Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 31

Three days and Kurt still finds Blaine too still when he sleeps. He knows it's the medication, but the small part of him grateful for the knowledge that Blaine is without pain is eclipsed by the strangeness of Blaine being still.

His chest moves with each breath, but his hands don't twitch, his head doesn't turn, his arms don't pull Kurt close as he dreams.

Blaine just breathes.

Kurt counts the breaths.

It's soothing, in a way. He counts as he waits for Christine to return – she'd promised a new warmed blanket after taking Blaine's vitals.

Kurt assumes she got waylaid as his counting crosses into the triple digits.

He stops counting when the door opens, offering an absent wave to Christine as she enters. “Sorry that took longer than planned. Here,” she says as she passes him a heated blanket, “I'm guessing you're still chilled?”

Kurt nods, “A bit.” he drapes the blanket over his shoulders like a shawl, “Thanks.”

“Heated blankets are one of the few perks hospitals have; I think it's a way of subtly apologizing for the low temperature.” Christine nods toward where Blaine continues to sleep in the bed. “It's still early, Kurt, and I know you're tired. Why don't you take a nap until your parents get here.”

Kurt looks to the floor. “I can't sleep,” he keeps the words soft, “not for more than a few hours, anyway.”

“I could ask the doctor on call to write you a script – you'd have to have a quick exam – but –”

“No!” Kurt's hurried interruption sounds too loud in the small space, and he looks up, “Sorry. I just – I don't want to be medicated.”

“Okay,” Christine smiles, seemingly uncaring of Kurt's sharp refusal, “That's fine.” She moves and sits on the stool by the room's computer. “So why can't you sleep, Kurt? It's kind of an important.”

“Don't you have patients you're supposed to checking?” Kurt winces, offers a slight smile in apology. Sorry, I –” Kurt sighs, “That came out wrong; I'm sorry.”

Christine laughs. “Don't worry about it, Kurt. That's hardly the worst I've heard, and I actually just finished checking on my patients; I've got a few minutes, unless I'm called. Now,” she leans forward, “why can't you sleep?”

Kurt looks to Blaine. “Isn't it obvious?”

“Maybe, but I've been a nurse for almost thirty years. So,” Christine glances to Blaine's monitors before looking back to Kurt, “what's really bothering you?”

“Blaine doesn't sleep on his back,” he starts, gesturing to the bed. “He – he sleeps on his side, and he's never this still. Really. He jumps on tables and dances down the stairs and taps out beats while singing to the radio. This,” Kurt glances back to Blaine, “it's just wrong.”

“Believe it or not,” Christine begins, “he's doing better. But it's only been a few days, Kurt. His injuries – it will take him a while to heal.”

“I know,” Kurt murmurs, looking to Blaine. “I know that. In my head, I know. But I was running lines when I got the call; I didn't know. And now I just keep thinking about what it must have been like – he was alone and it took me seven hours to get to him.”

“And you haven't left him since,” Christine offers Kurt a smile, “He's not alone now, Kurt.”

“But he was,” Kurt counters, “he was attacked and left –”

“And now you can't sleep,” Christine finishes.

“No,” Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand. “I can't.”

“You can.” Kurt tightens his hold on Blaine at her comment.  “Kurt, look at me.” She continues once Kurt meets her eyes. “You didn't betray him.”

“I –”

“You're here and have given Blaine one of the best support systems I've seen.” She smiles and rests a hand on Kurt's shoulder. “He feels safe with you; and you both are safe here.” Christine moves and sits beside him on the bed, wraps the red throw from his parents' living room around his shoulders.

“What –”

“Sleep, okay? I expect to see you and Blaine curled up and dreaming when I come back in two hours.”  She stands before Kurt can think of a reply, makes it to the door before pausing. “I already told you I don't mind; don't tell me I'm breakin' the rules for no reason.”

A smile and she's gone, shutting off the dim light and leaving Kurt staring at the door.

“You know,” Kurt comments as he carefully climbs onto the bed, “we should start a quote book, for advice from Dad and the other too-smart, well-meaning adults in our lives.”

Kurt settles along Blaine's side, maneuvering the blanket until it's evenly spread across them both and rests his head inches away from his fiancé.

Blaine breathes.

Kurt counts the breaths until his eyes close.

*-*-*-*

Burt hesitates outside Blaine's door, sighing.

“Burt?”

He turns at Carole's question, “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Her hand on his shoulder has him briefly closing his eyes. “You seem a bit tense.”

“Have you heard from his mother again?” Burt questions instead, ignoring his growing frustration and glancing to the door – inside, Kurt appears to be animatedly telling a story, given the hand gestures.

“Not since the other day.” Carole comments in a clipped tone, “Why?”

Burt can practically hear Kurt's ‘of course she hasn't called back' and he lets out a breath, taking a moment to relax the hand at his side. “With everything –” Burt pauses, pushes down the anger. “When we were at home and Blaine was watchin' tv or up in his room…I could forget why he was staying with us. But with Kurt tellin' us about what it was like for Blaine –”

Burt stops, finds himself remembering being at the store with Kurt's mother years before. A couple at the end of the aisle had been arguing, their ignored toddler crying in response. He still remembers his wife's look of anger and hissed ‘Some people just aren't meant to be parents.'

