Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 32

Beside him, Burt hears Carole gasp, feels her clench his hand in a grip that would have him wincing in any other situation. But he can't bring himself to move, not to ease the tension in his hands or to release the anger that's been building since he first arrived at the hospital three days ago.

“– see both of them.”

Carole's comment forces him to act, though, and he looks away from the Andersons to face his wife, carefully setting his cup on a nearby table. “What?”

“I didn't –” Carole stops, sighs before starting again. “When she called…she only said she would be here.”

“Can't say I'm surprised,” Burt adds, releasing a hint of his frustration. “From what Blaine's said it seems like they're best at talkin' about what's not important.”

“How lovely,” Carole mutters, setting her cup beside Burt's. “But they're here now, so what are we going to say? Blaine –”

“Blaine isn't dealin' with any of this.”

“Burt –” Carole's sentence dies as raised voices distract her. A glance shows the Andersons at the nurse's desk, and Burt clenches his free hand as Mr. Anderson leans further over the counter, as his voice rises above the murmurs of the others in the waiting room. That's when Mrs. Anderson turns away, eyes circling the room.

Burt stifles a sigh when she meets his gaze.

Moments later Mrs. Anderson has crossed the waiting room, her husband a step behind. “Mr. Hummel,” she comments, relief coloring her tone, “I'm glad I found you. And you must be Mrs. Hummel,” beside him, Carole straightens. “We spoke on the phone,” Mrs. Anderson smiles and offers her right hand. “It's a pleasure.”

“It's nice to put a face with the name,” Carole replies, tone clipped. Burt hopes the Andersons take no notice.

“Likewise. And thank you so much for looking after Blaine.”

“He's a good kid,” Burt interjects, “it's no trouble.”

“How is he,” Mrs. Anderson questions. “I'm afraid the nurse wouldn't give us any information.”

Burt thinks of the signed paper resting in his pocket, of Blaine's reluctant request to not see his parents. “He's recoverin' – was asleep when I stepped out.”

“He slept a lot before.” Mrs. Anderson adds, “I guess he needed it.”

“Or the nurses kept him on too many damn pain killers,” Mr. Anderson counters with a hint of derision, “that many meds would keep anyone out.”

“He was injured,” Burt snaps. “I'm sure he needed them.”

“Maybe he did,” insincerity negates the words, however, and Burt tightens his free hand into a fist.

“We'd like to see him, even if he is sleeping,” Mrs. Anderson adds, seemingly ignoring her husband's comment. “What room is he in? That nurse wouldn't tell us, for some reason or another.”

Burt glances to Carole. He's been dreading that question since he first spotted the Andersons across the lobby.

“The nurse couldn't tell you,” Burt replies, “and I won't.”

“Excuse me?” Incredulity wars with anger and Mr. Anderson takes a step forward. “You won't?”

“No,” Burt confirms, “I won't tell you what room Blaine's in.”

“He's our son!” Mr. Anderson counters, voice raising with each word. “You have no right –”

“I have every right,” Burt interrupts, pulling out the piece of paper that's claimed residency in his pocket. “Blaine named me his medical power of attorney, and he's eighteen. I think you'll find you have no rights, here.”

“We have every right! We're his parents –”

“That,” Burt comments with a step forward, “means nothing.”

From beside him, he hears Carole muttering about the difference between being a parent and being a genetic contribution. The Andersons don't appear to have heard, however, and for a moment Burt wishes they had if only for the chance to ive in to the itch and berate them for their lack of paternal instinct.

“Look,” Mrs. Anderson starts, pulling Burt's focus from his thoughts “we're thankful that you've been looking after Blaine, and I'm glad Blaine has such a great friend –”

“Fiancé,” Carole corrects. “Kurt is Blaine's fiancé.”

“He's eighteen.” Mr. Anderson counters, “He doesn't know what he wants!”

“You don't know him at all,” Burt answers, “if you believe that.”

“He's a teenager! No teenager has their life planned out! Fiancé,” Mr. Anderson continues, mumbling with a shake of his head, “like that means something.”

“It means everything to Blaine!” Burt snaps, “But that's not the issue, is it. You just can't reconcile the fact that Blaine's gay. You don't approve of it, won't even try because what, it's not something you like? It's part of who he is. You're the parent; you're supposed to support him!” Burt takes a step forward, feels a small thrill when Mr. Anderson leans back in response.

“We always provided for him!” Mr. Anderson's indignant shout has Burt taking another step forward, closing the space between them to mere feet rather than a yard, even while his shoulders tighten with anger.

“You think giving Blaine access to money and an empty house makes you a decent parent?” Burt turns to briefly glance to Carole before turning back and pointing an accusing hand to Mr. Anderson. “Where was your emotional support? He's already gone through Hell for just being himself. He's layin' in a hospital bed – for the second time – because some bigot took offense! I don't understand how you can side with them, how you could show Blaine anything less than pride and care.”

