Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 28

Burt releases a sigh as the door shuts behind Kurt, reminds himself that his words were needed, that Kurt needs a break from this room.

A break from the monitors and the motionless, bandaged form of his fiancé.

Carole has taken a seat beside Blaine's bed, and Burt keeps his distance, forcibly doesn't listen to her quiet words.

Instead, Burt takes a moment, breathing in time with the beeps from the machine closest to him. On the bed, Blaine lays still in his medicated sleep, and Burt remembers Kurt's comment about Blaine's unnatural stillness.

It's just as odd now as it was then.

Without meaning to, Burt's mind remembers the countless episodes of Dateline and 20/20 where something happens – something horrible, an awful, terrible event – and lives are changed forever.

Someone wakes up, but it's not the same person who was hurt in the first place.

Burt fists his hands as he wonders if the world is cruel enough for Blaine to wake up, but not be Blaine anymore.

Burt had an aunt who suffered from Alzheimer's, he'd been a young man at the time, recently married. But he remembers his father's broken expression when his aunt had been unable to recall her own brother's name; the confusion when the family had mentioned parties, events Aunt Ann had no recollection of. Slowly, her body had weakened too, a cane replaced with a wheelchair; an assisted living home with around the clock care had replaced her cozy townhome.

And one day, the Aunt Ann who sang to him on his birthday and always sent Christmas cards was replaced with a shadow. A kind, lovable shadow, but a shadow nonetheless.

Burt doesn't know how Kurt will cope if Blaine isn't Blaine – the boy who dances on tables and plays piano and pulls Kurt into impromptu duets – after this.

He knows his son: Kurt has never given up on someone, much less someone he's claimed as family, but he wonders at what will happen to Kurt and Blaine's lives if Blaine becomes a shadow.

The doctors haven't mentioned it in detail, but Burt recognizes the underlying hints with the constant reminders of checking after Blaine wakes up; the reminders that they'll have more definitive answers after that happens.

Burt furtively hopes the Blaine who wakes up is limited to the injuries already listed in his chart; the injuries he's certain Kurt has already memorized.

They're still just kids, after all, and Burt's supposed to dance with both of them at their wedding.

He prays he still will.

Burt shakes his head, unclenches his fist as he moves to stand beside Blaine. He places his hand on Blaine's uninjured shoulder, suppressing a sigh when there's still no reaction.

“Kurt was right, earlier; he's too still. It doesn't suit him,” Burt nods in reply to Carole's words, watches Blaine breathe. He only looks up when Carole continues. “But, I'm not sure I'm ready for him to wake up, either.” A glance to the monitors before she faces him, words merging together as she hurries to continue when she takes in what he knows must be a look of confusion. “I didn't mean –” Carole sighs, stepping forward and resting a hand on Burt's arm. “It's awful, Blaine still being unconscious; it is. And I wish he would wake up, for Kurt's sake, but as long as Blaine's here, stable, he's safe. I can sit here and watch these monitors and count his breaths –” Carole stops, her hand tightening on Burt's arm while she ducks her head, her breathing quickening.

Minutes pass, and Burt uses his free arm to pull Carole closer, to wrap her in a hug.

“He's gonna wake up, Carole.”

Carole nods against Burt's shoulder.

She pulls back moments later, looks to Blaine's bed.

“I know he is. And I know this is awful, but this I know how to handle. This moment. For right now, when Blaine's stable.”

Burt takes in her brittle smile, the sheen in her eyes. “There's nothin' wrong with that.”

Carole huffs. “You've never lied to me before; don't you dare start now.”

“Who said I was lying?” Burt keeps his voice low, but crosses the small space between them, reaches for Carole's hand. “Blaine will wake up, but until he does you do what you need.” Burt pauses, briefly tightening his grip on Carole's hand, “Just because this is what you need doesn't mean that it's something you're enjoying.”

“No,” a shake of her head, and Carole brings her free hand up to wipe at her eyes. “I just can't think past this, Burt. I can't –” she stops, pulls in breaths even as Burt's hand starts to go numb in her hold. “I can't think about what happens next. Right now he's fine, and that's the only thing that matters, really. As long as he's…as long as he's like this,” a wave toward the bed, “the chances of his condition changing are low. And I'd rather – I'd rather be in this limbo of watching monitors than in the hell of seeing a straight line.”

Carole's fear steals Burt's words.

“You know,” after the silence – minus the beeping monitors – his voice makes Carole startle, but he carries on, keeps his eyes fixed on Blaine. “I keep worryin' about when he does wake up. I know they said it's a small chance, that something was missed, or that somethin' will show up. But the kid's got a list of injuries…” Burt cuts his gaze to the white board listing Blaine's doctor and admitting department before looking back to Blaine, “and, they said he crashed in that ambulance. I'm not a doctor, but his heart stopped, Carole; that's got to have some kind of effect.” Burt lowers his voice, “Kurt's so anxious for him to wake up, to talk with him. But what if he can't? What if Blaine's not Blaine?”