Carole tightens her grip on Burt's shoulder, telling him to relax and to focus on the present – and Burt leans back, remembers placing a hand on his then-wife's pregnant stomach with a smile: Some people aren't meant for parenthood, but some are.

“Alright,” Burt turns, offers Carole a smile.

In the room moments later, the tension in Burt's shoulder lightens as his son offers a wave and Burt blinks in his direction.

Kurt's shirt has more wrinkles than Burt's used to seeing, and while it's obvious Kurt's made use of the of the shower in Blaine's bathroom, Burt sees the traces of exhaustion around Kurt's eyes.

“You boys feelin' okay?”

Blaine manages a weak nod and Burt ducks his head to hide his smile at Kurt's narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure, Blaine?” Carole questions, “There's no need for you to pretend.”

Blaine hesitates and Burt steps forward, moving to stand next to the bed. “Blaine?”

“–‘m okay. Really,” Blaine looks down briefly before turning to face Burt. “Mr. Hummel? How are things at the shop?”

The blatant change in topic has Burt leaning back in surprise, but then he takes in Blaine's hopeful expression and can't help but offer a smile in response. “According to Jim things are fine.” He glances to Kurt as an idea forms, “Unlike when Kurt was helpin' out when he was ten.”

“Dad!” At Kurt's shout of indignation Burt laughs, glad to see Kurt's cheeks red from embarrassment rather than tears.

“What?” Burt chances a look to Blaine and gives a smile. “It's a good story!” He ignores Kurt's mumbled ‘it's certainly not' and continues. “Anyway, Kurt was helpin' out in the office, organizing papers or something while I was out in the garage. By the time I got back to him he'd snuck out to the parking lot and was attemptin' an oil change on the truck. By himself.” Burt pauses, glances over to see Kurt with his head down, seemingly entranced at the sight of his and Blaine's joined hands resting on the bed. “Apparently some of his…classmates had said that a boy with his taste couldn't possibly know how to fix a car, even if he had a mechanic for a father. Well,” Burt steps forward, drops a hand to rest on Blaine's blanket-covered leg, “I get outside and Kurt's managed to get oil all over the engine and disconnected half the sparkplugs.”

“I'd only ever watched you.” Kurt mumbles, “At least I got the hood up.”

“Right,” Burt agrees. “I still don't know how you managed that; you were barely tall enough to be lookin' at the engine – you're lucky the hood didn't fall and crush your hand. Anyway, I get outside and as soon as he sees me Kurt starts crying, afraid I'm gonna ground him forever.”

“Obviously you didn't,” Carole comments from beside him, “although most ten-year-olds seem to think any punishment lasts for an eternity.”

“I didn't ground him at all,” Burt counters. “Didn't seem right to. I let him watch as I fixed up the engine – he even put on a spark plug – and then I taught him how to change the oil.” Burt looks up and catches Blaine's slightly hazed gaze. “No-one makes a member of this family feel insecure. The next week I convinced Kurt's teacher the kids needed a field trip, and Kurt changed the oil in front of his whole class as part of the demonstration.”

“Please tell me there are pictures I somehow missed,” Carole murmurs, “Kurt must have been adorable.”

“No pictures!” Kurt hurries to answer, “Dad got rid of them.”

Burt meets Carole's eyes and subtly shakes his head; there's a reason he keeps his personal photo album in the end table in his room.

Carole smiles but turns to Kurt. “I'm sure you were adorable, regardless.”

Blaine nods, and Burt silently laughs when Kurt counters with an annoyed look. “And here I thought you'd be on my side.”

“– always…your side,” Blaine murmurs.

Kurt smiles and drops a kiss to Blaine's cheek, and Burt can't help but smile. “He may be on your side Kurt, but I'm sure he won't say ‘no' to more stories.”

“More?” Kurt sounds scandalized, “You wouldn't.”

“– like stories about you,” Blaine mumbles, speech slurred but honest.

“You're supposed to be resting,” Kurt responds with a tight smile, “and it's almost time for your meds.”

As if on cue, the door opens and Christine walks in; Burt laughs.

“Do I want to know?” The question carries and Burt turns, facing the amused nurse.

“Apparently Kurt's psychic,” Burt comments with a smile. “Knows when you're coming before you even open the door.”

Christine smiles, and Burt resists the urge to offer a handshake. “Sure you haven't just memorized my schedule, Kurt?” Kurt ducks his head, but Burt sees the blush. “Anyway,” Christine continues. “You're due for some meds, Blaine. How are you feeling, on a scale of one to ten?”

Burt stays still as Christine moves forward, keeps his eyes on her even as he focuses on Blaine's responses, holding back a laugh when Kurt's not-so-subtle glare has Blaine changing his pain rating.

Burt watches as Kurt takes Blaine's hand, leans down and whispers in Blaine's ear as Christine adjusts Blaine's gown to move bandages, looking over the stitches and incisions.

Burt clenches his hands.

By the time she steps out to get the medication Kurt's looking more angry than annoyed, and Burt silently wishes Christine speed.