“We didn't side with anyone,” Mr. Anderson counters, “Blaine's made his own life choices. Has since he asked that friend to accompany him to that dance years ago.” The last sentence, muttered but still audible has Burt curling his hands into fists before loosening them, exhaling to prevent the shout he wants to release.

“The only thing Blaine chose was to be himself,” Burt quietly counters, “and when he and Kurt get married I'll be honored to count him as an official member of my family.”

“I –”

“You should feel privileged to know Blaine,” Burt interrupts, not caring to hear more of Mr. Anderson's justifications. “I can't understand how him being gay takes that away. But right now I don't care. That kid has enough to deal with without you makin' him feel worse!”

“And I don't care what that paper says. You don't get to talk to me like you know more about my son than I do! I'm his father!”

“Really,” Burt questions, voice cold. “You think you've been acting like a father? What's Blaine's favorite color, or favorite song? When's the last time you actually listened to what he had to say? And as his father,” Burt hisses the word, “where were you when he was havin' panic attacks and nightmares? He's endured more pain than anyone his age should; there's no chance in Hell I'm letting you anywhere near him!”

“It's not up to you!” Mr. Anderson shouts, “You can't keep us from seeing our son!”

“The police have been talking to Blaine,” Carole calmly states from beside Burt, “asking questions about what happened Friday night. I wonder what they'd say if we told them precisely why Blaine's been staying with us.”

“That has nothing –” Mr. Anderson stops midsentence, his lowered voice a contrast from his tone moments earlier. “It doesn't matter,” he continues, though Burt feels a grim satisfaction when the man takes a step back. “It was months ago! And even with that,” Mr. Anderson nods toward the paper still held in Burt's hand, “I'm sure Blaine wouldn't say ‘no' to seeing his parents!”

“He would actually,” Burt snaps, “so I'll give you updates, if you ask. But you're not setting a foot in his room!”

“You –”

“Excuse me,” Burt turns, sees a nurse standing a few feet away. “I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voices down. I'm afraid you're disturbing the other families.”

“I'm sorry,” Burt narrows his eyes at Mr. Anderson's surprisingly polite tone. “I just want to see my son; he was admitted a few days ago. If you can give me the room number my wife and I will get out of your hair.”

“They're not approved for visitation,” Burt comments before the nurse can reply, “and Blaine's eighteen.”

“I don't give a –”

“Sir,” the nurse interrupts Mr. Anderson, “only family is allowed to see patients in the ICU. And,” she continues when Mr. Anderson looks about to speak, “adult patients have the right see – or not see – whomever they wish. Now, you can accept these terms or I can call security.”

Mr. Anderson glares for a moment and then turns, heading for the elevators with forceful steps.

“We deserve the chance to see him,” Mrs. Anderson comments as she steps away. “You shouldn't keep us from seeing our own son.” She meets Burt's gaze with a glare before turning, following her husband's steps to the elevator.

“Do you think they'll return?” Burt startles at the nurse's question.

“I'm not sure,” Burt answers with a glance to the nurse's I.D. “They might, Becca.”

“I'll make a note,” Becca offers a quick nod and turns, heading for her desk.

Burt stares after her for a moment, lost for words.

“You're a good man, Burt Hummel,” Carole comments, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Carole answers as she moves to face him. “Don't pretend you didn't.”

“Did you notice?” Burt questions instead, ignoring Carole's comment. “He never contradicted me; just keep sayin' he had a right to see Blaine.”

“He was…focused,” Carole agrees, “and opinionated.”

“That's one word for it.”

Carole hums in agreement. “It is.” She moves then, releasing Burt's hand and reaching to get her paper cup from the table beside him.

She lowers the cup seconds later with a wince.

“Carole?”

“Our coffee's gone cold.”

Burt can't help it; he laughs.

*-*-*-*

“What happened?” Kurt's turning to face the door as soon as it opens, asking the question before his dad and Carole even make it past the threshold.

“What?”

His father looks confused – distracted? – and Kurt waits for him to cross to sit in the chair closest to where Kurt's perched on Blaine's bed before repeating his question. “What happened? You were gone a while…and I thought I heard yelling?”

Kurt spins his ring, resists the urge to demand an answer as his dad looks to Carole rather than providing a response. So Kurt spins his ring – six, seven, eight – until his father finally speaks.

“We ran into some…company in the lobby.” His dad pauses, letting out a breath and leaning closer to Kurt before continuing. “Blaine's parents are in town.”

Kurt freezes.

“His parents,” he repeats, voice clipped. “Not just his mom.” He must have heard incorrectly, or his dad misspoke.

Because it's not within the realm of possibility for both of Blaine's parents to have shown up: He wouldn't dare, after what happened.

“Kurt…” His father stops, letting the sentence die and Kurt catches the blanket in a fist. He knows that tone from his father, and he's hated it since he was seven.

“Tell me they're gone.”

“They left,” his dad confirms, “and they know they can't get in to see Blaine. But that doesn't mean they won't be tryin' again later.”