“Kurt wouldn't care.”

“No,” Burt sighs, “He wouldn't. But he shouldn't have to! This is too much – they're just kids, Carole.” Burt ducks his head, draws in a deep breath. When he speaks, his words are quieter, rough despite his attempt to regain his composure. “We're supposed to help ‘em move into that loft in New York, and dance with them at their wedding.”

“You honestly think anything is going to stop them from getting married?”

“I think that they deserve to have the wedding they're plannin' in that book they think we don't know about. It's one thing if we can't afford some famous theatre or a three course meal, but if Blaine can't –” Burt cuts himself off, slowly unclenches his free hand from where it had formed a fist. “They deserve better.”

“Of course they do.” A pause, “And what does it say about me, that I'd prefer for Blaine to stay…like this, even when Kurt has been begging him to wake up for hours?”

“You're only human.”

“Hm,” Carole turns, folding herself against his chest. “So are you.”

Burt rests his chin on Carole's shoulder, tightens his hold on his wife. “You're a smart woman, Carole.”

Carole chokes a laugh and Burt silently thanks Kurt – again – for bringing Carole into their family.

When Kurt enters an unknown amount of time later, Burt and Carole have moved to the chairs beside Blaine's bed, though they've kept their hands clasped.

Burt pulls forth a smile and turns to face his son, taking in Kurt's still-pale face and tired, glassy eyes. “Have a good phone call?”

Kurt just nods, keeps his eyes on Blaine. “How is – I mean, is…”

“I'm pretty sure he was waitin' for you to get back to wake up; there hasn't been any change, though.”

Kurt nods again before crossing the scant space, moving to carefully sit beside Blaine.

Burt has never seen such a beautiful sight be so heartbreaking.

He ducks his head, focuses on the feel of Carole's hand in his, and just breathes.

Across the bed, the monitors beep, a sharp metronome that reminds Burt that regardless of the silence, of the fact that his family is together, they're still in a hospital room.

-*-*-*-

Kurt carefully readjusts his position on Blaine's bed, wincing when his movements pull a tight muscle by his hip. He pauses, sparing a glance to his parents before tightening his grip on Blaine's ring – they're getting married – and moving to carefully lie on the bed, wary of Blaine's array of bruises and bandages and wires, but needing to be closer.

On his side, inches away from Blaine, his fiancé's bruises and oxygen cannula stand out in stark contrast to the bleached bedding. Slowly, Kurt reaches out, pushing back Blaine's bangs with a slightly shaky hand. “I'm back,” Kurt keeps his voice a whisper, swallows past the lump in his throat, “you can wake up now, okay? Please Blaine. I won't –” Kurt pauses, starts again, “I won't even tease you about your hair.”

(Fourteen hours and forty-nine minutes.)

The door opens and Kurt tenses but doesn't move, keeps his eyes fixed on Blaine. He hears his father talking, hears Carole offering a polite ‘good morning' to the visitor – a nurse – as well.

Kurt stays silent.

Footsteps approach and Kurt forces himself to look away from Blaine, to raise his head and acknowledge the woman standing a foot away. He takes in her scrubs, complete with tiny sunflowers, and her dark hair with a few strands of grey – sparkling, actually – pulled back into a tight bun. She looks more experienced than Kara, the nurse from earlier, and Kurt silently wonders if their attitudes differ as well.

“You must be Kurt?” Kurt gives a slight nod. “I'm Christine; I'll be Blaine's nurse during the day. Technically I'm supposed to recommend you not be on the bed with the patient –” she tilts her head toward Kurt, “but I think as long as you move enough for me to check his vitals we can keep it between us.”

Kurt's shoulders fall as he releases a breath. “Thank you.”

“Patients with support do better; I'm not about to take that away. Now,” she moves forward, pulling a blood pressure cuff from the drawer under the computer and attaching it to one of the various cables, “you're going to have to at least sit up for this part.”

Kurt nods even as he stretches, moving to the side and letting his right leg dangle off the bed, his left bent under him. He smooths the blanket as Christine moves to the other side of the bed, carefully moving Blaine's arm and attaching the cuff.

Kurt can't suppress the flinch when he sees Blaine's bare hand, tightening his hand around Blaine's ring. He looks to his own ring, the metal shining but dulled in the dim light of the room.

His ring is still beautiful, still the most precious thing he owns, but for the first time since Blaine put it on his finger the sight fails to make him smile.

“Okay,” Kurt turns at Christine's comment, watches as she finishes adjusting cords before she leans over Blaine with a stethoscope. “I'm just going to listen to him while this,” she nods toward the blood pressure machine, “runs.”

“How is he?” Kurt keeps his question soft, dreads the answer even as the words tumble out, harried.

“Well,” she pauses, looks over to where the machine has beeped, displaying a set of numbers, “His blood pressure is a little low, but within normal range.” She pauses, “Has he woken up yet?”

(Fifteen hours and three minutes.)

Kurt bites his lip. “No.”

“Kurt.” Burt's voice cuts across the space, and Kurt ducks his head.

