Kurt tightened his arms around Blaine as a hovercraft appeared above him to take him back to the Capitol. Kurt looked on with disgust as a crane arm descended and lifted Karofsky's body off the ground. When another arm was lowered, Kurt started to panic. He held Blaine as tight as he could and started screaming when the crane pushed him out of the way and closed over Blaine's torso. Kurt threw himself toward his boyfriend with a heart wrenching cry.

“NO! He's not dead! You can't take him! Let go! He's not dead!” Truthfully, Kurt hadn't seen Blaine's chest rise for the last few minutes, but he refused to believe it. Blaine couldn't be dead. He loved Blaine. Everyone loved Blaine. How could they let him die like this?

Two Capitol medics approached Kurt and he lashed out trying to keep them away from Blaine. One of them had a needle in his hand when he reached the screaming boy. Kurt felt a slight pinch in his neck and he swung a fist at the medic trying to fight them off. He had to protect Blaine. But he was so sleepy all of a sudden. Still struggling to reach his boyfriend, Kurt fell back to his knees with a defeated whimper. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Blaine's body being lifted into the hovercraft.

Burt hadn't stopped pacing. He had been outside Kurt's hospital room in the Capitol since his son had been brought in. No one had given him any information except to tell him that Kurt had to be sedated. Typically, at this point the victor's mentor would be preparing for final interviews and arranging transportation to their home District. When Burt refused to leave the hospital, Sue took over and left him to watch over his son. After several hours of agitated pacing, Burt finally collapsed into the chair that had been dragged from the waiting room for him. A Capitol attendant accompanied by an orderly approached him nervously.

“These are the personal effects from your tributes.” She handed him Santana's letter that had been in Kurt's pocket, and the wire bracelet from around Blaine's wrist. Burt's heart clenched as he reached for the bracelet. He'd asked to enter the morgue to thank Blaine and say goodbye, but they refused. It was probably for the best. Burt didn't know if he'd be able to handle seeing him right now. Everything was still too fresh, too raw.

The attendant watched him with a pitying look on her face. “I'm so sorry for your loss.” It sounded genuine, but the words felt hollow. No amount of sorry could put his family back together. Burt nodded mutely.

The orderly waited until the attendant had left before letting Burt know that he could go see his son now. He explained that Kurt had been sedated when he tried to fight the medics in the arens. He was slightly dehydrated, weak from exhaustion and stress, and had a few superficial injuries that had all been treated. He had also been placed on a broad spectrum antibiotic to fight off any possible infection. Kurt was still asleep but should be waking up soon.

When Burt saw his son lying there in the hospital bed, it brought back painful memories of watching his first wife slowly fade away from sickness. He looked so small and fragile, but at least the sedative allowed him to have one last peaceful, dreamless sleep. Burt quickly crossed the room and took Kurt's hand in his. The joy of having his son returned to him was overshadowed by the grief of what it had cost them.

When Kurt opened his eyes and saw his father sitting next to him, it took him a moment before he realized he wasn't dreaming. Still groggy from the sedative, he looked over at his father and remembered not so long ago when their places were reversed. After Burt's heart attack he had been in the hospital for almost a week and Kurt had refused to leave his side the entire time. His dad looked like he'd been crying recently. His eyes were puffy and red, and there were tear tracks across his cheeks. Kurt squeezed his father's hand reassuringly, still trying to remember why he was in the hospital. Had there been an accident?

Burt held his son's hand tightly as the confused look on Kurt's face slowly changed to grief when the memories of the Games started to catch up with him. He wished they could all live in the sleepy dream-like state the medication created, where the painful memories could be kept at bay.

As the memories flooded back, Kurt was having trouble breathing. It couldn't be real. He had imagined it, that's all. He looked at his father, silently begging him to tell him it was only a nightmare, that Blaine is fine. He looked at the door, expecting to see his boyfriend standing there, probably holding flowers because he was sweet like that. Is sweet. Blaine is sweet because he's okay. He has to be okay. If Blaine is okay, why is his dad looking at him like that?

“No. Daddy?” Burt's heart broke. His son hadn't called him daddy since the day his mother died. He had to put away his own pain and help his little boy. Burt wrapped Kurt in his arms as they cried together. Kurt's body shook with sobs and Burt started to worry when he began hyperventilating. He rubbed his son's back gently, knowing it was an empty gesture.

“I'm so sorry kiddo.” Empty words. When his first wife died he promised Kurt they'd be alright because they still had each other. This time he wasn't so sure that would be enough. As a victor, Kurt would become a mentor now. Every year he'd have to return to the Capitol where he'd be forced to relive losing Blaine

Doctors and nurses came and went over the course of the day. They took Kurt's blood pressure, checked his fluids, and made sure he was eating. Burt stayed with him, wishing he could just take his son home right now. Tonight, Kurt had to face the Capitol audience for the victory interview where he'd have to endure hours of questions about how it felt to win the Games. It was cruel and Burt had already begged the Gamemakers to cancel interview under the circumstances. His request had been denied, of course. The Capitol was practically buzzing in anticipation of tonight's interview. Burt almost didn't believe how quickly things had gone back to normal for everyone else. It seemed they had all been opposed to having Karofsky as their victor, so they were ecstatic that Kurt had come in at the last moment to win the Games.

Kurt didn't think he'd ever stop crying. He hated the Capitol for choosing him over Blaine. He just wanted to get tonight over with so he could go home. When the memories of the Games first started coming back, he had considered taking his own life because he didn't think he could live through this much pain. His father knew what he was thinking before he'd even formed the thought because he'd immediately reminded Kurt that it would be selfish and unfair and unforgiveable. The bluntness of Burt's statement resonated with Kurt and he realized he had to live, to remember Blaine, to keep their love alive as proof that he had truly lived.

When his tears had finally subsided, Kurt's dad handed him a folded piece of paper. He took it, unsure of its significance until he remembered Santana had given it to him in the arena. She told him he'd understand once he read it. Kurt hesitantly unfolded it and felt his heart clench when he recognized Blaine's handwriting. Reading it, he could hear Blaine's voice and realized how deeply he had touched the lives of everyone around him. Even a chance encounter with a tribute, long before there'd ever been a chance Blaine would be in the arena himself, had left a lasting memory that may very well have saved Kurt's life.

Kurt's eyes were swimming with tears by the time he reached the end of the letter, but it wasn't the same inconsolable crying he'd been doing for hours. Instead, he felt warmth in his broken heart when he realized that their love hadn't died in the arena. Tracing the lyrics Blaine had written for Santana, Kurt felt like they were describing how he felt right now. He didn't know if he was ready to face the Capitol, but he knew he didn't have a choice.