“They can try,” Kurt hisses, “but that's all they can do.” As soon as he says the words Kurt winces though, fear rising in a rush that leaves his words hurried. “Right? They'll just try? There's no way –”

“They won't be allowed in,” his father affirms. “They can't even get on the floor.”

“You're sure.” Kurt hates how the statement sounds as a question.

It's Carole who answers, her voice carrying across the small space despite its low volume. “They can't get in, Kurt.”

Kurt lets out a breath, turning back to face Blaine even as he adjusts the blanket resting over Blaine. The color throws Blaine's bruises into stark relief, with the black stitches seeming even more startling, but Kurt feels a thread of comfort regardless; Blaine's resting comfortably.

“I –”

The opening door stops Kurt midsentence, admitting Dr. Olt and two other doctors Kurt recognizes but can't name.

“Good afternoon!” The greeting seems abnormally loud after Carole's comment moments before, but Kurt manages a nod in response. “I hope I'm not interrupting,” she continues, “but I just got Blaine's test results, and I thought you'd like an update.”

“Oh, is…” Kurt pauses, starts again. “Is everything okay?”

“He's recovering.” Dr. Olt steps closer to the bed – and to Kurt – and offers a smile. Kurt forces himself to stay still and listen, even as reaches for Blaine's lax hand. “He'll need to stay here for at least another week, but his kidney function is improving, and he doesn't have any signs of infection, which is good. We just have to keep an eye on his incisions and lung for a while longer. He should be able to get off the all liquid diet within the next day or two, as well.”

“He's doing well then,” Carole states, her voice a sharp contrast to Dr. Olt's measured tone.

“He is,” Dr. Olt confirms, “although he still has a long recovery ahead of him.”

“His memory?” Kurt speaks the question without thought, tightening his grip on Blaine's hand.

“Partly,” Dr. Olt confirms. “He may not ever remember everything from that night - that's to be expected. He'll have some cognitive therapy to make sure his concussion has no lingering effects, but that will be his shortest therapy; only a couple of weeks, I'd guess. Once he's able to eat and a bit more mobile we'll move him to a step-down unit, and once there he'll start physical therapy. Ortho will give you more details, but between the breaks and strains he's due for at least a couple of months of work.”

Kurt drops Blaine's hand, counts the spins of his engagement ring instead. One. Two. Three. Four –

“He –” Kurt swallows and starts again. “Graduation is in June; will he...He's supposed to walk and get his diploma.”

Seven. Eight.

Dr. Olt steps forward, and Kurt forces himself to look up and meet her gaze. “That's a question for Ortho,” she starts, “but that's far enough out that he might be able to…he might need a little help, though.”

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

“He'll get all the help he needs.” Kurt feels a swell of gratitude at his father's comment, but can't bring himself to look from Blaine's doctor; she had paused when answering Kurt's question, had kept her voice soft, flat.  Kurt wants to trust the doctor, wants to believe Blaine will be able to walk across the stage and get his picture taken, but Kurt also remembers futile wishes and platitudes from the well-intentioned.

Steps away from him, Dr. Olt remains silent.

“Well,” a glance shows Carole stepping forward, coming to a stop at the foot on Blaine's bed. “Blaine's always been studious; he'll do any therapy you recommend.”

“As long as he doesn't try too much,” the low voice startles Kurt, the timbre not what he expected from the short, still-nameless doctor. “If a patient tries too much too soon it can lead to damage, undo healing rather than promote it.”

Kurt looks to Blaine, remembers Blaine's relentless dance rehearsals, and hours spent in front of the piano. “We won't let him work too hard,” Kurt affirms. “He usually listens to me anyway.” His dad and Carole try to stifle a laugh before Kurt's finished the sentence, and he casts a half-hearted glare in their direction. “What?”

“Kurt,” his dad pauses, laughter breaking his sentence to pieces. “I'm pretty sure you could ask Blaine for the moon and he'd try to get it for you.”

Kurt hopes his ducked head hides his blush.

“It's good Blaine has such a strong support system,” Dr. Olt comments. “People who have suffered trauma like Blaine's have extensive recoveries and they do better when they're not alone, but it can be hard on their loved ones, too.” Twenty-four. Twenty-five. “Therapy can be tough, and Blaine will get frustrated at some point, either due to his own limitations or the pace of his recovery.”

“We'll be there for him.” Kurt promises, silently adding to do better than the Andersons had years ago.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Dr. Olt replies, “but don't forget to be there for each other as well. Blaine may be the one with the physical work, but it won't be easy for you either.”

Kurt resists the urge to glare at the doctor: Nothing has been easy since he answered his phone three days ago, and after a glance to the multitude of bruises and stitches scattered across Blaine's body Kurt can't bring himself to believe that anything he has to deal with will be comparable to Blaine's struggles.

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“– said he'll probably be startin' therapy soon?”

Kurt pulls himself from his thoughts at his father's question, chances a glance to the doctors.