Kurt blows out a breath and looks up, meeting Christine's slightly confused gaze. “He only said my name, hours ago. I don't – he didn't even open his eyes.”

“Between the anesthesia and the other medication he's on I can't say I'm surprised; plus,” she smiles, “teenagers sleep a lot anyway.”

Behind him, Kurt hears his dad and Carole offer murmurs of agreement. He watches as Christine leans forward, runs a thermometer over Blaine's forehead. She sets it aside moments later, entering information in the computer before moving back to Blaine's bed and carefully pulling back the blanket. “I have to check his incisions and stitches,” she pauses, “you might want to step out for this part.”

Kurt doesn't move. “No.”

“Kurt, if Christine thinks you should wait –”

“I'm not leaving him,” Kurt knows his voice is cold, if soft, but he doesn't care, just like he doesn't care that he interrupted his father.

He won't leave Blaine.

“Kurt, sweetie, you don't even watch the surgery scenes during Grey's Anatomy.”

Kurt straightens at Carole's comment, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not leaving him.”

“Well then,” Christine interrupts the tableau, her voice smooth and warm where Kurt's had been cutting, “why don't you help me adjust this blanket. But if you do need to step out, it's okay.” She pulls the blanket with Kurt, revealing the thin blue gown and more of the wires Kurt had only seen glimpses of before. “It can be startling, Kurt; I won't think any less of you if you ask me to pull the curtain.”

Kurt hums in reply, keeping his gaze fixed on the bandages and wires peeking out from Blaine's gown.

“Okay. Blaine?” Kurt looks up when Christine addresses his fiancé, sees her gently adjusting Blaine's oxygen, carefully moving Blaine's splinted right arm, and double-checking the plastic bracelet on his left wrist. “Blaine, I heard you've been sleeping the day away, and that's fine, but I have to check your incision, okay? So if you're even slightly awake you need to let me know so you can tell me if something hurts.”

Kurt tells himself that he wasn't expecting a reply, so there's no point in being disappointed when Blaine continues to just breathe.

With the gown pushed away from his chest, Kurt brings a hand up to his mouth as he finally sees Blaine's torso.

There's a reason he studies theatre and not medicine.

Kurt had known; logically, with the list of injuries and the papers detailing Blaine's surgery, Kurt had known Blaine was hurt.

But it was one thing to see Blaine's swollen cheek and eye and stitched brow.

It's another to not recognize his fiancé's chest.

Kurt's intimately familiar with Blaine: He knows about the scar on his left knee from when Blaine fell when he was six while doing a routine with Cooper; about the small bit of weight that refuses to become abs (which Kurt loves) despite Blaine's exercise routine, and his ensuing (endearing) fear that he'll no longer fit in his clothes; he knows about the freckles that dust Blaine's shoulders; he knows the line of muscles in front of Blaine's ribcage.

The bandaged and bruised chest he sees is foreign.

He swallows his gasp, blinks the sting from his eyes and returns his focus to Christine, who moves her gloved hands to the taped bunch of gauze on the left side of Blaine's chest.

She starts to peel the tape back and Kurt winces as it sticks – he'll have to get Blaine some lotion, too.

He jumps when Blaine groans.

“Blaine?”

He doesn't remember moving, but he's leaning over the head of the bed, his left hand clutching Blaine's ring and the railing in a white-knuckled grip even as his right stops scant inches away from Blaine, frozen.

“Blaine, wake up. Please. We – I need you to wake up now, okay?” Blaine's eyelids twitch, and Kurt winces as the stitches pull even as anxiousness threatens to keep him from staying still. “Blaine. I'm here.” Kurt ducks his head even further, brushes his lips against Blaine's forehead. “Please wake up – for me, okay?”

A beat, and then Blaine's eyes blink open.

(Fifteen hours and twelve minutes.)

-*-*-*-

It's dark.

There's a growing ache, distant, disconnected.

Hints of sound reach him, but they're garbled fragments of nonsense.

And then pain bursts, sharp and brutal.

The sound returns then, closer than before. It sparks something, a hint of memory, but it slips away before he can capture it. Still, he focuses on the sound, forces all his energy on it until the discordant jumbles have meaning.

“– up now, okay?”

The pain is returning, spreading and stealing his thoughts. Sleep beckons, a haven from the encroaching discomfort.

“I'm here. Wake up for me.”

Kurt.

The pain is still there, growing, and the darkness is as strong as ever, but Blaine forces himself to try and open his heavy eyes.

Because Kurt is here, and nothing makes sense.

His eyes open to a dim, unknown room.

And Kurt standing above him. Something is wrong, Kurt's eyes are too watery, his face too pale, but he's smiling.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Kurt's voice is soft, rough in a way Blaine can't place, “you had me worried. Don't do that, okay?”

Blaine feels his face start to scrunch in confusion before pain forces him to stop.

“Hi there,” Blaine slowly looks away from Kurt, sees a woman standing to his right. “I'm Christine; I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? Now don't worry, there's no wrong answer.” Against his fingers, Kurt's hand tightens.

