Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 34

Burt raises his coffee cup as he enters the hospital, breathes in the steam so he smells coffee rather than industrial-strength cleaner and medicine. It's a quick, short-lived delay, but Burt relishes the scent nonetheless; the announcements, the walls, and the tiled floors all serve as a reminder of his location, but it's always the scent that hits him the hardest.

And that scent overpowers the coffee, then.

Burt sighs and resists the urge to shake his head at the reminder, chooses instead to pause in the waiting room. He takes a moment before crossing and claiming an empty chair. He knows Carole could use the coffee in his left hand, but he sets it on the small table beside him instead.

It's been three days since the officers took Blaine's phone, three days since Officer Randall said a name that left Blaine panicked and Burt seeing red.

And – as of an hour ago – Officers Randall and Daniels had Stephen Mullins at the precinct for questioning.

Burt had hesitated before answering the call from Rob half an hour ago, somehow doubting he was calling about his troublesome Sienna at 10 AM on a Monday, especially when Rob's shift at the station started three hours earlier. Still, Burt had accepted the call, quickly swiping his phone before Incoming Call had faded to Missed Call from Rob Fenner.

Burt would never lie to his constituents like Sue had, and he prided himself on his integrity, but not even he could ignore a call from a long-time customer who happened to be a cop. Not when Blaine still slept in the ICU. But now the resulting information feels like a beacon, its signal demanding he see the results himself.

An announcement over the intercom jerks Burt from his thoughts.

He stands then, reaching for the two coffee cups even as he pushes away thoughts of retribution. It's the officers' job to find justice for Blaine, not Burt's. His responsibilities lay down in the hall.

But a small part of him (the one that had him storming into Figgin's office and paying for ads to keep a musical) still itches for release.

Burt closes his eyes for a moment, copies Carole's yoga breathing for longer than he'll admit before heading for the doors separating Blaine from the rest of the world. By the time he reaches Blaine's room, Burt feels focused on the task at hand, and a glance through the door's window releases the last of the tension from his shoulders.

“Everything okay?”

Burt turns and offers Christine a weak smile. “I –” Burt sighs, glances to the coffee in his hand before looking back to Christine. “Got a phone call a while ago. They think…the police are questioning someone.”

“About…” Christine doesn't finish the question, instead nodding toward Blaine's room.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Burt hums in response, but Christine continues when the silence stretches. “You can't kill him, you know.”

“Never said I was goin' to.”

“That frown you're wearin' says otherwise.”

“You understand Blaine's chart better than me,” Burt mutters. “All I know is the kid has more bruises and stitches than I care to count and he was in surgery for over two hours. From what Dr. Olt said, Blaine'll have months of recovery!” Burt takes a moment, letting out a breath as he looks to Christine. “He's supposed to walk at his graduation.”

“Bad things happen to good people – to children – everyday. You know how many kids come through this department every year? You think any of their loved ones were any less pissed off than you? Whoever did that deserves the best our justice system has to offer: prison, no chance of parole, throw the damned book at them. But don't make your family worry about you, too.”

“You saying you're not angry? Kurt keeps joking, sayin' he and Blaine are your favorites…but having been a patient myself I know you spend more time in that room than is technically required.”

Christine smiles before dropping her gaze to the floor. “Blaine's a charming patient; I can see why Kurt's so taken with him.”

Burt nods at the quiet comment, accepting her evasion of his question. “Given how Kurt talked, I think Blaine's been charming since the day they met.”

“I'd imagine so. Now,” Christine adds as she steps closer to the door, “go spend time with your family.”

She's opened the door before Burt can comment, and he follows her into the room. He crosses to stand next to Carole. “Am I interrupting?”

“Never,” she answers as she takes the coffee cup from his left hand. “We were just celebrating the fact that Blaine's been approved to drink some juice; there may even be Jell-O later.”

Across from him, Blaine sighs.

“Not a fan of Jell-O, kid?”