“Hopefully by the end of the week,” Dr. Olt answers, “for some of it, at least.”

Kurt looks back to Blaine before sighing, swallows past the lump in his throat as he faces Dr. Olt. “Will…” Kurt sighs, starts again. “You said the therapy will be difficult. Will…Is it going to hurt him?”

Dr. Olt looks to the doctor to her left, and Kurt hates that she chose to use his question as a teachable moment.

“Physical therapy isn't meant to cause pain,” the doctor begins, casting a quick glance to Dr. Olt. “But, working weakened or damaged muscles can cause some discomfort. And, given Mr. Anderson – Blaine's injuries, he'll have several different areas to work on.”

“So he will be in more pain,” Kurt confirms, not bother to hide the anger in his voice.

“It won't be like now,” Dr. Olt counters. “His Ortho will be able to give you more details, but it will be soreness, Kurt. There might be some pain at the beginning, but his therapists won't push him too hard. It's necessary…especially for some someone as active as you've described Blaine.”

Kurt thinks back to competitions and surprise performances in the McKinley courtyard, remembers Blaine jumping on furniture and dancing down hallways, feels remembered awe as Blaine managed a particularly difficult set of measures on the piano.

Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four.

He hears his father talking, getting more detailed information from Dr. Olt. Kurt can't focus on the details though, wonders instead how he'll ever be able to help Blaine with his therapy. He knows Blaine will need the exercises, understands that for Blaine to be the energetic, flexible (and Kurt hopes the others in the room are too distracted to notice his brief, ill-timed blush), whirlwind boy Kurt fell in love with he'll have to work hard. But every instinct he has is already on edge when Blaine so much as winces while awake.

He doesn't want to picture Blaine attempting to hide his pain – because there's no doubt Blaine would – until he couldn't.

He doesn't care that it's something necessary for Blaine's recovery, doesn't care that it will be different from the pain that currently steals Blaine's breath and leaves him pale. In less than a week the doctors will want Kurt to support his fiancé, to whisper encouragements and squeeze his hand – and ignore everything else.

Sixty-six. Sixty-seven.

Kurt's never been one who deals well when a loved one is in pain.

And Blaine – Blaine makes Kurt feel things stronger than he thought possible.

Seventy-one –

Kurt startles when a hand halts his spinning, jerking in the chair even as he looks up and sees Dr. Olt offering a smile.

“Kurt. How are you feeling today?”

“I'm fine.” The response is automatic, the two words as much as part of his day as brushing back Blaine's hair and ensuring the blankets don't get tangled among the countless wires trailing from Blaine's bed.

“Christine mentioned you've been having a bit of a hard time sleeping,” the doctor continues in a quiet voice and Kurt silently curses Blaine's well-meaning nurse. A glance shows his parents talking to each other, and Kurt hopes they missed Dr. Olt's comment. “I'm not surprised, given the weekend you've had. Anyway, I just was reminding your parents that we have an excellent group of therapists, here.” She pauses, and Kurt feels his mouth tighten in confusion before she continues. “Blaine will get all the help he needs, but you've all suffered a trauma.” For a second, Kurt wants to wrench back his hand, shout that Blaine's the one who was left bleeding in a dark parking lot. “– was seeing a therapist before, if I remember correctly? I'd be more than happy to approve her visitation, if Blaine – or any of you – would prefer to speak with someone more familiar.”

“I'm fine.”

Dr. Olt stays silent, continues to simply look at him and Kurt ducks his head to avoid meeting her gaze.

And then Kurt remembers assuring Blaine that seeing Dr. Schamp wasn't a sign of weakness. That getting help through therapy showed strength, and a desire to get better.

“I –” Kurt stops, offers a weak smile. “Sorry. I think I'd prefer to speak with Dr. Schamp, though, assuming she agrees.” Blaine had liked her, after all, and Kurt can't imagine speaking with a stranger – someone who doesn't know him or Blaine at all – about everything that's happened.

Dr. Olt briefly tightens her hold and nods before stepping back, and Kurt turns back to Blaine while she speaks with his parents.

Blaine continues to sleep, remains too-still minus the slight rise and fall of his chest while he breathes. Kurt fits the tube for the nasal cannula back behind Blaine's ear and runs a hand through Blaine's curls.

He pulls it back when he can't stop his hand from shaking.

Blaine's bruises and stitches seem more prominent, the sling and IV and bandages stark reminders he can't look past since Blaine's not awake to distract him. Each wound requires recovery, and Kurt absently wonders where the physical therapist will choose to start –

The arm that wrenched out of socket?

The bruised muscles around the kidney?

The twisted knee and sprained ankle?

The door shutting pulls Kurt from his thoughts, and he looks away from Blaine, notes the absence of Dr. Olt and her two students.

Carole's standing though, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “I was thinking I'd go for a walk, Kurt, if you'd like to join me. Your dad's going to stay here, so Blaine won't be alone.”