Blaine manages a weak attempt at a nod.

“Alright then; you know my name, can you tell me yours?” If he had the energy, he'd roll his eyes. He settles for looking to Kurt before answering.

Or attempting to.

His voice cracks before he manages to finish ‘Blaine' – the weak whisper of sound dying with a squeak.

Seemingly moments later a spoon with crushed ice chips is in front of him. “Sounds like you could use some, kid.”

He takes two mouthfuls before he attempts his name again.

Then the questions resume and he ignores the steadily growing pain radiating from his side and arm. He manages his age and birthday and then –

“Do you know where you are?”

Blaine looks away from Kurt to take in the room, the railed bed and beeping monitors, the curtain pushed against the wall, the tiled floor –

“Hospital.”

“Very good; do you know why you're in the hospital?”

Blaine freezes.

“No…no I –” something is beeping faster, and another tone is going off, adding to the clamor in Blaine's head.

“Blaine.” Kurt's close again, his face taking up Blaine's vision. “Blaine, it's okay. I promise it's okay but you have to calm down. Just breathe.” An exhale. “Just breathe with me.”

The air in his nose is cool, the scent of plastic adding to his headache (and growing nausea), but Blaine does as Kurt says, and breathes.

Exhaustion battles with the pain and nausea for his attention, so Blaine keeps his focus on Kurt, forces himself to match the breaths in and out.

He closes his eyes, takes comfort in the grasp of Kurt's hand.

He can't help the gasp and startled blink when the pain spikes, though.

“Blaine?” Kurt's hand tightens around his fingers even as he looks away from Kurt's concerned gaze. “I just have two more questions for you.”

Blaine swallows, his whispered ‘okay' cracking into multiple sounds.

“Alright, almost done; right now what's your pain from one to ten, if one is no pain and ten is the worst?”

Blaine thinks, remembers harsh yells and a stained suit; remembers physical therapy and surgical follow-ups; his head throbs and he remembers falling back, running.

“F-four?”

“You always were an awful liar,” Kurt's comment holds a swirl of emotion – humor, exasperation, sadness, “how about you try again, and this time use a normal pain tolerance.”

Blaine can't be sure, he still feels disconnected, but he thinks he blushes. “Six.”

Off to the side, he sees Christine nodding. “And any nausea?”

Blaine hums in agreement.

“Okay, well how about I get you some medicine to help with that,” Christine steps aside, moving toward the door, “I'll be right back.”

She must be magic, because he blinks and she's back at his side, putting a syringe into the tube of is IV. “This is Phenergan, for the nausea,” a depression and Blaine feels cold snake up his arm. A pop, and then the syringe is replaced. “Dilauded, for the pain. And, this will probably make you fall back asleep; it's a pretty strong pain medication. Now Blaine,” she discharges the liquid, “one last question: Can you tell me who these lovely people are?”

“Kurt.”

“And who is Kurt?” Blaine slowly blinks at the silly question – everyone knows Kurt – and the room begins to spin.

“– ‘m soulmate.”

Murmurs, susurrations of sound blend together with the swirl of starbursts behind his eyes before a phrase breaks through: ‘love you too.'

Always. The starbursts fade but the darkness stretches, and Blaine follows.

-*-*-*-

Kurt keeps his hand on Blaine's, not moving it even when Blaine's goes slack, and studiously ignores the beeping of the monitors. Across the bed, Christine is adjusting wires and checking bags, and Kurt knows he should be paying attention, taking notes, filing away information to Google later, but he can't.

Because Blaine woke up.

Fifteen hours and twelve minutes since the phone call, since his world-view shifted with three words from his father.

But Blaine woke up, and Kurt forces himself to focus on the fact that Blaine called him soulmate, and had reached for his head –

He pushes away the memory of Blaine's harsh gasp and winces of pain.

Christine clears her throat and Kurt's shoulders twitch even as he slowly looks away from Blaine to meet her gaze.

“I'm just about done here; did you need anything before I go?”

Kurt starts to shake his head before a thought cross his mind. “How –” Kurt swallows and starts again, “how long will he be out?”

“It varies,” her voice seems unduly loud in the small space, and Kurt resists the urge to bring his free hand up to cover one of his ears, “but I'll be back in four hours for another check and to readminister some of Blaine's medication. Chances are he'll wake up a bit then, and, of course, he could wake up on his own earlier.”

Kurt hums a reply and briefly tightens his hold on Blaine's hand, closing his eyes against the memories of all the times his hand was held in return.

Blaine woke up.

It may have taken fifteen hours and twelve minutes, but Blaine woke up and that's what matters.

His dad was right.

Absently, he notes Christine giving Blaine one last check before she passes out of Kurt's line of vision; the door clicks shut moments later.

Hospitals are never quiet, and the murmurs of a dozen conversations ebb on the edge of his hearing, but it's a steady noise, constant like the beeps from the monitors surrounding Blaine's bed.