Blaine winces and Kurt's on the bed moments later (the practiced move and adjustments for wires have Burt worrying – and angered – at the familiarity even as he stifles a smile at the end result) and then Kurt settles with Blaine's head in his lap. “I thought I told you to not lie to the nurses.” Kurt mutters, “You don't have to downplay your pain.”

“Go easy on him, Kurt.” Burt comments, “Nobody likes talkin' about pain.”

“Meds make my head fuzzy,” Blaine mumbles.

“Meds help you,” Kurt counters in a clipped voice. “That's worth the dizziness.”

Blaine pouts – a feat given stitches in his lip and brows, not to mention the black eye hindering his movement – and moments later Burt's joining in Carole and Kurt's laughter.

“Just let them take care you kid,” Burt adds once he has his laughter under control, “and while you do that Carole and I are gonna get some lunch. Kurt,” he turns to face his son. “You comin' with us or should we pick out something for you?”

“Whatever is fine,” Kurt answers. “I was going to practice for my Voice final anyway.”

“We'll get you something,” Carole comments before Burt manages to reply, and at her glare he stays silent, letting her take the lead. “Any requests, Kurt?”

Five minutes later Burt's in the elevator with Carole. “There a reason you didn't want me askin' Kurt about his plans?”

“I know you Burt Hummel; you were going to try and get Kurt to join us.”

“I –”

“You were going to try and sweet-talk him into coming with us, and he would have resented you. He wants to sing anyway. So I decided to skip the inevitable argument.”

Burt laughs.

-*-*-*-

“Any requests for my warm up?” Kurt asks as he cards his fingers through Blaine's hair. “Nothing from La Boheme though; if I hear one more piece from that opera I may scream.”

“Can't have that,” Blaine whispers, “no screaming.”

“Generally that is frowned upon,” Kurt agrees.

Blaine hums in agreement before settling more in Kurt's lap. “You pick.” Blaine clenches Kurt's hand. “Just sing.”

And Kurt does.

He makes it to the first chorus before the door opens, and he finishes the line as Christine moves to the computer. “You don't have to stop on my account,” Christine comments. “I don't usually get to hear live music in the hospital.”

“Thanks,” Kurt murmurs, “but I was just warming up; I have to Skype my instructor later.”

Christine nods as she moves closer to Blaine, double checking his pain level and offering Kurt a smile. “Well I think you deserve an A, Kurt. You have a beautiful voice.”

“Let's hope my professor agrees.” Kurt adds as Christine moves aside Blaine's blankets, “He gave me a ‘B' on my last assignment.”

“That doesn't seem right, does it? Now Blaine,” she comments as she adds the medication to Blaine's IV, “just let that medicine do its job; I bet Kurt'll even sing you to sleep.”

“The best songs,” Kurt agrees, “and then if you're still up I'll fill you in on all the latest New York gossip.”

“In that case I'm sorry I have other patients,” Christine adds as she strips off her gloves, “that sounds like more fun than I'll get to have.”

“You'll just have to come back and visit,” Kurt teases, “that way you can get all the gossip from your favorite visitor.”

“My favorite?” Christine comments from the door, “Nurses don't have favorites, Kurt.”

She's gone before Kurt can reply, but he leans toward Blaine's ear. “Don't worry, Blaine. We're definitely her favorite.”

“You promised…singing,” Blaine mumbles. “Finish your song?”

“I suppose,” Kurt sighs, keeping his voice light. “And since you asked I'll even start from the beginning and keep the changed pronouns.”

Kurt closes his eyes as he sings, focuses on Blaine's breaths and keeping his voice smooth as his voice rises and falls with the notes. He opens his eyes when he finishes, but a glance shows Blaine still awake. “That was ‘mazing.” Blaine comments looking up with bleary eyes, “You win.”

“Oh?” Kurt recognizes the slightly slurred speech and slow blinks. “What do I win, Blaine?”

“You won th'showcase,” Blaine mumbles, “already won.”

“I think I won when you proposed,” Kurt counters, “but you're not wrong, Blaine.”

“Love you.” Blaine smiles.

“I love you, too.” Kurt loosely hugs Blaine's shoulders. “Now, do you want another song or the latest gossip?”

Blaine breathes and just before Kurt thinks he's fallen asleep he finally answers. “Gossip,” he whispers, “sing later.”

“Okay, let's see,” Kurt drops a kiss to Blaine's hair, “I called Dani yesterday. She didn't have much gossip to share, but Santana texted later. Apparently Dani and Elliott have been competing for the most difficult guitar solo, so she's been hearing runs and variations of songs by CCR.”

Kurt keeps talking, sharing second-hand stories about the diner and Dani's more interesting customers until Blaine slumps against him, finally asleep. Kurt carefully slides down the bed until he's beside Blaine, and adjusts the blankets.

Hospitals are horrible for sleeping, but they're not bad for naps.

-*-*-*-

“So Kurt,” Burt leans forward in his chair, “You mentioned a final?”

“Yeah,” Kurt looks over, “Voice I – my professor is letting me sing over Skype. He even said if the connection isn't the best I can send a recording, later.”

“That's nice of him,” Carole adds with a smile, “What are you singing?”