Kurt's nodding even as he stands; he needs to focus, needs to be able to look at Blaine – to touch him – and see the Blaine he fell in love with.

He leans down to whisper his assurance of his quick return in Blaine's ear, and drops a kiss to his cheek before joining Carole by the door.

In the hallway moments later Kurt follows his step-mother, stifling a sigh when it seems the elevator is coming to every floor but theirs.

“I know it's not your thing,” Carole begins, and Kurt turns away from the still-closed elevator doors, “but I was going to go the Chapel. Eventually, I mean. You don't,” she pauses, “I don't expect you join me. Unless you want to, of course. But it is a decent walk to get there.”

Kurt wonders when his presence started to make his step-mother nervous.

The elevator chooses that moment to arrive, and he waits until Carole's selected the floor before responding.

“I don't have a problem with you visiting the chapel,” Kurt takes a step closer to Carole. “It's not really my thing though; you're right.”

“Can I –” Carole stops herself, and Kurt silently motions for her to continue. “Is there a reason you avoid it?”

Kurt's first instinct is to laugh.

Luckily, he has practice in keeping his emotions in check. He has no desire to upset Carole. The elevator glides to stop then, and he follows Carole out into yet another brightly lit tiled hallway.

“I don't really avoid it,” Kurt finally answers. “I just don't see the point.”

“What do you mean?”

Kurt sighs. “Even when my mom was alive, we didn't really go to church. I vaguely remember attending on holidays, but I was more excited about my Easter suit than whatever was being said.” He offers a rueful smile and continues, “The last time, I remember she let me pick my tie out myself. It was striped, blue and lavender.”

“I'm sure it was lovely.”

“It's still in a box in my old room, I think. I kept it, after…” Kurt shakes his head slightly, reminds himself he's supposed to be answering Carole's question. “The funeral was in the church, but that's the last time I entered one of my own volition. Mercedes tried, when Dad had his heart attack, and I ended up going to appease her, but I still don't see the point.”

“Just to appease her?”

“I got to wear a pretty fabulous hat, too. But I didn't get anything out of going there with her. There wasn't any special sense of peace, and I didn't feel differently after. I just –” Kurt stops, lets out a breath as he searches for the right words. “My mom died. And Dad's amazing, but it was hard, those first few years. And now, with Finn and what's happened to Blaine…I know people say that ‘everything happens for a reason' and that there's some ‘bigger picture' but I find it hard to believe in a God who took my mom and brother and has let the love of my life get beaten and left to bleed alone in a parking lot twice.”   

In front of him, Carole stops and before he can manage to ask why she's pulled him into a hug, her arms tight across his back. Kurt blinks, takes a moment to rest his head on her shoulder and breathe in the faint hint of her perfume.

It's a comfort.

By the time she loosens her hold the tension has left Kurt's shoulders, and he offers a smile in thanks before they continue down the hall.

“I understand why you feel that way.” Kurt feels his eyes widen in surprise. “I'm angry too,” she continues, “and I hate that this has happened to our family. But, as angry and upset as I am, I still find the thought of God comforting.”

Kurt shakes his head, glances to his ring. “How? After everything…how can any God be ‘comforting' to you?”

“Because – because Finn's in a place without pain, and his father finally has the peace he couldn't find while alive.”

“It's not enough,” Kurt counters, words sharp. “Maybe they are in some halcyon heaven, maybe there's angels with harps and everything is perfect for them. But we're still here. And Blaine –” Kurt breathes out, counts his steps until he feels comfortable speaking. “Some homophobic bastard attacked Blaine. Hurt him badly enough that his heart stopped –” Kurt briefly closes his eyes, reminds himself that Blaine's sleeping just a few floors away. “A monster left Blaine bleeding in a parking lot. We have prisons all across the country filled with criminals, but the three small minded idiots who hurt Blaine the first time were never even arrested. What kind of God allows that to happen? And to Blaine!” Kurt pauses, forces himself to lower his voice when he continues, “I'm glad your faith helps you, Carole. I am. But I can't share it.”

“That's your choice,” Carole answers, slowing to stop beside the ‘chapel' sign on the wall. “I would never pressure you, Kurt. But just remember that I do understand where you're coming from, so if you ever want to talk…”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He will, and Kurt pulls Carole into an impromptu hug to show his sincerity before stepping back.

“You're still welcome to join me, you know.”

Kurt musters a small smile and shakes his head. “I think I'm going to head back to Blaine. I'm glad you can find peace in there, but to me it's nothing but a room.”

“Fair enough,” Carole nods. “And Kurt? I'm so proud of how you're handling all this. You're a good man; never think less of yourself, okay?”

Kurt manages a weak nod in reply before Carole enters the chapel, the door softly shutting behind her. Kurt stares for a moment before turning back the way he came, heading for the elevator.

He needs to see his fiancé.

