The air around Kurt was too chilly to be that of a typical Tuesday afternoon. He couldn't feel the heat of the sun burning into his skin or the wind blowing his mussed hair across his face. He couldn't feel the touch of his dad's fingers when they wrapped their way around Kurt's limp arm or Carole's loving hand rubbing his back soothingly. He couldn't feel the eyes of Blaine's family and friends on him as he stood in front of the closed casket. No. All he could feel in that moment, all he could feel as they lowered Blaine's empty casket into the ground was pain.

Kurt couldn't even have a proper goodbye. He couldn't walk up to the open casket during visitation and tell Blaine one more time just how much he loved him. There wasn't a body to be found. There was nothing left of the wreck. Maybe that was for the better, though. Maybe, Kurt thought, if he didn't say goodbye, Blaine would never leave. Maybe he would show up at his apartment one night and they could act as if nothing had happened. Maybe he and Blaine could have their forever together.

No. That wasn't possible, because Kurt watched as the casket disappeared beneath the ground. There were a few last words from those around him before they started to slowly disappear; one by one, they would make their way across the newly-green grass towards their cars. But Kurt couldn't leave. Kurt didn't want to leave. Leaving meant saying goodbye and they weren't supposed to say goodbye to each other. They were supposed to say "see you later."

Once the place had cleared—the only people remaining being Burt and Carole—Kurt knelt down in front of what would soon be covered in dirt. He looked into the ground at the casket. The shiny silver trim looked beautiful against the baby blue, but that's not what Kurt wanted to think about. There wasn't anything beautiful about his boyfriend being gone forever.

Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out the small metal object he'd kept hidden away the entire morning. He uncurled his fingers and looked down at the small heart pin—the one Blaine had given him for his birthday. Without a second thought, he threw it down into the hole, a little more forcefully than he'd planned. He was angry. He was angry with Blaine for getting on a different flight. He was angry with himself for not coming up with a plan to get Blaine to New York quicker. He was angry with the pilot for allowing the plane to go down in the first place. He was angry with his dad for trying to comfort him when there was nothing that could ease the pain. He was mad at the entire world because another person had been ripped from his life.

Kurt curled up on the damp ground, not caring that the rainfall from the previous night would seep through his pants and most likely stain them. He couldn't bring himself to care about much, really. Who did he have to impress? Who did he have to make happy now? Who did he have to look good for?

He tried to let the tears fall, but it seemed as if there weren't any left. His eyes were void of emotion. He was neither frowning nor smiling. There wasn't anything to show his family if or when he would suddenly snap. The only thing Burt and Carole were able to do was slowly lift him into a standing position. They forced him to say goodbye one final time before walking him to the car and finally leaving Blaine behind.

Kurt woke up in a panic, shooting into a sitting position and violently pushing the covers away from his too-warm body. He dabbed the beads of sweat away from his forehead and tried to steady his breathing.

It was just a dream. A terrifying, miserable dream. He was going home today, and the thought of seeing Blaine later was more than enough to make him forget about his nightmares.

Kurt sighed in relief and made his way down the stairs, not bothering to change out of his pajama pants. He would have time to do that later, but for now, he wanted to enjoy his last few minutes with his family.

"I cannot wait to see Blaine today," he began as he turned the corner into the kitchen. "I am-" He stopped in his tracks when he saw Burt pouring a cup of coffee and extending it to Kurt. He noticed his dad's mournful expression and the sympathy in his eyes. Kurt reached out and grabbed the coffee cup on instinct, but didn't have any intention of drinking it. It was like he was hit by a brick wall the instant he looked into his dad's eyes. Carole made her way over with the same emotion pasted on her face.

"No," Kurt whispered. It was just a dream. It wasn't real. Blaine wasn't dead.

"Kurt," Burt began, but he was cut off when a deafening scream rang through the kitchen, echoing off of the walls and filling the room with anguish. The clash of Kurt's coffee cup hitting the hardwood floor and shattering all around them was nothing compared to Kurt's cries. His knees had given out and he fell to the ground, not reacting when the shards of ceramic cut their way into the palm of his skin. He couldn't feel the pain making its way through his hand as the blood began to flow out. He didn't feel the steaming coffee seeping through his jeans and burning his skin. He wasn't able to feel anything but numbness where his heart was supposed to be.