Kurt sighs. “I have a portion of Che Gelida Manina and I'll get an email with something to sight-read, later.”

The song isn't something Burt recognizes, but Blaine's eyes have gone wide and he's leaning forward – in spite of the stitches – combined with the foreign title Burt assumes the song is challenging. “Sounds difficult,” Burt replies, “but I'm sure you'll wow that professor.”

“I'll –” The knock at the door stops Kurt from finishing his sentence and seconds later the door opens.

“Officer Randall!” Carole comments, voice a touch too high, “Did – did you need us something?”

“We just spoke with Dr. Olt,” Officer Randall answers as he steps into the room, Officer Daniels a step behind. “She said Blaine was doing well enough for us to talk.”

“Did you find something?” Kurt's question has Burt stepping forward, stopping at the railing on the right side of Blaine's bed and taking Carole's hand.

“Blaine,” Officer Randall asks, ignoring Kurt's question, “I have your statement from the other day. I'm going to play it back for you and I need you to tell me if you have any changes, okay?”

At Blaine's nod the officer produces a recorder from his pocket, and moments later Blaine's cracked monotone fills the room. Beside him, Carole stifles a gasp behind her free hand, and Burt clenches his jaw as he listens to Blaine's fragmented sentences between lengthy pauses. A glance shows Blaine staring at his and Kurt's joined hands, and Kurt glaring at the recorder.

Burt resists the urge to take the recorder and throw it against the wall to end the retelling, hates that he wasn't in the room for the initial statement.

It's too much: too strained, too painful.

Too horrific.

And Kurt, his son who shies away from colorful Halloween masks and loathes all things horror, is now hearing the nightmare for the second time.

A nightmare years old.

Finally the recording ends and Burt lets out a breath he'd forgotten he was holding. Still, silence blankets the room until Officer Randall asks Blaine if he would like to add anything to the statement.

Blaine's whispered ‘no' has Officer Randall pocketing the device and briefly meeting Burt's gaze before turning back to Blaine.

“Blaine,” Burt wants to stay silent, wants to stay balanced on the precipice of knowledge, but he has to know. “I believe you,” Burt sighs, “no one should have to remember that. But that recording – that sounded similar to what you've told me before. Are you sure that's what happened this time?”

The officers stay silent, and Burt forces himself to keep looking at Blaine.

“–s what I remember,” Blaine replies, determinedly staring at the blanket.

And Burt hates that his family had to listen to the details of crime that may already be cold, hates that Blaine has enough pain to merge memories, and that he may have hindered the investigation by trying to help – wonders what it says that a small, silent part of him wishes Blaine's story happened days ago rather than years.

“Okay. Well, we got the security recordings from every building in the area,” Officer Randall begins, shaking Burt from his thoughts, “and then we looked over what we had.” He pauses and Burt resists the urge to yell for him to hurry up. “Based on what Blaine told us, we had a rough idea of what to look for.” He pauses again, shifting a little on his feet before he turns and Burt watches as the officer determinedly meets Blaine's eyes. “Blaine, we have a couple pictures for you to look at, okay?”

Burt's breath catches. Because if the police have something for Blaine, then there's the possibility there's evidence. Hard, indisputable evidence outside of Blaine's memory –

“O-okay.” Blaine's voice cracks and Carole's grip threatens to cut off the circulation to Burt's hand; across from him Kurt has a white-knuckled grip on the bed rail.

“Do either of these trucks look familiar?” Burt looks at the pictures placed on top of the familiar throw from his living room: Both older model forest green pickups, full of angles and worn and slightly blurry on the page.

“Left. The left one.” Blaine's whisper has Carole bringing her free hand to her mouth, and Burt fights the urge to yell.

“Thank you, Blaine.” Officer Randall picks up the photos, and behind him Burt sees Officer Daniels flipping through a notebook before showing it to his partner. “Blaine,” he comments as he turns back, “That truck's registered to a Stephen –”

To Burt's left, a monitor starts beeping with alarming frequency.

Kurt has pulled Blaine into some kind of one-armed hug, whispering words Burt can't make out while Officer Randall seems frozen a foot from Blaine's bed.

Burt stares at the picture dangling from the officer's hand –

“Green trucks are pretty common…”

“I keep seeing the cars, Mr. Hummel.”

Bile rises in Burt's throat.

The monitor still beeps beside him and Burt glances to his left before turning back when the door opens and Christine enters, face tight despite the smile. “Blaine, if you wanted to see me all you had to do was press a button; setting off alarms is just lazy. Officers,” she pulls on a pair of gloves and shoots them a glance, “You're not upsetting my patient, are you? Don't worry,” she adds when it looks like Officer Randall is about to answer, “I'm sure you didn't mean to do whatever it was.”

Burt suddenly remembers all the medical dramas where nurses are the ones in charge.

“Blaine's –”

“Blaine's going to talk with me while all of you wait in the hall,” Christine interrupts Kurt and looks to the door, “it shouldn't take long.”

“I can –”

“You can join everyone in the hall, Kurt.” Despite her words, Christine's tone stays gentle, and Burt releases a breath when Kurt leans down to murmur in Blaine's ear rather than argue.

