Kurt isn’t sure if a week has ever dragged on this long before.

It’s Wednesday and already he’s hoping for the weekend, and even that doesn’t seem like it will be a welcome relief. He feels more irritable than usual, probably because he just feels hungry all the time. But it will be worth it, Kurt keeps telling himself, when weigh-in comes.

True to Carole’s request, he’d gone to the hospital the previous afternoon. Arranging their mall date hadn’t taken more than ten minutes, and Kurt was more than prepared for anything she could throw at him. The sudden appearance of an essay isn’t strange for a high school student, after all, and Carole certainly respects Kurt’s responsibility to his school work.

But then, how sad is that? That he has to make excuses to Carole about why he’s not visiting Blaine?

Avoiding someone in a coma should not be this difficult.

He spends his entire day feeling like he’s carrying something extremely heavy on his back and, if he hadn’t perfected his posture, he’s sure it would result in a visible hunch. His attention drifts in his classes and he wanders aimlessly in the hallways by himself, everything rushing past him while he seems to be going in slow motion.

Some part of Kurt registers that if he wasn’t clad in his Cheerios uniform, he’d be such an easy target.

In fact, it’s a surprise that he doesn’t shriek when Finn suddenly appears in front of him and they almost collide.

“Are you ignoring me or something?” Finn looks at him skeptically, as if he can’t imagine Kurt ever doing such a thing.

“Am I what?” Even Kurt’s voice is heavier, tired, and he forgets that he’s supposed to be excited because Finn is talking to him.

“Dude, I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes.” Finn glances around surreptitiously, his voice dropping. “People were starting to stare.” Kurt fights hard not to wince.

“Just a lot on my mind, Finn Hudson.” Kurt adjusts his bag, his voice airy and nonchalant. “Can I help you with something?”

Finn’s attention turns back to him and away from scanning the hallways for… Well, slushies, is what Kurt would guess. His uniform doesn’t protect Finn and isn’t that something?

“What? Oh, right.” Finn stands a little taller, as if remembering whatever steam had driven him to talking to Kurt in the first place. “Are our parents dating?”

For a few moments, Kurt just blinks at him, maybe because if his dad had all of a sudden started going out after work he would have been suspicious. He wonders, vaguely, what suddenly made Finn perceptive.

“Yes.” His answer is short, and Finn just stands there looking at him, waiting for more. When Kurt doesn’t elaborate, he pushes.

“For, like, how long?”

Kurt’s face scrunches in thought, as if he has to try desperately to remember. “They’ve only gone on two dates? They met at Parent Teacher night last week. Instant chemistry,” Kurt assures him. “I would know. I was there. I always attend them with my father to act as translator.”

Finn gapes at him.

“In fact, I met your mother at the hospital where she works. I… I volunteer there.” He harshly swallows down the used to that sits, unused, on the back of his tongue. When Finn continues to stare at him blankly, he wonders if Carole really never tells him anything or if Finn is just really good at tuning his mother out.

“But she… She came home past midnight the other night. Like. I don’t know. A teenage girl. She’s been acting all weird and… Giggly and…” Finn’s confusion is so blatantly on his face in a way Kurt can’t help but find adorable.

“Happy?” Kurt guesses, which only furthers Finn’s uncertainty.

“I guess,” he mumbles, folding his arms as if the admittance makes him particularly uncomfortable.

“My dad does, too.” But Kurt smiles, softly, thinking of his father. “I can only see more dates in their future. And who knows? Maybe more.” There’s more traffic around them now, and suddenly Kurt remembers that there are places to be and things to do.

“If you’ll excuse me, Coach Sylvester doesn’t appreciate tardiness at practice.” Kurt smiles one more time at Finn before sweeping past him and making his way towards the auditorium. He finds himself actually praying for a longer practice, for something distracting, so that any compulsion he feels of going to the hospital afterwards is quickly overshadowed by his need to be home.