He didn't see a figure brushing away a few pieces of the broken coffee mug and kneeling down beside him. He didn't feel Burt's strong arms wrap around him and pull him close to his side. He didn't feel a single thing.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt eased the door to Kurt's room open and noticed his son huddled up at the head of his bed. His son who had always been so strong and so happy, despite all of the bad that had happened to him. The son who had been ecstatic about seeing his boyfriend for the first time in two months just twenty-four hours ago. Burt hated seeing Kurt so torn up over something he couldn't change. Burt understood what Kurt was going through because he had gone through the same thing eighteen years earlier, he just never imagined Kurt would have to experience the same kind of pain at such a young age. He cautiously took a step inside when he heard Kurt sniffle. "Carole and I were going to run to the store to get a few things for dinner. Do you want us to pick anything up for you?"

Kurt shook his head. "Right. Because life goes on," he mumbled.

"What?" Burt closed the door behind him.

"Nothing," Kurt grumbled.

"Kurt, I know that thi-"

"Do you, Dad? Do you know how hard this is for me? I get to sit here and watch you and Carole live your lives as if nothing happened. I get to watch her make dinner like she does every night while you watch whatever sports game happens to be on TV. I get to lay in my bed and cry because I spent twenty-six years trying to find Blaine and he was taken away from be because the pilot thought it would be okay to fly in that storm. You don't get how hard this is for me. No one does."

Burt moved closer to the bed. "Kurt, I do I understand. I lost your mom, and it tore me apart, but I had to stay strong for you. Look where it led me? I found Carole, and she's the best thing that's happened to me apart from you and your mom." He sat down on the end of Kurt's bed. "I don't want you to think that things won't get better."

"No. Don't compare Mom to Blaine. You know how hard I've fought for my right to love whoever I want. I know how hard you've fought. I found someone who loves me for everything I am. Someone who was there for me from day one, and he's dead, Dad. Dead. You're in love again. You have Carole. Finn and Rachel have each other. I don't have anyone anymore."

Kurt's tears wouldn't stop falling out of his eyes as he screamed at his dad, and it broke Burt's heart to watch his son in so much pain. He wrapped Kurt in his arms and pulled him close, holding onto him like he had so much after his mom had died.

"Kurt, we're here for you. You know that. We love Blaine, too, buddy. This is hard for us, too." Burt rubbed his back to try to calm him down. As much as he needed to go to the store, he couldn't leave Kurt the way he was. "Shhhh. It'll be okay. It's hard, but it will eventually be okay."

"It's n-never going to be okay, dad. I don't even want to think about going back to New York. I-I can't think about seeing my apartment and the memories we had there. I don't w-want to go to Central Park without him. I'm t-terrified of flying now. I don't want to f-fly anymore."

"You don't have to go back yet, okay? You can stay here for as long as you need to. We can find you a new apartment without the memories, but, Kurt, I don't want to see you push those memories out of your life for good. You don't want to forget Blaine."

"I don't want to forget about him," Kurt whispered weakly. "I just want the pain to go away."

"It will never go away, Bud, but it will get better with time. You can't get mad at Carole for trying to keep things going the way they are. She just wants there to be one constant thing in your life. We all loved Blaine. We still do. Carole is trying to deal with this in the best way she can."

"I'm sorry." Kurt began to fidget with his hands.

"You don't have to be sorry; you just have to let us help you, okay?" Burt pulled him back and watched his twenty-seven year old son nod his head. "Do you want to come with us?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I-I think I'm going to take a shower and relax a little bit. I asked Rachel to bring Elizabeth by later, and I don't think she'd want me dirty and tear-streaked."

"It's okay to cry, Kurt."

"I just want him here," he replied through a broken sob.

"I know you do, but he loved you. I've never seen someone look at you the way he did, and all you can do now is think about the memories you had. Don't dwell on the bad that happened. I want to see you smile again." Burt poked him in the side, eliciting a small grin from Kurt. "That's my boy." He moved off of the bed and headed towards the door. "Call us if you think of something you want."

Kurt nodded and watched his dad leave the room. Once he heard the front door close and the car start up, he walked into his bathroom and turned on the water, deciding a bath sounded much better than a shower. After turning the radio on, he shed his clothes and slid into the tub, immediately relaxing in the warmth of the water. The water was a place that allowed him to cry all he wanted and brush it off as nothing. He was able to let his mind wander wherever it wanted. He thought about the times he and Blaine had together, and he vowed to make those memories the prominent ones. Kurt wanted to push the image of the crashed plane out of his mind. He didn't want to think about Blaine's body crushed under the heavy metal. He wanted to remember Blaine as the beautiful boy he'd fallen in love with. The one who made him happier than he'd ever been.

Kurt was lost in his thoughts; so lost, that he didn't even hear the knock on the front door before it opened to let someone inside. It wasn't until there was a quiet knock on the bathroom door that he realized someone was home.

"I'm naked, Dad," Kurt said rather bluntly.

