Kurt vacillates between tears and anger the whole flight home. He knows it’s a  sort of self righteous, self-preservatory anger that he has no right to, but he’s feeling it just the same. It may be a small, selfish thing; but he’s pissed. Because yes, he had kissed Jason, but that was it. And it was a big fucking deal, and he had been so damn drunk and scared and messed up, but it was a kiss.  But here he was, fucking alone, on his way to see his father for potentially the last time.  Kurt looks down at his lap, where his hands are clenched into fists. Oh, it’s a terrible feeling, knowing that he’s mad at Blaine simply because Blaine isn't here when he should be.  He’s a selfish son of a bitch, he knows it,  for being angry that Blaine can’t just look past this mistake for a moment, for a day, for a few minutes, even if it was a big fucking mistake, because Kurt needs him, now.

            And fuck that, not just Kurt. How could Blaine not even come?  Didn’t he care? Hadn’t he always said that Burt was like his father now? Ok, so he’d kissed someone else, and he felt horrible, like the worst sort of lowlife, especially when he’d seen the tears in Blaine’s eyes, but Christ it wasn’t like he’d fucked Jason. Despite the hickey, it hadn’t even gone farther than a kiss. But he’s still hung over, head pounding, and the tiresome circle of his thoughts is only serving to nauseate and infuriate him. He shouldn’t even be focusing on Blaine, when there’s so much else to think about.

            Staunchly ignoring the voice in his head snippily informing him that it is his own damn fault that he’s alone, he leans against the window of the plane, sighing.  It’s hard to stay mad, knowing that Blaine had come home to book him a flight, get him up and to Ohio, despite his anger.  In their closet, when Blaine had refused to turn around, it had been clear, written in the air and the line of his shoulders, that Blaine was confused, torn, but so clearly hurt.

            By the time the plane has landed, Kurt is fighting a migraine and the urge to vomit again.  Once through baggage claim, he sees Finn easily, standing by his small car on the curb, looking more tired than Kurt ever remembers seeing him. There is a moment, when Finn is loading his suitcase and eyeing his brother carefully, a moment when Kurt can feel his mask slipping, can tell his feelings are naked and cracking through.

            “You look like shit dude.”

            “Wow, thanks Finn.” More tired than he cares to admit, Kurt can’t muster any of his usual snap or sarcasm.

            “Sorry man, I know. Listen, Blaine told me you were way hung over, so I know you want to go home, but his plane comes in like an hour from now, can we just stop somewhere to grab coffee while we wait? Gas is freaking expensive and I don’t want to drive all the way to Lima just to come back. Don’t think I have time anyway.”

            “Huh, what?” Lost, Kurt puts his hand to his head, wishing he’d brought sunglasses.

            “Blaine,” Finn is speaking with exaggerated patience, “His plane should be coming in, in about an hour. I thought we’d pass some time before he gets here then we can all go to the hospital.”

            The air is thick with exhaust from idling cars, and the sun is somehow even brighter in Ohio than it had been in New York, and Kurt can only stare at Finn, wondering what the hell is going on, and how on earth Blaine could be so angry that he’d go out of his way to catch a separate flight. God this was so messed up. He can’t do anything right now but give up, closing his eyes, tipping his head against the back of the seat, shrugging in assent.

            “How’s Dad?” He has to ask, even though he is far from sure that he wants to hear the answer. Even though he knows Carole is waiting for him, for both of them, to talk about what is going on.

            “He’s the same I guess. They have him really sedated. You guys can see him for a few minutes in the ICU.”

            “Ok.” His voice is almost lost in the uncertainty that fills the car, and he can’t muster the energy to pretend to feel stronger, “I want to talk to his doctors too.”

            “I know. We told them you’d have questions.” A few minutes pass. “Come on,” the car was stopping, “Let’s get some coffee and something to eat.” Kurt can’t even think about food, can’t fathom leaving the car and venturing into the sunlight and air.

            “I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, and I bet once you do you’ll feel better. How much did you drink last night anyway?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll eat something, but please, can we just…not talk for a bit?” He hates to sound so defeated, but he doesn’t have anything in him, nothing with which to pretend that he’s ok. He’s tapping meager reserves for basics; breathing, being. Right now all that Kurt wants is to see his father, to know what the hell is going on with Blaine, and most of all, to avoid feeling anything until he can be sure that the two most important men in his life are still going to be here, come morning.

            Despite the toast and coffee he manages to choke back at the dinner, his stomach is flipping with nerves by the time they go back to get Blaine at the airport.  He makes some sort of feeble excuse to Finn, crawling into the backseat and curling up, hoping to avoid Blaine; Blaine’s coldness and the silence and hurting between them. When Finn comes back, he’s making small talk with Blaine, who’s looking marginally better than he did in the morning. Curious, he climbs into the front seat and gives Kurt a look he can’t quite figure out.

            “Did you get something to eat? You look like you’re ready to hurl.” Blinking, Kurt regards Blaine, the normal tone, the way Blaine is looking at him like nothing has changed. But then the moment passes and it dawns on him, of course they are going to pretend, play along that everything is just fine because although he’s obviously not firing on all pistons, Blaine understands that the last thing his family needs is more upheaval and drama and angst to worry about. For a moment, Kurt just closes his eyes, pretending that it is real. That the caring and knowing undertone is for him, not a charade for his brother’s sake.

            “Toast.” He strives for some sort of normal, figuring Finn won’t be searching that hard for subtext, and besides, subtlety is not his brother’s strong suit. Any tension he might pick up on could easily be explained by the situation and Kurt’s hangover anyway. For a moment, Blaine’s eyes flash, anger and disgust and…something, but then it is gone and he’s put his show face back on, patting Kurt’s knee and making sympathetic noises before turning back to Finn.  He hears some reference to flight plans and Blaine’s trouble finding flights so quickly; he has a small moment to feel better, knowing Blaine had to take a later flight out of necessity. 

            Kurt curls, up, tuning them out as he watches Ohio unfold from the car window, unchanged and unremarkable.  A feeling that is so much like home and equal parts resentment fills him. It’s strange, the way he never misses Ohio until he’s here again, and when he does miss Ohio, he’s so conflicted. He knows he’d never come back, never come again to live in a place that was so wrong for him. But it’s home. His family, his father, so many of his friends live here. And with a pang, he realizes, it’s the place where he found Blaine. Finding the love of his life is reason enough to keep Ohio protected, folded into a little space in his heart.