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "He seemed more resigned, than anything else. He wasn't too angry or anything, if that's what you're getting at."

Burt blinked. "Well, I can see why you were talking to this boy for so long. If he's accepted his murder, then by all means he shouldn't be hanging around anymore."

"Right," Kurt hummed, mind lost in Blaine's quiet smile and sparkling hazel eyes.

"Unless," Burt continued, oblivious to Kurt's mental wanderings, "Maybe he has unfinished business?

Kurt shrugged as his eyes refocused on his father. "Your guess is as good as mine," he responded heavily.

"But someone that old..." Burt drifted off. "I don't know, Kurt. Most of 'em only stay here for a decade at the most. Oh," he said, swiveling to face Kurt properly. "Did that Quinn girl move on?"

"What?" Kurt asked, blinking.

"Quinn? Did you help her?"

"Yes," Kurt said, scowling. "It was disgusting, Dad. I had to sneak into her parent's house and dig up her yard at one in the morning-"

"I wasn't going to let you skip school, kid."

"But her parents would both have been at work! It was the perfect time. Instead, I had to go dig up what was probably the most horrifying, scarring, terrifying thing in existence – I hope you're happy with all the therapy I'll need in the future – because I never want to see a rotting corpse ever again."

"Good luck with that, Kurt. I've had my fair share, so did your grandfather before me. And his grandfather before him."

"Lucky me," Kurt moaned, flopping back onto the couch. He turned his head, shuffling closer to his father on the sofa so that he could rest his head on his dad's shoulder. "It was a baby, Dad," he confessed quietly. "And it was dead, and you know I can't stand babies, they're gross and messy, but... seeing it like that..." he shuddered. "It wasn't right."

"No, it probably wasn't," Burt agreed as he reached up to put an arm around his son, careful to avoid his perfectly styled hair. "But sometimes life isn't right. Death almost never is. Especially the kind we see."

"A baby, Dad," Kurt repeated. "As soon as Quinn saw it, she flew into a rage. She stormed into the house, setting off all the kitchen appliances and nearly flooding the bathrooms. I called the cops and made sure to leave what was left of the baby in plain view on the porch. I figured Quinn could keep her father busy enough so he wouldn't go snooping into the yard before the police arrived."

"So what time did you get back last night?" Burt asked.

"Around two, I think?" Kurt hedged. "I'm not sure. I saw that you tried waiting up, though, Dad. Thanks."

"No problem, kid. I'm glad you told me what happened," Burt said gruffly.

Kurt shrugged, smiling as he felt his father squeeze his shoulder.

"Look, it's nearly dinnertime. I'll go make something for the both of us, okay? I'm sure I can find something easy in your mom's cookbook. No, Kurt," he reprimanded as soon as he saw his son open his mouth, "You go sleep. It'll be an hour, at least. Take a nap or something. You look dead on your feet."

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt said dryly.

"I'll call you down when dinner's ready, okay?"

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt repeated, this time with completely sincerity. He slowly got up and walked down the hall to his room where he laboriously began to remove his boots.

It was only a soft cough from the corner of his room that alerted him to her presence.

"Hi, Kurt," Quinn said quietly, a soft smile lighting up her face even as her fingers twisted nervously with the hem of her cheerleading uniform.

"Quinn," Kurt said in surprise as he swung around to see her sitting at his vanity. "I thought you'd... gone," he said, confused.

She shook her head, golden ponytail swinging. "Not yet. I think I'm going to go soon," she said, her mouth pursing into a pout as she thought. "I just knew I couldn't go without thanking you for what you did for me," she said sincerely.

Kurt shook his head. "All part of the job description, Quinn," he said wearily as he scooted to the edge of his bed to see her better.

"How are you?" he asked curiously. "You were only one step away from going all Hiroshima in your dad's house when I booked it out of there."

Quinn's mouth flattened into a thin line before she spoke. "I'm okay. The police got there and took him away before I could do any real damage. My uncle bailed him out a couple of hours ago." Her ponytail quivered slightly as she tried to keep her anger in check. "I just can't believe I didn't remember Beth." She threw her hands into the air and groaned. "I mean, here I was, moping around Lima, dead, all summer, and not once did I remember my baby," her lip quivered, "My Beth," she repeated quietly.

Kurt got up from his bed to stand behind her in the mirror. "Look, Quinn," he said seriously, placing his hands on her shoulders, "Ghosts remember what they want to. They see what they want to. Hell, they usually do whatever they want to – which is how you and your baby blues got me out of my nice, warm bed to dig around in that yard like a deranged terrier at one in the morning." He grimaced at the memory.

She gave a watery chuckle. "Thanks for that," she said, surreptitiously wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just wish I could repay you somehow," she murmured.