"Well, that's half of the advantage of finding you in the middle of the bath," a familiar voice said.

Kurt froze. He opened his eyes and stared towards the door, unable to process what he was seeing. He didn't want to allow himself to believe who was standing in his bathroom, dressed in Kurt's favorite jeans and one of the cardigan's he'd bought the day after Thanksgiving. Kurt knew it was impossible for Blaine to be standing there in front of him, unscratched, unbroken, whole and alive. He had to be hallucinating or having a dream. He was dreaming. He'd fallen asleep while taking a bath.

Blaine reached over and turned the music down a bit before sitting on the edge of the tub. "Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stare at me, Love?"

"I…" Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, half expecting Blaine to be gone. "You…"

Blaine leaned down and pressed a kiss to Kurt's lips, dipping his hand into the water to wrap his arms around him, not caring about getting wet. All Blaine cared about was that Kurt was finally in his arms again, after two months of Skype chats and scattered phone calls. "Surprise," he said, pulling away.

Kurt launched himself towards Blaine, forcing them to stand up and nearly knocking Blaine down in the process. He began kissing Blaine again, trying to convince himself that Blaine was real; that he was really there. He began unbuttoning Blaine's cardigan before deciding to rip it open in. Kurt would buy him a new one if he really had to. He didn't care about ruining anything, or that he was getting Blaine wet in the process. After removing his shirt, he held onto him, burying his face in Blaine's warm chest and taking in the familiar scent.

"Not that I have anything against this because you're absolutely gorgeous this way, but are you okay?" Blaine laughed, wrapping his arms just as tight around Kurt.

Kurt began to blush, realizing that he was actually still naked. "You… how are you here? Why… you were supposed to be on the plane. I called, but you didn't answer."

"I turned my phone off because I wanted to surprise you. I caught a flight to Ohio this morning, hoping I'd make it before you left for New York."

"But, you… New York. You didn't…."

"Hey." Blaine brushed the tears out of Kurt's eyes. "Why are you crying?"

"I thought you were dead."

"What? W-why?"

Kurt pulled back, studying Blaine for any sign that he was kidding, but found none. "You didn't hear about it?"

"Hear about what?"

Kurt grabbed his towel from the side of the tub and wrapped it around him. He pulled Blaine out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, finally making his way down the stairs and into the living room. Kurt sat down on the couch, turned on the TV and flipped to the news channel. Blaine watched as the headlines appeared and a plane was shown among fallen trees. As he took in what he saw, he sat down next to Kurt, unaware of the eyes that were on him until a hand was placed on his knee.

"Rachel said you were supposed to be on that plane," Kurt nearly whispered.

"Kurt." Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and leaned back, allowing their legs to tangle together. "I didn't know. I switched flight times at the last minute. I didn't think it would matter if I called her."

"I thought you were dead. I saw the news cast last night and I thought you were on the plane."

"Kurt, if I had known, I would've called you as soon as I found out. I never would've let you go through that." He kissed Kurt's temple and pulled the blanket over the back of the couch across them when Kurt began to shiver. "I'm here now, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"Can we just lay here for a while? I think crying has kind of worn me out, and I've missed you so much. "

"Of course I'll lie with you."

Kurt's eyes flew open when the front door slammed shut downstairs. It was a dream. Blaine was still dead. When the sudden realization hit, his tears began to uncontrollably fall once again. He was left to deal with his nightmares alone, unlike when he was little and his mom would comfort him each time.

Kurt eventually stepped out of the tub and watched as the water swirled down the drain, on its way to a new place, one far away from the pain filtering through his house.

He pulled on sweats and one of Blaine's T-shirts he'd stolen from his apartment back in January, flipping on the TV as he made his way back to his bed. He knew he shouldn't look at the newscast, but he couldn't help it. The images of the crash were already burned into his mind, so what would a few more views hurt? Maybe seeing the heap of crushed metal would finally force him to accept the fact that Blaine wasn't coming back to him.

Nothing could prepare him for what he saw on the TV, though.

"Sources at the site of the accident have confirmed that the police have found two survivors as of 11:00 this morning. Both survivors have been slipping in and out of consciousness and are being flown to a hospital in Columbus, Ohio, their supposed home state. The identity of the two survivors will remain anonymous until permission is given by their families. However, we are allowed to inform you of their genders—one male and one female. Back to you, Jordan."

"Thank you, Lynda."

Kurt watched as the camera switched from the too-serious reporter back to the wreck. An aerial view was being shown and the camera panned across the wreck. He noticed a few ambulances near the site, but there wasn't a rush to get anyone in or out of the mangled cabin.