Kurt wonders, again, how he can both hate and be grateful for the sounds.

“Kurt?”

Of their own volition, Kurt's muscles tense when he hears his father's voice, but he can't bring himself to turn away, to look away from Blaine.

Kurt is selfish: He doesn't share – he never really learned to and he's given up trying to learn. It's a fault, and a potentially destructive one at that, but it's something he's come to accept about himself. And Kurt knows he's the most selfish when it comes to his family.

And within his family, Kurt is the least altruistic with Blaine; he wants his time, his attention, his love, his words –

He wants Blaine to wake up again.

Because he's selfish, and he wants Blaine awake to hear the ‘I love you' that's been Kurt's mantra ever since the phone call.

And for a moment, Kurt hates himself. Because being awake isn't necessarily what's best for Blaine. His fiancé needs to rest, and Kurt knows that the same medication that keeps Blaine unconscious is necessary for Blaine to heal. And yet, he wonders at how he thought he would get by with one conversation from Blaine.

Kurt Hummel is selfish, and he needs Blaine Anderson – alive and coherent ­– to wake up again.

“Kurt?” The hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts, and he flinches in surprse. “Whoa, sorry. I just –” his father pauses, sighs a breath before continuing, “He woke up, Kurt; I told you he would.”

Kurt keeps his eyes on the slight rise and fall of Blaine's chest, focuses on the feel of Blaine's ring trapped between their hands. “Yeah. You did. I just –”

“You kept him calm, Kurt,” Carole's soft voice breaks in while Kurt is still searching for words. “I know it probably wasn't what you expected, but you were perfect, Kurt. You said exactly what Blaine needed to hear.”

Kurt stares at his hand still resting over Blaine's, thinks back to the too-short, mostly negligible conversation. “I don't – He only said a few words.”

“But he knew you,” Kurt manages a hint of a smile at his dad's comment, “He's on drugs I can't pronounce but he called you his soulmate; focus on that.”

Kurt nods, briefly tightening his hold on Blaine's hand. “It's hard.”

“Of course it is,” His father's agreement has Kurt turning in surprise, his eyes wide. “What, Kurt, you expectin' to hear something different? Nothin' about this is easy, and you won't hear me saying differently; we're all adults here.”

The moment stops, crystalizing for Kurt. Because for the first time Kurt realizes that his father sees him as an adult, as an equal.

He's not a child anymore.

He's still the son of Burt Hummel, but he's his own person too. And even his father respects that. Kurt wonders what it says about him, that he feels the change now, in Blaine's hospital room, rather than when he moved out to another state and became responsible for his own decisions.

“– woken up we can run home and pick up some things.” His father's comment startles Kurt from his thoughts, even as the words have him tightening his grip on Blaine's hand.

“I'm staying here.” Kurt knows the words are flat, cold, but he's not leaving.

“Kurt –”

“Why don't I stay here with Kurt while you run home,” Carole cuts in, and Kurt feels a flare of gratefulness for his step-mother for her interruption. “I put Kurt's bag in the closet earlier; you can take that home, Burt, and maybe grab us some clean clothes and real coffee, too.”

“Sounds like you have this all figured out.” Kurt hears a touch of irritation in his father's tone, but there's a trace of humor too, and Kurt feels his shoulders slump in relief.  

His father stands moments later, crossing the room and taking Kurt's bag from the small closet before moving out of Kurt's field of vision. He hears murmurs from his dad and Carole, but Kurt keeps his focus on the rise and fall of Blaine's chest.

He stifles a jump at the hand on his shoulder, rocking forward in his seat. “Didn't mean to startle you, Kurt.” Kurt nods before his dad tightens his grip on his shoulder, causing Kurt to turn and meet his gaze. “I'm proud of you; you know that, right? You've been handlin' all this…” Kurt's eyes widen at the words even as his father rubs his free hand across his eyes before offering a small smile. “I'll be back with some coffee, alright?”

“Yeah,” Kurt leans into his dad's one-armed hug for a moment before straightening. “Can you get me an iced coffee?”

“You don't drink coffee,” his dad grumbles, loosening his hold on Kurt's shoulders. “You get some sugar and cream atrocity, but write it down and I'll pick it up on the way back.”

With the coffee order stowed in his pocket, and with Kurt's bag over his shoulder, Kurt offers a half-hearted smile as his father exits, the door quietly clicking shut behind him.

The room is silent again, filled only with the beeps from the monitors and Kurt watches Blaine, hopes – irrationally, he knows – for a sign that Blaine is waking up.

Twenty-two minutes since Blaine last spoke, and Kurt wonders how many more will pass before he can talk with his fiancé again.

-*-*-*-

Outside Blaine's room, Burt stops, leaning against the wall. Blaine woke up, and Burt is grateful, but the relief he knows he should feel remains just out of reach, like a balloon floating further and further away.

Blaine had woken up, but while Kurt had latched onto every word, hadn't looked away from the moment Blaine had opened his eyes, Burt remembers Blaine's stuttered words, and how the kid's voice had faded in and out.