*-*-*-*

The chapel hasn't changed from Carole's last visit, although the flowers look slightly less vibrant than they had when she first entered the room with Burt. Still, she's grateful for air that smells more of flowers than industrial cleaner.

She slowly steps forward, taking note of the elderly man sitting to her right and the woman with a young daughter sitting a few rows ahead of him. On her left, a woman sits near the aisle –

Carole stops mid-step.

Ten feet away, Mrs. Anderson sits with perfect posture, the only occupant not bent forward in prayer.

Standing in the aisle, Carole considers her options. Dr. Olt's talk of therapy hit too close to memories of Finn for Carole to feel comfortable returning to Blaine's room, and she doesn't think the hospital's excuse for a garden would prove helpful, either.

Mrs. Anderson hasn't moved, and Carole feels a touch of anger replace melancholy as she looks at the woman. For a moment, as she takes in the woman's well-made clothes and indifferent expression, Carole relates to Kurt's words from minutes before.

What kind of God would give Blaine absentee parents?

Carole releases a breath and takes a step forward, claiming a seat and slipping her purse under her chair. She refuses to let that woman take away her attempt at finding peace. Carole slowly lowers her head, closes her eyes as she thinks of therapists and healing and the boy in the room upstairs.

When she opens her eyes an interminable time later, she's alone with Mrs. Anderson. Carole hopes her decision to sit behind the woman means she hasn't been seen. She carefully gathers her bag and stands, heading for the door.

“You must think I'm a terrible mother.”

Carole freezes. “I –”

“I know I'll never win ‘Mother of the Year', but I'm not some monster.”

“No –”

“Blaine was a surprise,” the woman continues, interrupting Carole. “We hadn't planned…I mean, I'm an only child, and when we discussed our plans for family we decided one was enough. And Cooper,” she pauses, and Carole slowly moves back, taking a seat in the row behind Mrs. Anderson even as the woman turns to face her. “Cooper was exhausting,” another pause, this time with a small smile Carole can't bring herself to return. “It was dance practice and soccer games and gymnastics, and then plays at the local college once he was older.

“It was one thing after another, and Cooper always needed my support. Blaine…Blaine was such an easy baby, in comparison. He was content to bang on the piano or play with his toys in his room. Or to play the piano when the neighbors asked. When Cooper graduated and left home I got my life back; I was able to be me.”

“And Blaine?” Carole makes no attempt to hide her judgment.

“Blaine didn't need me,” Mrs. Anderson answers, voice soft. “Not – not like Cooper did, anyway. He's always been independent. I mean, he went to that dance with his friend, after all. Even after we warned him –”

“You warned him?” Carole interrupts, she knows the question is harsh, her voice a touch too loud in the otherwise silent room. She can't bring herself to care.

“I read the news,” Mrs. Anderson comments. “I know what happens to people who choose that…who live that way. And last time, he had so much to recover from.” She pauses, and Carole forces herself to remain still when the other woman's voice takes a cutting edge. “I can't gauge the difference this time, though, since you won't let us see him.”

“No,” Carole confirms, “we won't.” Carole pauses, gathering her thoughts. “You know, the first time I met Blaine, I remember thinking that I'd never met such a polite boy. It was obvious even then he thought the world of Kurt, but he made sure to thank Burt and me, too, even brought back the Tupperware from the leftovers we gave him. And it wasn't an act, some manipulation to endear himself: Blaine simply is good.”

“Blaine's always been a good boy,” Mrs. Anderson confirms, “even when he was little.”

“And that's why I can't understand you,” Carole answers. “Did you actually listen to what you said earlier? None of this is about you. This is about that wonderful boy upstairs and how he's remained one of the sweetest people I know in spite of you. You continually say that Blaine's ‘good' while you simultaneously deny part of what makes Blaine who he is. Your son is gay; that's part of him, just as much as his amazing singing voice and talent on the piano. But because that didn't fit with some plan you and your husband had for him you just ignore him? You're his mother! Mothers are supposed to stand with their children, no matter what. I lost –” Carole stops, takes a breath. “My son died. Did you know that? Half of my world is gone and I can't get it back. And I'd give anything to see Finn again. To listen to him bang on his drum set and empty my pantry. But that's not possible. And yet you, you have this brilliant, talented, genuinely good son and instead of cherishing that gift, you leave him vulnerable –”

“Blaine's always had access to the best –”

“He's not a plant,” Carole snaps. “You can't just give him food and money and hope for the best. So he didn't demand your attention like his brother; that doesn't mean he didn't need you. You're supposed to nurture him, to put him first every day. Sometimes that means working overtime so he can go on the school fieldtrip and sometimes that means staying home so your son feels wanted. Every day, I wake up and for a few seconds – just a few – I forget that Finn won't be arguing with his alarm, or eating everything in the kitchen. It's Hell when I remember, but having Blaine in the house helps. But tell me…When Blaine came to live with us; how did you rationalize that?”

“I'm sorry you lost your son,” Mrs. Anderson answers, “truly. But that doesn't mean to you get to have mine.” She stands, moving to leave.