Burt follows Carole and the officers from the room – Kurt exiting last – and he reaches for Carole's hand when the door shuts, leaving the monitor inaudible.

Across from him, Officer Daniels appears to be showing his partner something in his notes.

Kurt stands next to the door, glancing from Blaine's room to the officers.

“He'll be fine, Kurt,” Burt adds with a nod toward the room, “Christine's good at her job; you know that.”

Kurt hums a weak agreement.

“Kurt, your dad's right. I'm sure Christine –”

“It's not that,” Kurt mutters, glancing to the officers.

“Are we missin' something, Kurt?” Burt takes a step forward, waits for Kurt to meet his gaze. “You seem anxious. And I get the feeling it's not just because we were asked to wait out here.”

Kurt sighs. “No. I don't…It's not –” Kurt stops midsentence with a hiss of frustration, and Burt looks to Carole.

Kurt isn't one to struggle with words; he's always known precisely what he means – and he's shared those views since he was four.

“Kurt?”

“The truck,” Kurt mutters with a weak wave toward the photos Officer Randall still holds, “it looked familiar, somehow.”

Burt remembers conversations over coffee, Blaine's harsh worry after a misstep, the whispered words after nightmare. “I'm sure Blaine talked to you more than he did to us, Kurt, and I could picture the thing pretty well after hearin' from him. You just have a picture to go with it, now.”

Kurt shakes his head. “No…that's not it.” Kurt looks to the officers again before dropping his gaze, looking instead to where he's begun to twist his engagement ring; Burt resists the urge to tell him to stop, looks to the officers even as Kurt seems to tire and reaches for his phone instead.

“I was thinking we could get tacos for dinner,” Carole comments from beside him, “take a break from sandwiches.”

“Sure,” Burt agrees as he keeps his eyes on the officers, “that sounds –”

“Oh my God.” Kurt's exclamation has Burt turning, and he's dropping Carole's hand and crossing the few steps moments later as he registers Kurt's wide eyes and shaking hand.

“Kurt?” Burt drops a hand to Kurt's shoulder. “You okay?”

“I knew it was familiar,” Kurt murmurs, words tripping together in his haste, “I knew it wasn't just because of Blaine's calls. I'd seen it, somewhere. I knew –”

“Kurt slow down,” Burt briefly tights his grip on Kurt's shoulder, only relaxing when Kurt – finally – looks up and meets his gaze. “What's goin' on?”

In answer, Kurt hands over his phone.

It takes a moment for Burt to recognize what he's seeing. For him to connect Kurt's reaction with the display:

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] And it's just muggy here – can you send some of the rain?

Burt recognizes the parking lot in front of his shop, sees his tow truck off to the side. It takes a moment, but then he sees it –

At the edge of the frame, parked near the end of the lot and close to road, a familiar green pickup –

“…I thought I saw his – um Steve's – truck at the mall a couple of weeks ago.”

“Blaine said he saw a truck at the gas station, Dad. He sounded worried…”

“I keep seeing the cars, Mr. Hummel.”

“…There was a dark haired waiter, and then – then I saw a truck and I messed up.”

“There were some…cars, and I thought I heard Steve and Mitch at the mall…and I got a little freaked out.” –

Burt hands the phone to Carole before he breaks it, clenches his hands until his blunt nails dig into his palms.

“Officer Randall!” The officer startles at Burt's call and he knows the man doesn't deserve his anger, but Burt can't bring himself to care.

“Yes?” He stops in front of Burt, and were the circumstances different Burt would have laughed at causing an officer to look tense.

“Kurt found…” Burt sighs, starts again. “Blaine sent Kurt a text on Friday. That truck,” Burt spits the word because it had been near his garage, “looks like it was sittin' in my parking lot.”

Carole wordlessly passes the phone.

“Okay,” Officer Randall says after a moment, looking up from the picture. “I'm going to need to take this for evidence, have the picture enhanced –”

“Take Blaine's phone,” Kurt interrupts, voice clipped but quiet, “it'll have the original.”

“It's broken,” Carole counters, looking apologetic, “won't even turn on. I think it got damaged when Blaine…It hasn't worked since Friday.”

“We'll get the techs to look it over,” Officer Randall states, “they should be able to get what we need off it.”

“They're good,” Officer Daniels adds with a small smile.

“Of course.” Carole's already digging through her purse, producing the cracked phone moments later and handing it to Officer Daniels, who promptly drops it into a clear evidence bag.

“You should keep your message too,” Officer Randall comments to Kurt as his partner writes on the bag. “Just in case we need it.”

“I already locked the message,” Kurt answers, “and I sent a copy to my email, too.”

“Looks like you have us covered then.” Kurt doesn't respond to the comment or accompanying smile, continuing to stare at his phone rather than the officer.

“You'll keep us updated,” Burt states, “let us know if there's anything else you need?”

“I'm sure we'll be seeing you again soon,” Officer Randall confirms with a nod. “Seems like we're done for now, though. If there's nothing else, we'll head back to the station.”

A round of handshakes and then Burt's left with his family and strained silence. Carole musters a wan smile when he looks to her, but Kurt's still intent on his phone, his hands the only movement.

