The hospital hallway was cold and eerily quiet. The flickering fluorescent light above them didn’t help to alleviate the ominous feeling of the place. It was the ward for the terminally ill, so nobody was running around in a rush most of the time. It seemed almost as if the patients there weren’t being treated, only waiting to die.

Kurt glanced through the rare unshaded windows into patient rooms with unease. Most of the people inside had the appearance of ghosts or skeletons, eaten through and though by whatever disease they were suffering from. Blaine kept his eyes fixed on the end of the hallways where they had been directed for information.

A tired-looking middle-aged woman was sitting at the nurses’ station and she raised her eyes at them at the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

‘How can I help you?,’ she asked politely.

‘I- I wanted to ask for some information on Richard Anderson’s condition, please,’ Blaine mumbled.

‘Are you family?’

Blaine swallowed loudly.

‘He’s his son,’ Kurt cut in.

‘I didn’t realise you two were in touch,’ the nurse said to Blaine with a judging look.

‘We’re not. I live in New York,’ Blaine said, wondering why he was explaining himself at all. ‘And I’m not close with my father. Can you just tell me how bad exactly he is?’

The nurse pursed her lips, evidently holding something back.

‘I’ll go get the doctor to talk to you,’ she said finally, before disappearing in the door behind her.

Blaine began tapping his fingers nervously on the counter of the station. He was surprised he was handling the situation so well. Ever since he’d made up his mind the night before about coming here just to find out what his father’s condition was, he’d had a fear growing in him that this would be enough to overwhelm him. But he was much better than he’d expected to be. He was even almost calm about another drive to Columbus. He still didn’t have the same matter-of-fact attitude that regular people have about travelling by car, but it seemed like he was getting there.

After a moment of waiting, the door opened again, revealing a balding man in his forties and the nurse from earlier. The doctor circled the counter, extending his hand in greeting to Blaine and Kurt.

‘Hi, I’m Dr. Hall, I’m treating your father.’

‘Blaine Anderson, and this is my boyfriend, Kurt Hummel,’ Blaine introduced them, taking pride from being with Kurt.

‘Nurse Debbie here tells me you came all the way from New York to see your father,’ Dr. Hall said conversationally. ‘He told us not to call you when we admitted him back in October, and I thought you wouldn’t care enough to visit him.’

‘He’s been here a month?,’ Blaine asked in surprise.

The doctor shook his head.

‘Actually, he’s been here for almost two months now. But let me take you to him, since you’ve come such a long way.’

‘I’m not here to see him,’ Blaine said hastily, throwing Dr. Hall for a loop. ‘I just came to find out if he really is dying.’

Heavy silence fell on the almost deserted hallway, save for the ominous echo of Blaine’s words. They sounded harsh, but they were uncompromisingly true. He wanted nothing more. At least for now.

‘You only wanted to find out what his condition was, then?,’ Dr. Hall finally asked, clearly saddened that one of his terminal patients wasn’t getting visitors after all.  Since the beginning of his career, he’d believed having loved ones around could do miracles for the patient. Although on second thought, he decided there could indeed be no saving Richard Anderson, who was already known throughout the ward for his unpleasantness and brusqueness.

‘Yes, right now that’s all we want to know,’ Kurt replied, seeing that Blaine’s doubts were coming back. ‘We came to Ohio for Thanksgiving anyway, so we didn’t go that far.

Blaine nodded in support of his boyfriend’s words. He still couldn’t tell if he was doing the right thing.

‘Okay then,’ the doctor sighed with resignation. ‘Mr Anderson has advanced stage cirrhosis and is currently on a waiting list for a liver transplant. If we don’t find a donor in time, he’s looking at three, maybe four more weeks.’

‘So he is dying. Really dying,’ Blaine muttered, shocked as if he’d just first heard the news.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

Kurt was watching Blaine closely, worried that anything could be the last straw that would cause him to transition. There was a slight tremble in his hands before he clasped them firmly together, but other than that he seemed relatively fine.

‘You said he needs a transplant? So you’re waiting for someone to die to save him?’ There was an almost imperceptible trace of sneer in his voice.

‘Typically, that’s true,’ Dr. Hall began slowly. ‘But in case of a liver transplant, the donor can be a living person. Most usually it’s a close relative.’

A frown lined Kurt’s forehead. Did that guy seriously just suggest that Blaine should give up a piece of an organ to his father? Wasn’t it obvious it wasn’t going to happen? Not with the amount of resentment that was between the two of them, not with the hurt and hate, and-

‘Where can I get tested?,’ Blaine’s words interrupted Kurt’s thoughts.

‘What?!’

A couple of nurses down the hallway sent him disapproving looks.

‘I want to get tested if I could be the donor,’ Blaine said calmly.

‘Do you honestly want to give him an organ? Do you think he deserves even a cell of your liver? You didn’t get him sick, he drank himself to death. Do you think you owe him anything after everything that he’s ever done?’

Every single word Kurt said stung painfully in Blaine’s chest. There was too much truth in them to cast them off or deny them. Dr. Hall wanted to cut in, but stopped, seeing how Blaine’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he hid his face in them for a moment.

‘I just need to know. There’s a chance I won’t be a match anyway. There’s a chance meds have already screwed up my liver and I can’t donate it. Isn’t that true, Doctor?’ He lifted his eyes half-hopefully, half-helplessly at the man.

‘What kind of medication are you on?,’ Dr. Hall asked.

‘Right now I’m not on anything, but I used to be on psychoactives and antidepressants for years, until a couple of months ago.’

The information took the doctor aback, and Blaine snorted lightly at the look of surprise in his face.

‘So I take it my father didn’t mention he’s son was crazy. Could’ve guessed.’

Kurt squeezed his boyfriend’s arm comfortingly. Seeing him upset because of that bastard was one of the most painful things in the world.

‘What were you treated for? If I may ask,’ Dr. Hall said, trying to sound as polite as possible.

‘DID, PTSD and depression,’ Blaine recited on one exhale of breath. ‘My father thinks I’ve made it up to gain attention.’

‘Those are serious conditions, why aren’t you medicated anymore? I could direct you to a great psychiatrist. Have you heard of Dr. Smythe?’

‘There’s no need. I’m in therapy in New York and I know Dr. Smythe. She’s the one who diagnosed my DID,’ Blaine explained. ‘I’m off my meds, because I was tired of them, they made me feel unlike myself, and trust me, the alters give me enough of that.’

Dr. Hall nodded pensively. That family seemed to him even more twisted now, than it did when he first met Richard Anderson.

‘I understand that you’d want to help in your father’s treatment.’ Blaine opened his mouth to interrupt Dr. Hall, but the latter raised his hand to show him he wasn’t finished. ‘However, there are rules against donating organs from sick patients. Including mentally ill ones.’

‘But it’s not like I’m incapable of making informed decisions,’ Blaine countered. ‘I can decide for myself.’

Dr. Hall smiled at him sadly.

‘I can’t go against the rules, I’m sorry.’

Mixed emotions fought inside of Blaine for another moment, but finally he nodded, resigned. He couldn’t even be sure if it really was resignation; it could just as easily have been relief that this particular dilemma was taken off his shoulders.

‘Could you not tell him I was here?,’ he asked the doctor.

‘If this is what you wish.’

‘It is.’

With a tiny apologetic smile, Blaine turned around, catching Kurt’s hand in his and heading back down the hallway.