“Did you know,” Carole begins, forcibly keeping her words soft, “that Blaine specifically asked not to see you? He felt awful about it, still does, actually. But that's been his only request since he's been in here. So you can try to make me feel guilty, but there's no way in Hell Burt and I will let you anywhere near Blaine.”

The shutting door is Carole's only answer.

Alone in the chapel Carole lets out a breath, looks to the altar before lowering her head.

She came to the chapel to find peace; she plans to stay until she finds it.

*-*-*-*

Burt stands as the door closes behind Carole and Kurt, crosses the small space to claim the chair he's come to view as Kurt's. On the bed, Blaine continues to sleep, oblivious to the additional turmoil of the day. Burt sighs, thinks back to hours ago, when he thought the worst part of his day was seeing that dammed truck on Kurt's phone.

Sometimes, Burt hates the world's ability to take a stressful day and somehow, infuriatingly, make the day worse.

“Seems like you just can't catch a break, kid.”

Blaine, of course, doesn't answer.

The monitors do, their beeps steady and constant; Burt reminds himself that the beeps are a good thing, a sign of health and not an annoyance. Burt wonders how long the medication will keep Blaine asleep, wonders what he'll say to him once Blaine's awake.

Burt runs his hands over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustrtation, hating that the information the officers had shared earlier had left Blaine so panicked he couldn't calm down on his own. Burt had frozen earlier, tense and anxious while the monitors had blared in response to Blaine's distress; the harsh breaths had reminded Burt too clearly of finding Blaine on the floor in that hotel room in California, and the same feeling of helplessness had crept in, stealing Burt's strength. Only Christine's order had managed to break his stupor, and even then Burt had related to Kurt, had felt – if only for a moment – the need to stay.

Now, alone with Blaine, Burt watches the slight rise and fall of his chest. Blaine's a strong kid, has already fought harder than men twice his age. But Burt can't forget the fear Blaine had shown earlier, can't forget that while Blaine looks peaceful it's not due to his own volition.

Burt can't help but wonder if today's occurrence will repeat itself when Blaine hears that both his parents have arrived.

He doesn't know how he'll tell Blaine, knowing there's a chance he could cause such a painful reaction.

“I gotta say, Blaine, I thought agreein' to let Kurt go back to McKinley would be the hardest decision I'd have to make when it came to choices with family. I should have known you'd somehow manage to put me in a similar position.”

Burt weighs his options: Blaine deserves to know his parents showed up (late, a voice suspiciously like Kurt's reminds him, they can't care too much) even if they can't see him. And yet Burt also remembers Blaine's fear, remembers answering a phone call from a panicked Kurt and rushing to his truck before finally finding Blaine, bruised and lost, huddled in the driver's seat of his car. The father in him wants to avoid the cause of Blaine's distress, to protect him and simply not tell Blaine and therefore not allow for possibility of Blaine experiencing even more turmoil.

There's no risk of Blaine's parents getting onto the floor; between Blaine's age and Burt having Blaine's Medical Power of Attorney the Andersons have no legal standing.

Burt couldn't protect Kurt from that phone call, couldn't protect Blaine from his nightmares or a monster in a parking lot.

He can protect Blaine from this.

But for the first time in his life, he doesn't know if he should.

“Y'know a week ago I would have said I had a pretty good handle on you, kid. Maybe I did. But I know more now and I am so proud of the man you've become – you've been there for Kurt since the day you met him. And you've always shown respect to me and Carole. So don't you be feelin' guilty for standing up for yourself, for once.” Burt pauses, looks to the monitors before continuing. “You didn't win the lottery in the parent department, I'll give you that. But they're not your only family.

“I don't want to start lying to you, Blaine. But I also know you need to heal, and I don't want a repeat of what happened earlier.” Burt lets out a breath, pushing away the memory of Blaine struggling for breath as the monitors changed from a steady reminder of Blaine's health to blaring alarms. “You just focus on gettin' better, kid. I'll –” and Burt freezes midsentence, unsure of what exactly, he will do.

Finally, he settles on the one thing that won't change.

“I'll be right here. Kurt and Carole too.”

The monitors continue their metronome of beeps and Burt sighs, runs a hand across his face to pull the sleep from his eyes.

Burt Hummel is nothing if not patient.

He watches Blaine sleep, lulled by the steady hum of the machines and patterned beeps. So, of course, the door opening startles him, has him jolting in the chair and turning –

“Sorry,” Kurt says around a weak smile.

“I just got used to the quiet,” Burt comments as he waves off the apology. “Carole still takin' a walk?”

“She's in the chapel,” Kurt answers, shaking his head when Burt moves to stand. “I don't think she'll be too long, though,” Kurt comments as he crosses the room, taking a seat on the edge of Blaine's bed.

Burt hums in acknowledgement as he adjusts to face Kurt. “You feelin' better?”

“I never felt bad,” Kurt quietly counters, “I just needed some…perspective.”