By the time he’s slipping into his stretches, he’s already forgotten his entire conversation with Finn.

---

There’s a competition coming up and it means that Coach Sylvester is being particularly hard on the Cheerios. They already have practice daily, but now she has them scheduled longer and is working them harder. Kurt is sure by the time he pulls into the driveway that his feet are bleeding, but he hasn’t had the energy to check yet.

In one respect, he’s grateful. It’s a distraction that will leave him too exhausted to think of anything else, much less dwell on things. In fact, the rigorous practices would almost be welcome if he was up to par with the rest of the Cheerios. But his sluggish movement hadn’t left him and things continued to feel like they were going in slow motion. Coach Sylvester had berated him and threatened him so many times that they’d all started to blur together, and had barked that if he didn’t have his act cleaned up soon she’d find “someone else that can pierce eardrums with that screeching you call singing.”

Maybe if he turned in early, he’d feel better tomorrow.

It wasn’t until he was climbing out of his car and dragging himself towards the house that he even noticed the strange car parked in front of the mailbox. He stared at it for a few moments, eyebrows lifted vaguely in curiosity, before he continued to the door.

“Dad?” He calls as he enters the front door, instantly reaching down to remove his regulation uniform shoes. For a moment, Kurt remembers the boots lined up in his closet wistfully, the smoothness of his favorite jeans, and he hates being on the Cheerios just a little bit.

It’s when he hears voices, as in more than one, that he perks up and weaves through the house and towards the kitchen. He recognizes his father’s deep laugh, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because his father is almost never in the kitchen—

“Carole.” She’s standing over by the counter, wearing one of the aprons he’d made, and her cheeks are red as if she’s just been laughing. His dad is bent low over the counter, shoulders heaving slightly as he quietly chuckles and… Peels garlic?

“Oh Kurt.” She straightens a bit, as if she hadn’t been caught just giggling with his father and smiles at him. His dad turns too, and Kurt can’t believe the smile lighting up his father’s face.

“Hey buddy. I didn’t hear you get home.”

He’s not even wearing his baseball cap.

“I just came in a few minutes ago. I… Didn’t know Carole was coming over tonight.” His voice is nothing but surprise, although he shoots his father a look as if to say why didn’t you tell me? Kurt came straight from practice and if he looks as disgusting as he feels… Well, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Kurt.” She reaches over and squeezes his dad’s arm, causing Burt to turn and share a look with her while Kurt watches on. “I just sort of showed up with a bag of food and told him I was making dinner.”

But you’ve only been on two dates.

“Where’s Finn?” He asks, because no matter how dopily adorable Finn might be, Kurt was never under the impression that he could do something like prepare his own dinner without the involvement of a phone and delivery service.

Carole’s face falls for a moment, but she picks it back up again, the curl to her lips a little more resigned this time.

“He’s at Noah’s tonight, and I decided I couldn’t let a good meal go uneaten.” There are things unsaid there, hanging in the air, but Kurt and his dad don’t say anything. He wonders if maybe Carole already talked to his dad, told him everything that happened before Kurt got home.

“Dare I ask what’s on the menu?” He sets his schoolbag down in one of the kitchen chairs, fingers moving to flutter together. He’s unused to having other people use the kitchen—his dad’s knowledge extends to the microwave and, recently, the coffee maker, so he isn’t familiar with the idea of sharing the space.

“Lasagna.”

Kurt blanches, walking over and wringing his hands a bit nervously as he peers at the counter. Ingredients are laid out there but nothing has been done quite yet.

“And a salad?” Carole shoots a glance at him, unsurely, and Kurt realizes somewhere how big of a step this is. She knows more about what’s going on with him than his own father, and yet here she is being nervous about getting his approval.

“I’ll make it.”

He swears he sees his dad let out a breath of relief, and he stops himself from saying anything about how he’s not that bad. Instead he bumps his dad away from the cutting board and inspects Carole’s ingredients. “You know, I make an amazing raspberry vinaigrette.” He looks at Carole and she just gives him a nod, melting into a smile.