“He'd prefer coffee,” Kurt replies with a smile, “but it still better than IVs and ice chips.” The sharpness of the latter words has Burt looking to the right, and he sees Kurt's hand bunching the blanket near Blaine's leg.

Burt forcibly reminds himself that he needs to follow Christine's advice.

“Did something happen?” Kurt's voice has gone flat, quiet. “Dad? Did –”

“Knock. Knock.” Christine stands in the now-open door, and Burt musters a smile as she moves further into the room, stopping beside Kurt.

“So, how are you this morning, Blaine?”

Burt looks away as she begins talking to Blaine, hating that her questions and the cadences of Blaine's answers have become routine, that there's a macabre familiarity in the act.

“Burt?”

Carole's questioning voice has him turning, looking away from the bed. “Yeah?”

She takes his hand then, leading him toward the back of the room. “Kurt was right, wasn't he?” There's no question in the tone, and Burt sighs.

“I got a phone call this mornin'.” Carole's hand tightens around his wrist. “You remember Rob Fenner? He wanted to let me know they got…that Mullins was brought in this morning.”

Silence.

“Did he –”

“I don't know.” Burt interrupts, “I don't –” Burt lets out a breath and drops Carole's hand. “That's all he told me.”

A beat, and then Carole reclaims his hand. “I'm glad you stayed,” she murmurs.

“What –”

“I know you, Burt Hummel,” Carole interrupts. “You protect this family with everything you have, and it must be killing you to be here and not at the station.”

Burt manages half a smile and shakes his head. “Smart and pretty; I really did luck out.”

“You did,” Carole agrees, “but so did we. Now,” she turns and Burt follows her gaze to where Christine is slowly unwrapping the bandages across Blaine's chest. “Are we gonna tell them?”

“You thinkin' we shouldn't?”

“They've been through so much,” Carole murmurs, “and since we haven't heard from Valarie…”

“I don't like keepin' things from them.”

“Neither do I,” Carole nods toward the bed, “but we don't really have anything to tell them at the moment.”

Burt stares at the boys, and while Blaine's injures has Burt clenching his free hand, Carole's hold reminds him of why he stayed. Burt turns back then, faces his wife, and nods.

*-*-*-*

Kurt keeps his hold on Blaine's hand as he watches Christine move around his fiancé, looking at stitches and bruises before carefully covering them with bandages. They may be slightly less red, and the bruises may be shifting shades since Kurt's first glance days ago, but the sight still has Kurt swallowing and clenching his free hand.

He looks away.

Across the room, he sees his dad murmuring to Carole, and he remembers his earlier question; he remembers his father's brief look of panic and his relief when Christine had entered.

Kurt knows his father; something has happened.

It's obvious, evidenced in the tight shoulders and pinched expression on his father's face. And yet, Kurt recognizes the expression: his father is angry, yes, but anxious too.

Memories, flashes of past instances when his father wore the same expression pass through his mind, and Kurt feels his shoulders drop.

His father has made a point of never keeping secrets from him; Kurt chooses to trust in that fact now.

“Kurt,” Christine's voice snaps him from his thoughts. “Think you can distract Blaine for a minute?”

Guilt rises as he quickly turns.

“I don't –”

“You do,” Christine overrides Blaine's protest. “You don't want to focus on me, especially since you're not due for more meds for another hour.”

“Then why not wait?”

“Sorry, no can do,” Christine answers. “I have to check to make sure we don't have to send Blaine for some more tests; the earlier we can get him scheduled for any potential tests, the better.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Trust me, Blaine. Focus on your incredibly handsome fiancé. Besides,” she continues, nodding toward Kurt, “surely you're not implying you prefer my company over his?”

Blaine freezes.

“He would never,” Kurt answers, keeping his voice light and saving Blaine from answering. “And,” Kurt smiles and tightens his grip on Blaine's hand, and drawing his attention, “you owe me an opinion.”

“Oh?”