“It's been a hell of a few days, Kurt.”

“Before,” Kurt begins, seemingly oblivious to Burt's comment, “I forgot. I forgot about Blaine's recovery. I don't know how I managed that. I really don't.” Kurt pauses, letting out a humorless laugh that leaves Burt clenching the sides of the chair. “I think…I think I was just so glad Blaine woke up, that he spoke to me…I forgot that there's more. Blaine deserves to walk at graduation, Dad, he does! And I know I need to support him. But I don't know if I can. Dr. Olt said the therapy could make him hurt. He already –” Kurt stops, breathes out. “There's microchips in prosthetics and skin can be grown in labs, but Blaine has to go through more pain to get better? He's been through so much – how do I stand by while they hurt him, even if it is needed? How do I watch and do nothing if he's hurting, Dad?”

“You won't be doing nothing.” Burt leans forward, “You've been helpin' Blaine since you got here, Kurt. Are you tellin' me that you're gonna suddenly stop?” Burt sighs, reaches out to place a hand on Kurt's shoulder. “You've both been through too much and I wish you weren't going through this now. I hate that this happened. But from the moment you've gotten here I've been nothing but proud of you. You've been put through something no man should ever have to endure, and you – you and Blaine – are still just teenagers. I don't know that I could have handled this at your age. Really,” he affirms at Kurt's incredulous stare. “So you stop your worryin' okay? Because if nothing else this…situation has shown me that you'll do anything for Blaine. Or,” Burt pauses, waits for Kurt to meet his gaze, “do you think I'm wrong?”

Kurt doesn't immediately answer, but he does turn away, looking to Blaine and carding his fingers through Blaine's curls.

“You're not wrong,” Kurt finally murmurs, still facing away, “But I'll hate it. I can't – I can't stand knowing he's in pain.”

“The downside to loving someone,” Burt finally replies, “but we deal with it. Makes us that much more grateful for the good times.”

“Whoever's keeping score sucks, then,” Kurt mumbles, “since Blaine's had more than his fair share of bad times, recently.”

“He has,” Burt agrees. “Hell Kurt, we all have. But we'll get through it.”

Kurt doesn't look away from Blaine, and Burt sees Kurt's hand clench around the blanket draped over Blaine's legs, but he nods.

Burt's always loved strongly; he knew he wanted to marry Kurt's mother within a day of meeting her, knew Carole (and Finn) were meant to join his family of two as soon as they all were in a room together.

Most of the time Burt sees it as a blessing for the Hummels.

But there have been times – after Kurt's mother died, after Finn – when Burt wondered if it's a curse, instead.

When Blaine first came into their lives, Burt saw the blessing in each smile Kurt gave, in the stories that ended in laughter, in the confidence Kurt gained. And later, the blessing seemed to grow as Blaine shared Kurt's smiles, and looked at Burt's son the same way Burt had looked at Kurt's mother, the way Burt now looks at Carole.

Now, watching his son carefully climb into the bed so he's lying beside Blaine, both boys somehow managing to look small despite the confining hospital bed, Burt can't help but wonder at the balance of blessings and curses.

The boys found each other young, have the type of romance Burt had secretly wished for his son since the moment Kurt came out. And yet, now, he can't get Kurt to leave a hospital room, and his future son-in-law has a list of injuries Burt can't begin to name.

Burt shakes his head, pushes away the uneasiness he feels at the sight of the boys in the stark hospital bed. He closes his eyes, remembers Blaine's smile at his birthday party, Kurt's blush and sense of pride whenever he has a chance to show off his ring.

The boys' utter joy whenever they sing a duet.

The happiness – the strength they find in each other – will get them through this. Burt's certain of that, just as he's certain Blaine will downplay any discomfort he has during therapy, and Kurt will help Blaine through every minute no matter how much it pains him.

Burt still wishes he could spare them the struggle.

Then again, Burt hasn't much luck with wishes lately. Involuntarily, he remembers Mr. Anderson flushed with anger and his wife's cold words.

Burt has a new appreciation for the general population's hatred of Mondays.

And, unfortunately, the day isn't over. A glance shows Blaine still asleep, and Kurt halfway to joining him, given his closed eyes.

They may be adults, but at the moment Burt only sees the teenagers.

‘We can't protect them from the world' Carole had said, and Burt hates that she continues to be right:  The world is full of ill-fit parents; of small-minded, homophobic assailants; and angry, unrestrained teens.

And Burt couldn't – still can't – protect Kurt and Blaine from them.

But now, fitting with the world's seemingly ironic sense of humor, Burt has the opportunity to do so – with a lie.

Blaine's on enough medication as it is, and Burt doesn't want to be the catalyst for Christine needing to ‘calm' Blaine down for the second time today.

Burt stifles a sigh. His mother was right: a catch-22 really can make a bad day worse. Still, with the boys asleep Burt has time to reach a decision.

He just hopes he makes the right one.