“I look forward to trying it.”

---

Eventually Burt is kicked from the kitchen, when Kurt decides that he’s complained enough about him convincing Carole to substitute ground beef for ground turkey (she had insisted that they not get as extreme as eggplant this time) and regular grain noodles for whole wheat. It’s almost awkward at first, both of them standing side by side. It’s too early to start the salad, but Kurt can at least work on the dressing while Carole layers the main course. Sometimes he finds himself stopping to watch her, as if the idea that someone else in the universe can cook is suddenly new knowledge.

“I was doing my rounds at the hospital the other day,” she begins quietly, her voice a low hum that could easily be obscured by whatever his dad happens to be watching on TV. Kurt feels his shoulder stiffen slightly, but tilts his head silently in her direction to indicate that he’s listening. “I found these lovely paper flowers outside of Blaine’s door.”

This time, Kurt freezes completely and Carole’s eyes flick to him briefly before she resumes her work.

“I brought them into his room, put them in the little vase I’d seen in there the other day. I actually had to touch the rose, it looked so real.” Her voice is nonchalant, as if she’s telling Kurt about things that happen on a daily basis at the hospital. He briefly wonders if paper flowers have been done before at Lima Memorial. “I had to wonder, though, why the maker of the flowers didn’t deliver them himself.”

Carole does stop now, turning her body and leaning against the counter and just looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I wonder.” Kurt realizes that he’s stopped working and quickly starts chopping his herbs again. Carole continues to wait.

“Kurt.” He stops again, turning to look at her with as bright and innocent a smile as he can manage. But her expression is soft and inquisitive. “Why didn’t you bring Blaine those flowers?”

His mouth opens wordlessly, on the brink of denying it—but who else would have given them to Blaine? It tugs at Kurt’s heart that Carole immediately thought of him. Even after seeing Blaine’s mother there, Kurt is still the only one who visits Blaine.

“The door was closed,” he says simply, turning back to his work. His hands move quickly, as if the speed of his knife will somehow distance him from this conversation. “I didn’t want to intrude on anything.” When it’s clear that he’s not going to say any more, Carole turns back to the lasagna and they fall back into silence.

Only this silence isn’t the comfortable silence of two people working together. It’s charged now. Kurt’s mind is half on the recipe he’s supposed to have memorized—did he almost put four cups of vinegar in there—and half on Blaine. Mostly on Blaine. It’s only been four days, what is wrong with him?

“How is he?” The words tumble out of his mouth in a rush of breath, quiet and suddenly heavy in the air. But Kurt’s shoulders and chest feel lighter, as if that one question had been dragging him down since Saturday.

“He’s healing up nicely. Almost all of the bruising has faded and they even removed some bandages the other day.” Kurt waits. “He’s still unresponsive.” Even Carole’s voice is slightly strained as she says it, and Kurt’s hand grips the counter unconsciously. He hasn’t woken up yet.

“Has…” Kurt swallows, staring at his prepped ingredients but not moving to do anything with them. “Has anyone else been to visit him?”

When Carole doesn’t answer, Kurt turns to look at her and sees her shaking her head with a sad smile on her face.

I appreciate you attempting to keep my son company. But that’s all it is. An attempt.

Blaine’s been alone.

“She told me not to come anymore,” Kurt says quietly, and Carole turns to meet his gaze with questioning eyes. “On Saturday. I went to visit. I met his mother.” His fingers flex against the granite. “She told me not to come anymore.” The ache in his words surprises him. He doesn’t even understand why it’s there.

Carole’s stare is heavy on him suddenly and he has to turn away, distracting himself by feeding things into the food processor.

“That was respectful of you, Kurt.” Her voice is hushed, and Kurt just gives a jerky nod. It’s almost like a seal on the situation. The finality of a closing door. As if Kurt had expected Carole to have some solution to this strange new longing he was feeling. Blaine listened the way no one else ever did. Kurt almost laughs at himself.