Blaine had woken up, and he'd known Kurt, but Blaine hadn't been fully aware – he hadn't even spoken in full sentences – and Burt allows himself to feel the worry he'd kept to himself when Kurt was in the room.

A particularly loud announcement startles Burt from his reverie, and he shakes his head, physically pushing away the melancholy thoughts. He should follow his own advice: Blaine woke up and he recognized Kurt.

Burt sighs again, takes a moment to rub a hand across his eyes before pushing off the wall, sparing one last glance to where Kurt stays seated at Blaine's bedside before heading down the hall. He nods to Christine as he passes the nurse's station, and moments later he's blinking, the sunlight a harsh contrast to the florescent lighting in the hospital.

He manages two steps before he pauses. The sea of cars stands before him, a menagerie of minivans and trucks and money-saving four-doors, and amongst them, Burt doesn't remember where he parked.

It hadn't been the most important piece of information, at the time.

He thinks back, remembers rushing with Carole –

The sign for the Emergency Room had stood out, a bright, daunting sign cutting through the darkness.

And it had been on the left.

Burt steps off the sidewalk and ignores the flicker of trepidation as he takes in the rows of cars. He decides to give himself five minutes before he sets off his car alarm.

He walks down two rows before the sound of voices makes him stop.

He knows those voices; four steps later, he sees Sam Evans' car parked with the windows rolled down.

“– won't let us see him. It's not right, Sam.”

“I know! I mean, we're Blaine's best friends – we have a right to see him, especially since he got hurt.”

“And if they let Kurt and his parents back we should be allowed there, too.”

“Yeah, but Kurt's almost married to him.”

“Almost. They're not married yet! Kurt's been in New York; we're the ones who have been with Blaine. And now we can't even see him? I think you were right earlier – we should sneak in.”

“Really? Do you think we need costumes, too? I could –”

Burt decides he's heard enough then, and steps past the car separating him from the teens, offering a smile when Tina gasps in surprise.

“There a reason you two are sittin' in the parking lot?”

“Mr. Hummel –”

“We just –”

Their words trip over each other and Burt waits while the teens glance at each other, deciding who should speak.

“We want to see Blaine, Mr. Hummel.”

Burt keeps his expression calm, taking in Tina's harsh expression and shrill voice. He understands the sentiment, even if can't bring himself to agree with it at the moment.

“I get that. But Carole already told you that can't happen – not yet.”

“We're his best friends!” Tina's words echo, the sound bouncing off the surrounding vehicles. “Kurt's his fiancé, fine, but you're not related, Mr. Hummel, and they let you see Blaine; we have just as much of a right to see him as you do!”

Burt takes a moment to just breathe, to remind himself that Tina and Sam are hurting, and dealing with a situation that Burt's having a hard time handling.

And, they're still just kids.

“She didn't mean it like that Mr. Hummel,” Sam rushes to explain, the words slurring together in his haste to speak. “We just really want to see Blaine. He's our best friend and –”

“He's your best friend,” Burt cuts in, leaning forward against the car, “but being your best friend, doesn't that mean you want what's best for him?” Burt waits a moment, ensures he has both Sam and Tina's attention. “What happened – nothing about what's happened is fair, or good, or in any way respectable. You're adults now, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but part of being an adult is realizing that you don't always get your way. You don't always win, and on top of that, sometimes you have to give up something you want that's not what's best for someone you care for. And right now, you seeing Blaine isn't what's best for him.”

“But –”

Burt holds up a hand, halting Tina's protest. “He'll need his friends later, but right now Blaine needs to heal. And Blaine's asleep anyway; he's on some pretty strong meds.”

“It's my fault.”

The words are quiet, startlingly so after her previous outburst and Burt finds himself momentarily without words.

“Tina! Don't say that! Even Mrs. Hudson said –”

“He was dropping off our costumes because I asked him to!”

“So? I lost my favorite hat while picking up your coffee last week – was that your fault too?”

“Losing a hat is not the same –”

“Tina,” Burt keeps his voice even, but forceful, ensuring that he's not interrupted, “what happened to Blaine is no one's fault but the…person who singled him out. It was not your fault. The police are doing all they can,” he ignores the widened eyes he gets in response, “but I don't want to hear you blaming yourself.” When Tina refuses to meet his eyes, Burt continues. “Alright, Tina, Blaine dropped off those costumes at night; are you blamin' him?”

“No! Of course not! How can you –”

“If you can't blame him, you can't blame yourself, either.”

Silence greets him, and Burt leans back and takes in the twin looks of shock before him.

“Please, Mr. Hummel, can't we just see him for a couple minutes?”

Burt sighs. “You're persistent, I'll grant you that. But even if it was up to me – and believe it or not I don't actually control the hospital regulations – seeing Blaine right now isn't an option. I promise you'll be the first to know when that changes, though.” Burt smiles and steps back from the car. “Now I'm sure you two have better places to be than a hospital parking lot; you'll be outta here by the time I get to my truck, right?”