“Yup,” Kurt confirms, ignoring the hitch in Blaine's breathing. “What do you think of just telling the guests to sit where they like at the wedding, instead of choosing a side?”

Blaine manages a shadow of a smile along with a weak nod and Kurt returns it before hurrying to continue the conversation. “Okay then. And –”

Kurt stops when Blaine draws in a breath and winces, involuntarily jerking away from Christine's touch. A quick glance shows the nurse offering an apologetic smile even as she returns her focus to an incision on Blaine's side.

“Hey,” Kurt stands and leans over Blaine's bed, blocking Christine from Blaine's view. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe and look at me.”

Blaine's grip on his hand tightens, and Kurt can see that he is trying, pulling in breaths even as his eyes dart from Kurt to the space behind him. Kurt does his best to hold Blaine's gaze while he keeps his breathing even. “Remember how you told me to keep calm?” Kurt moves his free hand to rest lightly on Blaine's chest. “Count and breathe. Okay?”

It takes two minutes – twenty-seven breaths – but finally, Blaine does.

“Sorry about that,” Christine murmurs, “but I think I can spare you some tests. You'll still have to get your IV switched, though, and Dr. Olt will want to take a look when she stops by, later.”

Kurt gives a hum of acknowledgment but keeps his focus on Blaine.

“You have an idea of when she'll be stoppin' by?”

His father's voice pulls Kurt's attention, and a glance shows that his father and Carole on the other side of Blaine's bed.

“It'll be some time before lunch,” Christine answers as she throws away her gloves. “She has follow-ups this afternoon.”

“I look forward to seeing her then,” Carole comments as she steps forward. “Do you think...” His stepmother pauses and when she continues her voice barely carries across the small space. “Do you think she'll move Blaine to the step-down unit?”

“I can't say,” Christine replies as she reaches for the door. “Switching units is a bit outside my purview as a nurse.”

“Surely you have a guess, given your experience.”

“One the legal department won't let me share,” Christine quips. “But I can say that hypothetically – statistically – patients with injuries like Blaine's are usually in ICU for another week.”

Kurt pushes down the disappointment that rises at Christine's words and smiles at Blaine instead. “Looks like we get to keep making Christine's day, Blaine. She just can't let go of her favorite patient.”

“I do have other patients,” the nurse comments from the door, “and I'm sure they're anxiously awaiting my questions. So just let us know if you need anything before I'm back with your meds, okay Blaine?”

A nod of confirmation and she's gone, the door closing behind her.

Beside him, Blaine stays silent.

“So,” Kurt begins, adjusting the blanket around Blaine, “what do you think of joining Pamela Lansbury on stage once we're in New York? Elliott and I were talking, and you'd sound wonderful for when we decide to perform Flight Song.”

Thirty seconds.

Leaning back, Kurt bunches the blanket beneath his hand.

Forty-three seconds.

One minute.

One minute and twelve –

“Kurt,” Blaine finally murmurs, “the band is yours. I can't –” He stops, and Kurt only manages to focus on Blaine when his fiancé entangles their fingers. “I don't want you to feel like you have to do everything with me.”

“No!” Kurt winces when his objection comes out a touch louder than he intended. “That's not…I want to sing with you. And if you don't want to that's okay.” He pauses before starting again. “But, I – we – would really like for you to join us, at least some of the time. You could be our special guest.” Kurt keeps his last sentence light, a contrast from his first stilted response.

Ten seconds.

Ninteen –

“Well,” Blaine finally answers, tightening his hold of Kurt's hand. “I can't say no to being a special guest.”

Kurt knows his smile is wide, overly large for Blaine's quiet response, but the thrill of imagining Blaine on stage with him (and the rest of the band) in New York, the daydreams becoming closer to something actually happening overrides any potential embarrassment.

“I'm sure those will be some great performances,” his father comments, and Kurt refocuses on the present. “So I expect recordings for when we're not visiting.”

“Dad,” Kurt ducks his head and rolls his eyes, “the band's just for fun.”