"I mean this in the best possible way," Kurt hedged quietly, "But the best thing for you to do would be to move on. Don't hang around here; there's nothing here for you anymore." He rolled his eyes.

"There's you," she said so quietly he almost had to strain to hear her.

"W-what?" he spluttered.

Quinn looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "There's you, Kurt."

"What about me?" he demanded, a tad defensively.

"I've seen what they do to you in school," Quinn told him seriously. "All the bullying, the name calling – my god," she gave a mirthless laugh, "the slushies."

"Well, you would know," Kurt retorted dryly before he could stop himself.

Quinn's face instantly crumpled. But a moment later, and with obvious effort, she pulled herself together and met his gaze squarely. "And I am so sorry for every single one of those," she declared, lifting her chin slightly. "Even if I can't apologize to the people I hurt personally, I'm still sorry."

Kurt shook his head. "Look Quinn, I never blamed you. It's just high school." He sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It's just high school," he repeated to himself, his heart heavy.

Quinn's eyes drifted from her non-reflection in the mirror to look up at Kurt's face, his eyes guarded. "It's not only high school, Kurt," she told him seriously, "It's your life. And it will be your life for the next year and a half."

"Don't remind me."

She hesitantly reached up to wrap a slender hand around his. "I know I'm dead and all, but is there anything I can do?" She gave another laugh, tinkling and musical. "You know, I keep thinking, what if we met in high school? Would I have been the one throwing the slushies or cleaning you up in the girls bathroom?"

Kurt turned to her, eyes wide, as she continued, "I'd like to think I would have been the bigger person and seen through all that popularity crap," she mused, half to herself, half to Kurt, "but I really think it would have taken a miracle for me to be as strong as you."

"I don't know, maybe all it would have taken would a power ballad from Rachel Berry. Converted you to the dark side of glee club," Kurt pondered idly.

Quinn smiled. "I even heard you had cookies. With I'm Sorry on them."

"Apparently Rachel was under the impression that they tasted better if baked with an apology." Kurt snorted a laugh. "Be glad you graduated last year, Blondie. Before Rachel Berry could get her hands on you."

"She's quite frightening."

"Says the dead girl."

Quinn tossed him a light grin and tossed her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. "Whatever, Hummel. I kind of like myself better this way," she said, smoothing her cheerio skirt with a stray hand. "No more high school, no more popularity, and, hey," she brightened, "I even got to go to my own funeral and watch everyone say nice things about me. You know that's all I wanted in life, right? To be liked?"

Kurt gave her a wry smile. "People liked you, Quinn," he assured her after a moment.

The corner of her mouth turned up into a cynical half smile. "You're sweet," she said, and he could most definitely hear the condescension in her voice. "But people didn't like me. They envied me, they wanted to be me, they desired me... but they didn't like me."

Kurt shrugged as he turned away from her to sink down on his bed again. He didn't know what to tell her. "High school sucks for everybody. That's just how it is," he said simply.

Quinn sighed. "I guess so, Kurt," she said, frowning. "But at least it's not the end for you." She got up to stand before him as he sat on his bed. "Be glad."

"Because I have so much to be glad about," Kurt griped as he bent down to undo the laces of his boots. "I spend my days getting slammed into lockers and slushied, and I spend my nights chasing after harebrained ghosts who have the weirdest demands at three in the morning."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're alive. You have your dad, who clearly loves you." Her face darkened. "That's more than I had, at least. And right now, I'd trade everything for a dad who didn't do what mine did."

Kurt looked up at her, his gaze softening as he took in her frustration and anger written all over her face. "Yeah, my dad's pretty great," he admitted.

"And you have glee club," Quinn pointed out. "You guys are friends, right?"

Kurt shrugged. "We kind of just harmonize behind Rachel and seethe in silence, actually. Or seethe nosily, if you're Santana."

Quinn laughed. "But they like you, right? For you?" she asked curiously.

Kurt gave her a soft smile. "Yeah, I think they do," he said after a moment. He let out a laugh that was much more like a groan. "So this is what it comes to," he sighed, surveying Quinn with a fond smile, "Lessons in how to enjoy life from a ghost."

"Well." Quinn paused. "Being dead gives you a whole new perspective on things," she said succinctly.

"I'll take your word for it," Kurt told her before yawning.

Quinn raised her eyebrows.

"Late night," he groused, glaring at her sleepily. "Forgive me for needing sleep."

"Sorry," she said after a moment.

Kurt shook his head, "Not your fault. You needed to see Beth," he sighed, flopping down on his bed, idly undoing the buttons of his vest with one hand and sliding open his sheets with the other.

By his side, Quinn giggled. "Well, I can see we're not going to be talking for much longer," she said, watching Kurt remove his vest and kick off his socks with a sigh.

"Nuhh-"

"Goodnight, Kurt."

"Night, Q."