He waits for nods in confirmation before finally stepping away. Kurt's bag is weighing on his shoulder, and he resists the urge to let out a yell of triumph when he finally comes across his truck; two aisles over and three spots down, slightly crooked, if within the lines of its parking space.  

When he drives out of the lot moments later, Sam's car is gone. Burt lets out a slight sigh of relief and heads for the house. The fresh air and change of scenery are welcome, but despite his aversion of hospitals that's where his family is, and he needs to return to them as quickly as possible.

-*-*-*-

Carole watches as Kurt leans forward, his focus solely on the figure on the bed. Absently, Carole wonders if Kurt realizes she's still in the room, if he has awareness extends to anything outside of Blaine.

Moments later Kurt moves, carefully moving aside wires before climbing into the bed again, bending his knees to fit his frame on the bed next to Blaine. He's careful, and once he's settled Carole resists the urge to take a picture; the hospital room is disconcerting, and Blaine's injuries are not something Carole wants to commemorate, but the gentleness of Kurt's hand and the caring – love – evident in his expression has everything Carole could want in a photo.

Carole takes a sip of her now cold coffee as Kurt brushes the bangs off Blaine's forehead.

“He called me his soulmate.” Kurt's words are softly spoken, but they break the lull of beeping monitors nonetheless. Carole wonders if he meant for her to hear them, but almost as if he can hear her doubts Kurt turns just enough to catch her gaze before continuing. “I always tease him that I fell for him first, that he has to catch up, but,” Kurt releases a breath that's a cross between a laugh and a sob and Carole tightens her grip on the chair, “he barely said his own name, but he called me his soulmate.”

“He loves you.”

“And I love him,” a pause, and Carole sees Kurt's hand tighten, “but I don't know that I deserve him.”

“Kurt –”

“He's dealt with so much. Too much, this year, and I haven't even been in the same state for most of it. It took me seven hours just to get here.”

“But you did get here, Kurt, and that's what matters.”

“Is it? Because while this,” Kurt gestures to Blaine with one hand, “while Blaine was getting beaten – while someone attacked him, I was practicing lines. He called me his soulmate, Carole; doesn't that mean something? Shouldn't I have known? Because I didn't. I didn't have a bad feeling, or some sense of trepidation, or some phantom pain. I didn't know anything was going on until my phone kept buzzing.”

Carole stands and crosses the few feet to stand by Blaine's bed, leaning over to pull Kurt into a one-armed hug in spite of his prone position. “I thought you didn't believe in fairy tales, Kurt.”

Beneath her hand, Kurt's shoulder shakes with a huff of laughter. “I don't. Why should I? But Blaine – Blaine called me his soulmate when he couldn't even manage a complete sentence. He cares so much, and I wasn't there, Carole! I wasn't there and I didn't know –”

“When Finn's father died I was at work.” Kurt freezes at her interruption, a statue save for the slight motion of his breathing. “They left a voicemail,” she pauses, offering Kurt's shoulder one last squeeze before straightening, “does that mean I cared for him any less?”

“No!” Kurt's denial is swift, if quiet. “No, of course not.”

“But it does for you?”

“I don't –” Kurt stops midsentence with a sigh and somehow despite already being down she sees Kurt slump. He even looks smaller in response. “Soulmates are supposed to know.”

And suddenly, Carole understands. Kurt Hummel never does anything by halves: Everything from his unique, unusual voice to his tailored clothes – including the kilt he wore to Prom – shows that.

So of course he meets his soulmate at sixteen, she can't fault him. Blaine is everything she could wish for him, and Kurt – he deserves that happiness.

But Kurt Hummel doesn't fall into the norm for anything else, so why should he when it comes to love? If Kurt Hummel has a soulmate, it should fit with the fairy tales and the Reader's Digest stories; he should know when his soulmate is in trouble – even when he's separated by almost six-hundred miles.

Carole releases a small sigh and takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “It doesn't mean you love him any less.”

“He –” Kurt trembles and Carole resists the urge to attempt to gather him up – he's grown too much for that to be possible, anyway. “I should have known.”

“Says who?”

Kurt shrugs in reply. “It doesn't matter, I guess.” He turns, puts one hand back on Blaine's, and his next words have an undercurrent of steel, a conviction Carole knows better than to touch. “I won't leave him again. I can't.”

“I won't try to convince you otherwise,” Carole agrees, even as a small part of her mind remembers tuition rates and the not-yet reached date circled on the kitchen calendar marking the end of Kurt's semester, “but you can't blame yourself for not knowing, Kurt.”

“It just doesn't seem equal; Dr. Olt, all the nurses – everyone kept saying how Blaine is recovering, how I shouldn't expect too much. But he called me soulmate despite all that –”

“So respect that,” Carole keeps her voice firm, but soft, matching Kurt's in volume. “Despite the medication and trauma you're important enough to him that he called you his soulmate. And Kurt, I don't know your definition for soulmates, but you left New York as soon as possible, and you haven't let Blaine out of your sight since. You argued with medical professionals, Kurt; you've fought for Blaine, just as much as he did for you.”