But there were two survivors, one being a male whose home state was Ohio. Kurt didn't know what to think, but before he even knew what he was doing, he ran down the stairs screaming. This time, though, they were screams of excitement. They were screams of hope. They were optimistic screams that Blaine had survived.

"Dad! Dad! They found him!" Kurt ran into the kitchen out of breath and unable to stop himself. He ran directly into his Burt's arms and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. "Dad, Someone's alive. It could be Blaine, Dad. Th-they said he was from here. The survivor lived in Ohio at one time. We have to-"

"Kurt," Blaine interrupted and watched the small smile disappear from Kurt's face, "it was a flight to Ohio. Any passenger on that plane could have been from here. I don't want you to get your hopes up, Buddy. You saw the wreck. It… it's bad. Blaine… the chances that he made it out alive are-"

"No. Don't say it. I don't want to hear it!" Kurt pulled away. "Dad, please. They're flying him to the hospital in Ohio. I… I have to know," Kurt wept. "Please."

Burt could barely hear Kurt's voice, but he slowly shook his head. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. I'll take you."

Kurt didn't say anything. He dragged himself to the front door, his body almost appearing life-less. He didn't say a word to Burt when the car roared to life and began speeding towards Columbus. Kurt didn't make an effort to turn on the radio or put on his seat belt. He stared out the window, and Burt tried to ignore the sobs he heard coming from the passenger's seat.

Nearly an hour and a half later—Burt was able to shed a little bit of time off of the drive, even if it meant breaking the law—they pulled into the hospital parking lot. Kurt didn't waste any time before he was out of the car and running towards the door, ignoring Burt's attempts to get him to slow down. He did his best to catch up with his son, thanking the winding maze of hallways for slowing Kurt down.

"I don't know where to go," Kurt complained, running his hands through his hair with a frustrated sigh and frantically looking around the hallway at the different signs. "Where would they take someone who just got into a plane crash?"

"Calm down, okay?" Burt took a step towards him and placed a hand on Kurt's unsteady arm. "When did they bring him in?"

"I-I-I don't know. They s-said they found them around eleven, so I would assume they're not in the emergency room anymore. Oh, God, Dad. What if it's not even Blaine. What if we drove all the way here and he's still dead." Kurt moved towards the wall and let his knees give out, sending himself to the ground.

"Kurt, you don't know that, okay?" Burt knelt down next to him, ignoring the glances they were receiving from those who passed.

"I wasted your time and your gas; all because I had some twisted, unrealistic hope that Blaine would be here."

"Hey, you never know until you look. We drove all the way here and I'd do it all over again if it's what you wanted, but you can't let yourself walk away because you're scared of what you'll find."

Kurt sniffed a bit and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I don't think it's him, Dad. I just have this feeling inside of me, screaming at me to go home. It's urging me not to find that room because the disappointment will be much more painful than not knowing at all."

"Will it, though? Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight not knowing who is in that room?"

"What if it's not Blaine, Dad? What if some other family gets to be happy and celebrate because the person they love is alive and has the rest of their life ahead of them while I'm at home mourning the loss of the man I love. How will I live with that thought in my mind? Why did someone else get to live when Blaine died?"

"Kurt, you can't try to put reasoning behind what happens. Think about all of the things you would have missed out on if you gave up on everything once your mom died."

"I've only known Blaine for six months, Dad. It's not supposed to hurt this much." Kurt buried his face in Burt's chest, soaking his jacket with tears. Burt held onto him the same way he did eighteen years earlier, in the same place, with the same outcome. He was furious, yet he didn't know who to blame. He had to watch his son go through the same heartbreak he'd gone through many years ago, and watching it wasn't any easier than the ache he'd felt himself.

After nearly five minutes of silence apart from the rushed nurses, numerous phone calls, and chatty guests, Burt spoke up. "Do you want to go see who the man in that room is, Kurt?" He pulled Kurt away enough to look into his eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them.

Kurt nodded, "I think I need to."

Burt helped him up but didn't let him stray too far from his reach and walked them to the front desk. Kurt didn't say anything; instead, he chose to stare at the ground, noticing for the first time how dull his usually-shined shoes were.

"Excuse me," Burt got the attention of one of the nurses. "Can you tell me where someone might be taken after they leave the emergency room if they keep losing consciousness?"

"The ICU. Third floor, left wing," she said quickly before disappearing through a doorway.

Well, Burt thought, aren't you helpful.

He looked around the room, trying to find any indication of where the elevators might be located. It didn't take too long before he spotted a sign hanging from the ceiling with an arrow labeled "elevator." Kurt kept his arms crossed, but relaxed a little when Burt held onto his elbow and guided him down the hallway towards the little alcove in which the elevators were located.