The moment holds; anger keeps Burt silent. He wants to rage, to shout at the audacity of someone to violate the safety of his home. He wants to drive until he finds the green truck, wants to use his knowledge of engines to break it until it's nothing more than scrap metal.

But he can't.

So he slowly unclenches his fists, shaking them to restore the circulation.

“Kurt?” Carole's question gives him pause and he watches as Kurt slowly, reluctantly, looks up from his phone. “Why don't we go sit in the waiting room; Christine might still be a while, and I'm sure she'll get us when we can go back in.”

Burt feels some of the tension ease when Kurt nods, and he flashes his wife a half-smile as they make their way down the hall. The waiting room remains just as bland as before, but he sinks into the chair with a sigh.

“Blaine doin' alright?” By the time Christine appears Burt's able to ask the question without the undercurrent of anger, although a glance shows Kurt staring at the floor.

“He's drowsy; I gave him something to help him calm down.”

Burt nods, moving to stand before offering Carole a hand. “I'll have to ask him about his ‘super-secret wedding plans' then,” Burt comments with a smile. “Blaine's always the most honest – and hilarious – when he's tired.”

“I can't even criticize you,” Christine adds, “anything ‘super-secret' has me intrigued.”

“Blaine's quite the expert planner,” Carole agrees. “You should ask Kurt about the proposal.”

Burt turns when Kurt doesn't comment, stops when he sees Kurt still sitting, apparently in no rush to get back to Blaine's room.

“Kurt?”

Finally, he looks up from the floor. “Sorry,” he shrugs, “I just need a minute – might grab some coffee. I'll meet you there.”

“You better,” Christine replies, “now I want to know about this proposal.”

“I'll tell you all about it,” Kurt affirms, “complete with pictures.” The smile seems brittle to Burt, but he accepts it with a nod regardless.

Kurt asked for a minute – Burt's not about to deny him.

_*_*_*_

Kurt startles when the doors to the ICU close with a clack! – the sound seemingly louder on this side. Still, he can't bring himself to move; not yet.

(Sixteen minutes).

He needs to see Blaine – needs to count his breaths and see him calm after the harsh breaths and frightened look from before – but he refuses to go into Blaine's room when he can't give his fiancé all of his attention.

And all he can think of right now is that truck, so he stays.

He closes his eyes, tries to remember his response to every tense phone call and whispered nightmare.

Had he questioned what Blaine saw?

Logically, Kurt knows Blaine can't have been followed at school. Or in Los Angeles. And his dad and Carole would have seen a truck hanging around the house.

But the other times – how many were there? – had Kurt casually dismissed Blaine's fear? Blaine had already worried he was going crazy, and for all of Kurt's assurances he hadn't voiced the possibility of Blaine having seen the same truck (or car), either.

It seemed impossible.

And while Kurt hadn't been the one to point out the parallels of Blaine's story, he still remembers Blaine's tense features, his fear as obvious as of a reminder as the nasal cannula and beeping monitor –

“Do you think – what if I got it wrong?”

He hadn't assured Blaine he was right. Blaine had doubted himself, and Kurt had offered soft words rather than support for Blaine's memory.

And now he has proof – in a text about the weather of all things – but still, actual proof that the horror from Blaine's past had been at his dad's garage.

Where else had past demons haunted his fiancé?

Kurt unlocks his phone, pointedly scrolls through screens-worth of texts from Blaine, searching.

Because if there's one piece of evidence, maybe, maybe there's two.

He missed the signs before – he refuses to allow it to happen again. He already has ‘Deep Jewel Green' ingrained in his mind (and any items even close to the color have been added to is “Not to Wear” list) but as he reads through old complaints and flirtations his initial determination wars with anger.

Nothing stands out.

Nothing to help eviscerate his target, anyway.

Kurt tightens his hold on his phone and keeps scrolling.

“Kurt!” The near-shout has him jerking forward in his chair, his legs twitching with the effort of keeping him seated.

Sam and Tina take the chairs previously occupied by his parents, and Kurt futilely wishes for the former occupants, rather than the current.

A blink shows his wish unanswered.

Of course.

“Hi.” Kurt stifles a sigh and glances back to his phone.

(Eighteen minutes).

“That's it?” Tina questions, voice almost shrill despite its lack of volume. “We see you for the first time in months in the hospital because Blaine was attacked by someone and you just say ‘hi'?”

“Tina –”

“No,” she continues, ignoring Sam's interruption. “We deserve more than a barely there greeting from you, Kurt. Mr. Schue only told us that Blaine's recovering; we don't even know how hurt he is, since apparently only family is allowed to see him! And we're his family too, Kurt. Glee Club is part of his family; we're the ones who have seen him – spent every day with him – while you've been in New York!”

Kurt lets out a breath and sets his phone in his lap, starts spinning his ring: ‘One. Two. Three…'

“Dude,” Sam leans over with a smile. “We just want to see him, you know? I'm sure he wouldn't mind seeing his friends.” A pause, and his voice loses a touch of its warmth. “And Tina's right too – I mean, Glee Club's family.”

“Just tell the nurse we're with you so we can see him.”