A glance shows his father smiling, “So?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I'm sure Carole could find some uploads on YouTube afterwards.”

“What,” his father teases, “we don't warrant a personalized recording?”

Kurt huffs a laugh even as smiles in response, grateful his father has distracted Blaine from Christine's comment minutes before.

“Ignore him, Kurt. And you,” Carole turns then, facing his father, “stop giving them a hard time.”

His father raises his arms in mock defense, and Kurt feels the last of his tension ease when Blaine manages a weak laugh from beside him.

Kurt relaxes, moves to half-sit on the bed beside Blaine, and lets the casual conversation lull around him.

*-*-*-*

Blaine carefully shifts on the bed, suppressing a wince at a flare of pain from the stitches across his side. Luckily his slip appears to be unnoticed, with Kurt's attention still across the room.

Despite the heaviness in his head, Blaine forces his attention to Val as she answers his fiancé's question, focuses on her voice rather than the moving clock. “I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you, Kurt. I know that the officers working Blaine's case are following some leads.” She briefly pauses, and Blaine takes the opportunity to close his eyes. “But,” she continues, “as soon as anything new comes up they're share it with you. And I'll be here, too.”

“For how long?” Kurt sounds sad, and Blaine runs his thumb over Kurt's hand; Kurt shouldn't be sad.

“I'm sorry?”

“Kurt –”

“They'll be here ‘as soon as anything new comes up'?” Kurt's voice shocks Blaine, sharper than Val's and Burt's. “When might that be? A week from now, a month? Longer? And you seem nice, Val, really.” Kurt pauses, and Blaine looks at the pattern on his fiancé's shirt, the stripes the brightest thing in the room. “-know you have other people to meet with,” Kurt's still talking. “I know other people suffer, too, but that means you can't stay here forever.”

“You're right.” Beside him, Kurt startles, and Blaine follows his example and looks to Val. “I can't stay with you forever, but I will be here for you during any legal proceedings. Regardless of how far in the future that may be.”

“And in the meantime?”

“There're other support systems,” Val answers.

“Blaine's got a therapist,” Burt comments from by the window. “She's stoppin' by sometime this week.”

“Then I look forward to meeting her, if possible. But I meant support in other ways. There're support groups for survivors and their loved ones. What do you think, Blaine?”

Blaine mentally replays Val's words, carefully putting the words of his answer together into clear sentences.

“Blaine?”

He's taking too long, judging from the looks from everyone in the room. “I –” Blaine stops and looks at his and Kurt's entwined hands before starting again. “You want me to talk in a group.”

“Only if you feel comfortable,” Val replies as she moves to the foot of his bed. “They're not for everyone, but it can be helpful to hear from people who have been through difficult situations, too. It doesn't make what you went through any less or more harrowing than someone else's experience, but it can help remind you that you're not the first to survive something like this.”

“He already survived it,” Kurt mutters from beside him. “Twice.”

Blaine pulls on Kurt's hand until Kurt looks at him, only then carefully shifting until there's empty space between him and railing.

He smiles when Kurt moves to sit beside him, and Blaine rests his head against his side.

“I'm sorry for what you've been through,” Val finally says. “Think about the support groups, though, okay?” She looks away then, toward Burt and Carole. “All of you; like I said…there's groups for loved ones, too.”

“We'll keep that in mind,” Carole answers. “Thank you.”

“I'm on to you,” Kurt quietly murmurs over Carole's response. “Stop fighting and let those meds Christine brought you do their job.”

“Kurt?”

“Go to sleep, Blaine.”

“But –”

“Dad and Carole can get any other information from Val, and I'll even take notes. But for now,” Kurt tightens his hold on Blaine's hand, “close your eyes and go to sleep.”

Kurt looks content, but Blaine recognizes the hint of exasperation in his tone.

Blaine closes his eyes.

Voices blend together; Burt and Carole, Val, Kurt. The words don't make sense, half sentences and questions, but the tones are peaceful.

He's safe.