Kurt nods, though his eyes hold a note of skepticism, and Carole makes a mental note to talk to Burt later.

On the bed, Kurt's turned to face Blaine again, and though he can hardly be comfortable, curled as he is, he still looks at Blaine with a hint of wonder mixed with sadness. One hand sill rests on top of Blaine's, though the other has resumed carefully pushing aside Blaine's bangs.

Kurt really is a paradox: his care at the moment is as certain as anyone in a years-long relationship, and yet moments before he had fretted because his storybook definition of soulmate had been in question.

Carole slightly shakes her head as she steps back, stopping when the backs of her knees hit the chair. She pauses for a moment, but Kurt shows no sign of moving, so she reaches back and picks up her purse slips it on her shoulder. “I think I'll go freshen up,” she thinks Kurt nods, but she can't be certain, given the angle, “I'll get some coffee too; your father could be a while.”

There's no response from Kurt, but she hadn't expected one.

She exits the room quietly, catching the door so it shuts with a soft click before blinking in the brighter light of the hallway. The hints of conversations are louder outside of Blaine's room, and Carole suppresses a wince as a woman down the hall gets particularly vocal.

She heads in the opposite direction of the various conversations, passes the nurse's stations and eventually makes her way back to the waiting room that had become far too familiar to her hours ago. She makes it halfway through the room before her phone begins to ring in her purse, making her jump even as she drops her purse on an empty table and digs through its contents, finally unearthing her phone.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Hudson-Hummel?”

Carole doesn't recognize the voice, and the formality gives her pause; she doesn't have time for telemarketers today.

“Yes; who is this?”

“I –” There's a pause, and Carole hears static before the connection clicks back, “– Blaine's mother; you left me a message?”

Carole freezes. She'd imagined this conversation earlier, gone through scenarios in her head when she and Burt had been waiting for news on Blaine. Had alternated between feeling sympathy for the woman and wanting to scream at her for her lack of maternal care.

But now, with the woman on the other end of the call, Carole finds herself at a loss for words.

She releases a breath and gathers her thoughts. “I did. I –”

“How is Blaine?”

In her mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Kurt questions now you care? and it takes her a moment to push the thought aside and muster a placid tone. “He's stable.”

If the comment holds a touch of judgement, well, Carole has an audience of one.

“So he's okay.”

It's not a question, and Carole takes a deep breath, forces herself to loosen her grip on her phone.  “Technically, yes. But he's still listed as serious; he had surgery last night. I don't think he'd had it when I left my message…” Carole lets the sentence trail off, winces when she gets another burst of static on the line.

“– sorry, even in port the service isn't the best. But it sounds like Blaine's doing alright?” Carole takes the question as rhetorical, and waits, imagines Kurt listening in on the conversation to pass the seemingly endless seconds before Blaine's mother continues. “It's just, the cruise lasts another two days, and I can't get a flight before then. Not that I'd trust a flight from any of the islands' airports, anyway. But you're there, and Blaine's okay.”

Carole bites back the urge to scream. It's already been over a day, what's a few more? Carole can practically see Kurt's eye roll. “We'll be here; I don't think Kurt will even step outside Blaine's room.”

“Oh!” Carole winces as static cuts in, “– done for the summer already?”

“He flew in early this morning,” Carole answers, keeping the unlike you unvoiced. “But yes, we'll stay with Blaine.”

“– him sleeping? The last time he was in the hospital he didn't even know when I was there, he was asleep so much. But thank you, for watching him. I'm almost out of time on my phone card, though, so I'm going to have to let you go.”

“I guess I'll see you in a few days then.”

“I'll let you know when I land.”

She's gone a moment later, the screen on Carole's phone darkening in response. She carefully puts the phone back in her purse, valiantly resisting the urge to throw it against the nearest wall.

She remembers a conversation with Burt, how he commented that if he ever started to empathize with Blaine's father that Carole had carte blanche because it meant he had lost his mind.

It had been a joke, a respite from the stress of a draining day. And yet, having now spoken to Blaine's mother, Carole has a new appreciation for Burt's fear.

Blaine is in the hospital – he was attacked – and his mother was seemingly satisfied with a phone call. If she ever got a call about Kurt, if anything ever happened, she – and Burt, that went without question – would be demanding to know every piece of information.

And they certainly wouldn't finish a vacation.

Carole steps back, taking a seat and sighing when she remembers how uncomfortable the chairs are, shifting before finally resting her hands on her knees.

She'd gotten the call for Finn too late for it make a difference in her chance to say goodbye, but she'd still left the house sans makeup and Burt had been the one to grab her purse. That day remains fuzzy, a blur, Burt's hand the only solid thing, a constant pressure by her side.

Carole raises her fingers, watches her knuckles regain color even as the ache in them fades. 

She stands then, gathering her purse and heading for the restroom; she wants to get back to Blaine's room – check in on the boys. She just needs to freshen up and grab some coffee first.