(Twenty-one minutes).

“No,” Kurt holds up a hand to stall Tina's response. “I don't know if you've noticed, but this is the waiting room for the ICU. It doesn't actually work that way. I can't just –”

“Sure you can,” Sam interrupts, “just say we're some out of town cousins.”

“I can't just get you approval,” Kurt finishes. “It's not like getting back stage passes.”

“You could add us to the list, or paper – whatever it is.” Tina comments in a voice that reminds Kurt of Mr. Schue's almost-wedding. “You just won't.”

“No,” Kurt agrees, “I won't.”

“What –”

“How dare you,” Tina hisses, leaning forward so her knees touch Kurt's, “We have just as much of a right to see Blaine as you –”

“You don't, actually.” Kurt holds out his hand so his ring reflects the awful florescent lighting. “I'm Blaine's fiancé! Hummel is the name of his emergency contact,” he continues, letting his former classmates infer what they will. “We're planning our future together – we're just going through the ‘for worse' part a little early! He's my soulmate, Tina, the love of my life. So I think I have a bit more of a right to be here than you do!”

“You've been in another state!” Tina counters, “We're the ones who've seen him – helped him – every day –”

Kurt laughs.

“You've helped him?” Kurt hears the slight hysteria in his question, but he continues anyway. “You think – You have no idea, neither of you. You think you've been there for him? I'm the one he calls when he can't breathe. When he wakes from a nightmare and our playlist isn't enough. Did you know that after his misstep at that performance for the hospital volunteers he ran through every step of the routine for hours? He had a panic attack after Nationals and not a single one of you noticed!”

Tina's leaned back, mouth open in shock, seemingly lost for words. Beside her, Sam's gone tense.

He feels a hint of sympathy for them; they really hadn't known.

“Kurt –”

He shakes his head and stands, shoving his phone in his pocket. “No. I get that you want to see him.” He takes a step away before looking back. “Tina, I guarantee you that what happened wasn't your fault.  It wasn't. And Sam? You've been a good friend. But you both want to see him for yourselves. You want to see him so you can feel better, and that's not what's important right now. Blaine's in the ICU and still regularly taking narcotics. Do you really think for one second that I care at all about what you want right now? The nurses and the doctors and the law are all saying that right now Blaine's company should be limited to family so he can have the best possible recovery. I won't do anything to jeopardize that – especially something so petty as to soothe your egos or make you feel better. Just…go home, or back to McKinley. Dad and Carole are keeping Mr. Schue updated; I'm sure he'll tell you as soon as Blaine's up for seeing friends.”

He picks up the phone by the locked doors and he's barely given his name before they click open. He doesn't look back as he crosses the short distance and steps through, focuses on matching his breathing with his steps.

He was right through: the doors shutting isn't nearly as unsettling from this side.

_*_*_*_

Carole ducks her head to hide her smile as Blaine whispers about reenacting Teenage Dream – at least that's what she gathers amid the slurred and fragmented sentences.

“Your husband was right,” Christine comments from beside her. “He certainly has no secrets right now.”

Blaine's imparting the importance of roses to Burt.

“Normally I'd feel guilty,” Carole reaches out to smooth the blanket covering Blaine's legs, “but at least this way I won't be so surprised I drop the camera.”

“You'll have to send me a copy,” Christine comments as she steps back to the computer. “But now that I know the ‘super-secret plan' I should really get back to doing what earns me my paycheck.”

A few gentle questions – which Blaine answer through barely-there nods and sparse words – and then she's gone. Carole stares at the door for a moment, the contrast from the last time the door closed reminding her how unsettling hospitals can be.

“– sure Kurt'll be back soon, kid.” She startles out of her thoughts at Burt's comment, catches his eye over Blaine's bed.

Blaine's still valiantly fighting to stay awake, although his increasingly slow blinks and pauses show a losing battle.

“Why don't you get some sleep, Blaine,” she adds while pulling the blanket up to cover his sling-covered arm. “Kurt will be here when you wake up, I'm sure.”

For a moment, Carole's sure Blaine's going to refuse, but then his eyes close, and she releases a sigh before sitting back in her chair.

“He wanted to show me Kurt's ring,” Burt murmurs in a tone Carole doesn't recognize, “that's why he asked about Kurt. Blaine seemed proud he'd picked it out himself.”

“It suits him,” Carole looks to Burt. “It's a lovely ring, I mean.”

“You know when Blaine first talked to me about proposing I told him he shouldn't? Not yet, anyway.” Burt hurries to continue, “I said somethin' about how if he trusted that he and Kurt were supposed to be together it wouldn't matter if he waited a while.” A sigh and Burt adjusts his hat, “They're still just kids.”

 “They are,” Carole agrees, “and I can't say I would have told him anything different.”

“I was wrong,” Burt mutters, “which is probably why I told Kurt marriage was the best thing, just a few days later. But,” Burt looks up with a slight shake of his head, “I don't think I ever told him I changed my mind.”

“Burt –”

“You've seen him light up when we tease him about his fiancé, Carole. He stares at that ring like it's some kind of lifeline because ‘Kurt gave it to him.' Can you imagine him goin' through all this without something tangible?”