They made their way up the elevator—thankfully they were alone—and stopped on the third floor. The two of them stepped out and took a left, making their way through the doors of the ICU. Kurt studied the letters on the door, suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation. Intensive Care Unit. Even if Blaine was alive, he was probably unconscious. He would have tubes puncturing his body, carrying fluids from sacks hanging on poles. There would be the (hopefully) steady sound of a heart monitor and the strong stench of antiseptic that seemed to disperse throughout the hospital. The Blaine lying in the bed wouldn't be the same one Kurt knew. He wouldn't have perfectly-styled hair, a goofy grin on his face, or sparkly eyes. No, Blaine's eyes would be closed, his lips in a rigid line, his hair matted.

Burt pulled Kurt through the hallway, keeping an eye on every whiteboard outside of the room as they passed. He took a sharp intake of breath when they approached room 329. Kurt didn't seem to notice. His head was still down, his eyes burning into the floor. Burt squeezed his elbow a little tighter and nudged his arm. Kurt finally looked up and Burt didn't miss the pain in his eyes. He didn't miss the tears in the corner of his eyes, fighting their way out or how red his nose had become since their ride from Lima.

Burt also didn't miss the dash of hope that flickered on Kurt's face when he finally read the two words on the white board outside of room 329.

Blaine Anderson.

"It… no." Kurt quickly turned around and faced the wall opposite room 329. He wasn't able to look at the sloppy script written in cheap dry erase marker beside the closed door. He felt his lungs struggling to take in air and his knees started to shake so much Kurt was afraid they would go out again. He made his way to a cold, plastic chair a few feet away and sat down before burying his face in his hands and crying.

Burt wandered over next to him and knelt down, trying to pull Kurt's hands away, but when that failed, he squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Kurt…"

"It can't be him, Dad. He can't be in there. He's supposed to be in L.A. He's supposed to be perfect, unharmed, not some mangled mess of remains."

"Kurt, he's alive. If that really is Blaine in that room, he survived the plane crash. You should be happy about that. Don't you want to take a look?"

"What if it's not him? What if they have it all wrong?"

"I think you're scared, Kurt. You're scared of what could have happened, and now you don't want to let yourself back into Blaine's life. You-"

"No!" Kurt shouted in the middle of the hallway, obtaining the attention of about a dozen different nurses. "No, you don't get to say that! You don't get to tell me what I'm trying to do because there is nothing keeping me out of Blaine's life, okay? I don't care what happens. I'm staying."

"Then you need to walk into that room and prove it. I don't want to push you if you need a few minutes, but I know you, Kurt. You're scared of what you'll see."

"Excuse me," a tall, slender nurse finally approached them. "Do you know the man inside this room?"

Kurt lifted his head up and leaped out of the chair. "Is he alright? How is he? What's wrong? Is he awake? Can I see him?" Kurt's words were a stream of high-pitched, never-ending questions which were unsurprisingly turned down.

"I'm sorry, I can't release that kind of information to anyone who is not family." She looked down at the folder in her hand, most likely Blaine's—or whoever was in the room—stats.

"I-I'm his dad," Burt spoke up and glanced between Kurt and the nurse. "Blaine Anderson? Hazel eyes? Dark curly hair?"

The nurse didn't look convinced, but she nudged the door open and stepped aside, allowing them to make their way into the room.

Kurt closed his eyes as Burt led him through the doorway. He could hear Blaine's—no, not Blaine's; the man's—heart beating and the steady breaths from what he assumed was an oxygen tank. He could smell the strong antiseptic and hear his shoes clicking against the slick, tile floor.

The room was rather large, but the bulky hospital bed, various machines, and extra seating created the illusion that it was actually quite small. The bed was only about five feet from the door, and before he knew it, Kurt's left leg brushed up against the cold plastic guard rail, causing him to jump and snap his eyes open.

Kurt's predictions were right. The man lying in the bed had cuts along his face and dried blood had stained one of his eyebrows. There were bruises running up and down his arms. His lips weren't forming a smile, but they were chapped and slit open. His hair was matted and sticking out in all kinds of different directions. The hospital gown was two sizes too big, his leg was in a cast, and three different needles attached to clear tubes punctured his arms—two in his left and one in his right. Kurt watched as one of the tubes carried what he assumed was blood from one of the little bags through the tube and into the man's body.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned against the guard rail and began to cry. He didn't cry because of the wreck. He didn't cry because Blaine was dead. He wasn't crying because of the memories of the two of him that he would be able to keep forever. No, he was crying because there was a pair of hazel eyes slowly beginning to open and look back at him.

Blaine's hazel eyes.