Kurt gave his dad a quick kiss on the cheek and promised he'd be back later, grabbing his messenger bag off the wobbly plastic chair that served as décor in the bleak room.  He didn't like leaving his dad in the hospital by himself, but the doctors had assured him that Burt was doing fine now, and he really needed to go home and shower.

The past week had been even harder than they had anticipated.  It was the two year anniversary of Finn's death, and Burt had come to New York City to spend some time with Kurt.  A few days had turned into a week when Burt had chest pains, landing him in the hospital.  Kurt felt like “emotional rollercoaster” didn't even cover the intensity his feelings over the past few days – it was more like some kind of evil pain whiplash, buffeted with the grief he felt for Finn and the fear about his dad's health all at the same time.  To make it worse, the doctors kept finding more things they wanted to test for – just as his dad proved he wasn't dying by one measure, they decided to poke and prod him some other way.  Kurt wrote everything down in his notebook, and then surreptitiously googled everything when his dad was resting.  It looked like the gauntlet of tests was done for now, however, and they could both relax.  Wouldn't that be nice, for a change.

Luckily Kurt had finished his final exams just before his dad's visit, and his summer class didn't start for another week, so at least he didn't have to worry about school right now.  Because Kurt had started at NYADA mid-year, he had been taking some extra courses to catch up to the rest of his class.  He had just one more course to make up this summer, and then, if all went well, in a year he'd be a college graduate.  Not that it seemed particularly significant at the moment. Having a degree from NYADA didn't mean much if he wasn't going to devote himself full time to acting, and he was starting to think that he might not.  

Kurt still loved to perform, but he wasn't sure if he wanted a Broadway career.  The cutthroat attitude of so many of his peers no longer motivated him the way it used to.  It wasn't as if he couldn't get parts – he had had a nice run in the chorus of The Book of Mormon for a season, and he could tell that with a little more experience, he had a good chance at larger roles, too.  But the reality of it just wasn't what he thought it would be.  Kurt still believed that there was value in being an entertainer, both personally and for the rest of the world, but he was beginning to understand that there could be value in other endeavors as well, ones that might leave a little more time for him to spend with his dad, and do other things that fueled him.  He was also getting tired of constantly being judged.  Even if he was coming out on top more often than not, so many great performers had to lose in order for him to win.  The day in, day out competition was draining. 

Kurt glanced at his watch as he left the hospital.  He had time for a quick call to his therapist when he got home.  He had been seeing Tessa every Tuesday for almost a year, and he hated to miss a session.  At first he had resisted seeing anyone, even when Blaine's mom had begged them both to get counseling after the accident.  But when the first anniversary of Finn's death had passed and Kurt still felt like he was living in a fog, he finally gave it a try, and it had made a world of difference.  Not that his life was perfect, by any means.  He was lonely sometimes, but it seemed like a normal level of lonely.  Definitely manageable. 

Kurt wondered if it would have helped him and Blaine, if they had seen someone back then.  He felt that wave of guilt that always accompanied thinking about their break-up – their second break-up, when they called off the engagement.  He could picture it so clearly:  Blaine in bed, angry and frustrated at his body, still broken after months of painful rehab; Kurt grieving for Finn and sick with worry for Blaine, his dad and Carole; both of them so very, very tired.  No amount of counseling could have fixed Blaine's shattered leg, or changed the fact that he was stuck in Ohio indefinitely, while Kurt was still at NYADA, trying to deal with all of his family's hurt and pain long distance.

If only New Directions hadn't gone to that stupid invitational, Kurt thought for the millionth time.  In the lead-up to Nationals, the group had been invited to perform at a showcase in Columbus.  On the way home, one of the bus's tires burst, sending the bus careening across the road and into oncoming traffic.  Finn had been thrown through a window, killed instantly.  Aside from Blaine and Kitty, the other New Directions had suffered only cuts and bruises, and broken bones that healed in the regular course.  But Kitty had struck her head hard in the crash, resulting in a serious injury from which she had yet to fully recover. 

And then there was Blaine.  At first all Kurt heard was “broken leg.”  No big deal, right?  Broken bones heal.  And with Finn's death, he had a lot to take in those first few weeks, which seemed in retrospect to be mostly filled with his dad and Carole, and a funeral attended by dozens of people who couldn't stop crying and invading his personal space as if a hug from a stranger could make any difference at all.  Blaine hadn't come to the funeral, of course.  He was probably having surgery that day, or recovering from surgery, or being prepped for surgery.  That's how it had seemed at the time, and although Kurt knew with every bone in his body that it was illogical, he had resented Blaine for not being there for him. 

During those first few weeks, when Kurt tried to visit Blaine in the hospital, everything seemed crazy.  Blaine's parents were everywhere, always in the room, never giving them any time to themselves.  His mom always looked like she was about to dissolve, and Kurt didn't know how to talk to her.  Blaine seemed numb, and most of the time he was so out of it on painkillers that he couldn't carry on a conversation anyway.  Even Cooper was underfoot, looking like he was rehearsing for a particularly grim procedural, stomping down the hospital hallways and insisting on making a scene if he couldn't get a doctor's attention.

It really wasn't until weeks after the funeral that Kurt realized the full extent of Blaine's injuries.  He was on the phone with his dad, who was making plans to come to visit him in New York, when Kurt asked if Burt could bring Blaine along with him.  Kurt could tell right away from Burt's silence that he had said something wrong, but he didn't know what it was.  The gentle tone of his father's voice that day (“Kiddo, I don't think you understand what kind of shape Blaine's in…”) couldn't wash away the fear that his message brought, or the shame he felt at having been so oblivious.  Maybe he was still in shock, like his dad said, but Kurt couldn't help feeling horrible.

He tried harder, then, to connect with Blaine, and for a while it worked.  They texted back and forth more, and skyped when Blaine felt up to it.  When NYADA ended in June, Kurt came home to Lima for the summer, working in his dad's shop and visiting Blaine almost every evening.  Blaine's right leg was badly broken, shattered in several places, and his right hip was damaged as well.  The surgery that was supposed to make such a difference in July didn't go well, and another one had to be scheduled for the end of the summer.  It was at that point that they realized that there was no way Blaine was going to start at NYU in the fall, and that Kurt would be returning to New York without him.  Try as they might, it all went downhill from there.  When Kurt visited Blaine at Thanksgiving, he was still at a rehab center, still not able to use his leg properly, still in pain, and exhausted with the disappointment of it all.  They called the break up a mutual decision, both of them so near to drowning in unhappiness that they couldn't see any way through.  It was painful, but so was everything else in Kurt's life.  At the time, the pain almost felt right; Finn would never have anyone, and now neither would he.