Carole looks to her own wedding ring, remembers the comfort she feels at the reminder of not being alone. “Don't question yourself, Burt Hummel. Besides,” she nods toward Blaine, “he went and proposed anyway.”

Burt huffs an agreement and Carole lets the matter drop, fairly certain it's not a discussion from months ago that's unsettling him.

The door opens then, and Kurt enters with focused steps.

“No coffee?” Carole questions, taking note of his clenched hands.

“Oh – no,” Kurt crosses to sit on the edge of Blaine's bed, reaches for Blaine's free hand.

Burt shrugs at Carole's questioning look. “Kurt, you okay?”

A choked-off breath of frantic laughter has Carole leaning forward in slight alarm. “I ran into Sam and Tina in the lobby,” Kurt flatly murmurs, not looking away from Blaine. “They wanted me to sneak them in since apparently they have just as much of a right to be here as I do, since they've been in Ohio for past year.”

“I'm sure they're just worried, Kurt. They didn't mean –”

“I told them no,” Kurt interrupts, “I don't…I told them I'm sure Mr. Schue will let them know when they're allowed to see Blaine.”

Carole knows the stark words only tell half (or less) of the story, and after a glance to Burt she's standing, gathering her purse from the table. “Well, since you were busy, why don't I go get you that coffee.”

She hears Burt softly questioning Kurt as she exits the room, and she takes a moment to gather her thoughts before heading for the waiting room.

Sam and Tina sit in the chairs she and Burt had claimed not that long ago. She shakes her head as she takes in their ducked hands and clasped hands; when angered, Kurt's vast vocabulary becomes a veritable arsenal of weapons he wields with expert precision.

“I thought you two went home,” Carole comments as she takes the seat beside them, “but I guess I should have known better.”

“He's our best friend,” Tina challenges, although the defeated tone takes any argument from her words. “We just really want to see him, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel.”

“I know you do,” Carole reaches and pulls Tina in for a loose hug. “I know you want to see him. But right now,” Carole releases her and leans back, “Right now the best thing you can do is wish Blaine well and wait for him to recover enough for company.”

“It's not right,” Sam comments as Tina nods in agreement. “Can't you let us see him for just a few minutes?”

“Sam –”

“Why aren't you helping us?” He questions, “It's not like we're gonna do anything.”

“I can't,” Carole sighs, “It doesn't –”

“– work that way?” Tina finishes with a sickly sweet smile. “Kurt told us. But even if…even if we didn't know everything we still deserve to see Blaine. He's our family too.”

Carole wishes she'd gotten the coffee first.

“Look,” Carole pauses, takes a moment to ensure she has both Tina and Sam's attention. “I don't know what exactly Kurt said – I'm not sure I want to. But I do know he's dealing with the worst few days of his life so chances are he didn't mean to say things the way he did. And I know you two care for Blaine; you're both wonderful, loyal friends. But part of being a good friend – part of growing up – is realizing that sometimes awful things happen and you can't help the way you want.  I know you hate this, I do too, but right now the best thing you can do for Blaine is give him time to recover.” Carole sighs. “Sometimes stepping back – putting yourself second as much at it hurts– is the right thing to do.”

“This sucks,” Sam mutters, “All of it.”

“I agree. It sucks but it's what we have.” Carole stands, “Now there's no reason for you to loiter in an uncomfortable hospital lobby, so why don't you two head home; I promise we'll keep Mr. Schue updated.”

Sam stands with a sigh, and Tina joins a moment later, frowning but resigned to not getting her way. “We'll be back later, I guess.”

Carole watches them head for the elevator, hating that she did nothing to help their slumped shoulders and wary steps. Once they're out of her sigh she turns, heading in the opposite direction for the alcove holding the coffee carafe.

She leans against the wall once there, takes a moment to just breathe. She hates that before Kurt's abrupt return to Blaine's room she'd forgotten about Blaine's friends. She'd been so focused on the pain in her family, on the shadows haunting room 309 that she hadn't spared a thought about the group of teenagers who share Blaine's weekdays.

Her family isn't the only one struggling through a tough year.

Still a small, selfish part of her can't help but resent that it's her family – again – at the center of the nightmare.

Carole shakes her head, dispelling her melancholy thoughts and steps away from the wall. She fills three paper cups with steaming coffee before dumping a handful of sugar packets and individual creamers into her purse.  

Gathering the cups she turns back, steadily making her way across the waiting room.

“Did you have t'brew it yourself?”

Burt's question startles her enough that the coffee sloshes against the side of the cups. “You should know better than to sneak up on someone carrying hot coffee.”

“I thought you saw me,” he replies as he takes one of the cups from her, “I wasn't hiding.”

“But you were quiet,” she counters, taking a sip from the cup in her right hand. “You're lucky I didn't spill this all over your shirt. Kurt would have…” She lets the sentence trail off because beside her, Burt's gone tense. “Burt?”

She follows his gaze to across the room to where a couple has just exited the elevator.

Burt's free hand reaches out, takes hold of her left arm in a tight grip.

Carole almost drops the coffee cup. “What –”

“Carole,” Burt comments from beside her, voice flat, “Meet Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”