He’s in a coma. He has to listen.

“Mrs. Anderson has had a tough time.” Carole’s voice is delicate, and when Kurt turns to look at her, she’s resumed her work. Kurt lets himself watch her fingers. “Blaine was in the ICU for some time before he was moved into that private room. You probably don’t know much about coma patients, Kurt, but they normally don’t get rooms like Blaine has.” Kurt doesn’t know anything about coma patients, and his first meeting with Carole will always be proof of that.

“She stayed with him that whole time, but you know… The longer someone is in a coma, the less likely they are to wake up.” Kurt’s still watching, her nimble fingers layering a sheet noodle over meat and cheese and tomato. “The more days that passed, the less hopeful she looked. When they had Blaine moved, she stopped coming.” Carole’s voice catches, and Kurt realizes he’s looking at the side of a woman he hasn’t seen in eight years. Carole is a mother, and maybe when she sees Blaine lying in that hospital all alone she imagines her own son there.

“His dad?”

Carole shakes his head, and Kurt lets out a long breath that seems to hollow him out to his stomach.

“They gave up hope, I suppose. But they still have a little, they must, or else—” She stops herself, but Kurt knows how the sentence ends. He’s seen enough daytime television to know what’s supposed to happen when a coma patient isn’t waking up. “You don’t have to give up, Kurt.”

He turns away then, staring down at the counter and feeling a prick behind his eyes. Doesn’t he, though?

Are you lonely?

Blaine’s been alone, but maybe, just maybe, Kurt has been alone, too.

“In case you were curious.” Carole starts so suddenly, her voice abruptly lighter than it has been, that Kurt starts. “Unless a family files a complaint or request, they can’t really ban anyone from a room. A closed door isn’t a locked door.”

Kurt fights the overwhelming urge to suddenly hug Carole, but he does give her a hesitant smile. A real smile. He feels as if she can tell the difference.

Their silence is easy again, and Kurt feels like he’s suddenly lost one hundred pounds. Or shed a ridiculously heavy and ugly coat. He twists his shoulders slightly, as if adjusting to it almost, biting his lip minutely to keep from smiling.

It isn’t until they’ve loaded the lasagna into the oven and Kurt’s placed his vinaigrette in the refrigerator to cool that Carole even says something relating to the topic again.

“I can’t imagine what she must be going through.” It’s the tone of voice more than anything that keeps Kurt from asking who. He can tell. Carole twists a dishtowel in her hands as if she was drying them, but really Kurt thinks it’s to have something to do with them. “If something like that ever happened to Finn.” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head slightly.

“I can understand her being protective. It’s a mom thing.” Her smile is soft when she glances at Kurt, and it almost feels like she’s looking through him. “Suddenly everyone is dangerous. Everyone is the enemy.” Carole hums thoughtfully, threading the cloth back over the oven’s rung before walking across the kitchen.

“You coming?”

Kurt realizes he’s still standing there, the last sentence she said reeling in his head. He shakes his head, forcing a smile.

“I’m just going to start on a bit of homework before I start the salad.”

Carole watches him for a moment too long before nodding and silently slipping out to the living room. He hears his dad’s voice greet her, but it falls to a soft murmur of conversation soon enough.

He’s sitting. He’s not exactly sure when he started sitting, but he is, staring after Carole.

Suddenly everyone is dangerous.

Mrs. Anderson thought he was dangerous? He glanced down at himself, the word and his image of himself not clicking together. Kurt might have a sharp tongue, but he’s never been called or seen as dangerous before. Dangerous people don’t get thrown into dumpsters and shoved into lockers and slushied on a weekly basis.

If something like that happened to Finn.

Something like what? A coma? Or was it something else entirely? What could have happened that would make even someone like Kurt seem dangerous?

What happened to you, Blaine Anderson?