Everything was too bright. Even after an hour of slipping in and out of consciousness, the dimmed lights of Burt's hospital room were still blinding to his eyes. Burt blinked sluggishly, but just the tiny glimpse of light stung his retinas so he settled for keeping his eyes shut. He was stiff and a bit sore, and when he tried to move his right arm, he felt something tug at the back of his hand and shift under his skin.

"Burt, don't move too quickly, honey."

Burt dropped his hand back onto the bed, his mind fuzzy and disoriented. His hand was too heavy to hold up for very long anyway. He felt like he weighed as much as he would on Jupiter. Even his eyelids felt like they had sumo wrestlers sitting on them. Burt knew that voice, though he couldn't place it at the moment. It was feminine and soft and tender. Whoever it was kept talking as he tried to wake himself up enough to respond.

Where was he? What had happened? The last thing he remembered was talking to a customer at the garage and then... what?

Burt couldn't remember much of anything at the moment. Something soft and warm squeezed his other hand and another, more hesitant, voice spoke.

"Shouldn't he be more awake by now? I- is something wrong?"

Another voice Burt knew, but this time he could place it. It hadn't changed or dropped an octave since his son was eight. But now it was frightened, cracking from emotion, and more lost and depressed than he'd ever heard it before.

"K- Kurt... "

He coughed a little, his throat rough and scratchy as he tried to form a few more words. Nothing came out, though. He'd barely been able to hear his son's name over the steady bleep that filled his ears. Burt could only think of one place that made that noise. He must be in the hospital, though why was beyond him. It probably had something to do with the whatever he couldn't remember at the moment.

"Dad," Kurt's voice cracked with relief, and Burt's hand was squeezed tighter. "Can... can you hear me?"

"Mmm. " Burt managed to hum quietly as someone else's hand slide into his right hand. The moment their fingers knotted together it clicked. Carole. His Carole. A thumb brushed softly along his forehead, and Carole's voice drifted towards him again.

"Open your eyes, Burt."

"Please, Dad."

Those words were all the reason Burt needed to fight the heaviness in his eyes and limps. With a huge effort, he blinked his eyes open, staring at the blurry vision of his son and girlfriend.

"I'll go get Nancy so they can run their tests," Carole said softly, pressing a kiss to Burt's forehead and standing up.

Burt meant to call after her, some teasing remark about leaving him, but all he managed was a weak grunt. Kurt shifted his chair and lifted Burt's hand, clasping it between his own and pressing their hands against his forehead.

"I've missed you so much, Dad."

Tears were pooling in his son's red rimmed eyes. Just the thought that he was responsible for Kurt crying, for who knows how long, broke his heart. He gripped Kurt's hand tightly, trying to convey some sort of assurance when he couldn't really speak.

"I'm... o- okay," he managed to rasp out, as Kurt brushed away a few tears trickling down his cheek. For whatever reason, the little smile that tugged at Kurt's lips looked only marginally happy. Maybe his head was still to fuzzy from being unconscious and he was just imagining that.

Carole reappeared with a plump little nurse and a few doctors Burt had never seen in his life. Twenty minutes later, after several tests, a cup of water, and a lot of questions, Burt's head was starting to catch up to his last moments of consciousness from almost a week ago. A week in a coma, they told him. He couldn't believe it. No wonder Kurt still looked so devastated – he'd almost lost his only remaining parent. But at least Carole had been there for him. Burt hated to think what would have happened otherwise.

His nurse raised his bed until he was almost in a sitting position before she left, promising to bring him something to eat before long. Kurt and Carole pulled their chairs back up to the sides of his bed and took his hands again. Tears were still glittering in Kurt's eyes, and Burt hated the sight. There was no reason to cry now. He was awake. Not completely out of the woods yet, but things were looking up.

"Hey, you don't have to cry anymore, buddy. It's gonna be just fine." Burt tugged weakly at Kurt's hand, trying to pull him up onto the bed and into a hug. He wasn't even close to strong enough at the moment, but Kurt seemed to understand what he was trying to do. Kurt curled up to his side, and dropped his head onto Burt's shoulder. Even through the thin hospital gown, Burt felt the hot tears pouring down his son's cheeks. He looked to Carole for some sort of explanation, but found her own face screwed up to keep back her own tears. It was like waking up to find out that the NFL had been permanently cancelled. Except, neither Kurt nor Carole cared enough about football to cry over it. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Kurt, what's– is this because of me, buddy? You heard the doctor, I'm gonna be fine now... "Burt trailed off uncertainly. He realized his heart attack and week in the hospital had taken their toll on Kurt, he knew without a doubt that his son had been terrified and miserable, but he was awake now. Shouldn't they be happy and celebrating his miraculous recovery instead of lying here watching Kurt sniffle and tremble?

"It's not– well, it is... that's part of it." Kurt hiccupped a little, and stared down at where his hands were still encasing his father's. "So much as changed, Dad. Just... everything has changed."

More confused than ever, Burt shifted under his blankets a bit, shooting Carole a clueless look, and trying to shift Kurt so that he could look him in the eyes. But then the door banged open, and Finn came barreling into the room, his football shoulder pads and backpack swinging around. They came dangerously close to smacking his mother in the head when he flung them into the corner and rushed over to join them.

"Finn Christopher Hudson! Watch where you're– "

"You're awake." Finn said bluntly, not even sparing his mother a glance as he dropped into Kurt's empty chair. He dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and heaved in a few loud breaths. If Burt hadn't known any better, he would have sworn Finn had run the fifteen miles from McKinley to the hospital instead of driving over.

A moment passed, and it felt odd to Burt because it was so silent. Kurt would usually sputter some witty, sarcastic remark when Finn makes such an obvious statement. He could almost hear it in his head, "No, Finn. We painted eyes on his eyelids as a practical joke." But it didn't come. Kurt shifted his head against Burt's shoulder a little bit, but didn't comment. It was so unlike him. Burt glanced down at his son curled into his side, and he knew, without a doubt, that something wasn't right.

"Dude, you look like your favorite sweater just got put in a blender." Finn had finally noticed Kurt's miserable form tucked down between Burt's side and the rail of his hospital bed. "Are you sick or something? Is that why you missed school? Mom thought you were at B– "

Finn stopped talking abruptly, his eyes going wide as he stared in horror at Burt. He didn't know what Finn was so terrified of but one thing was clear – Burt wasn't supposed to be aware of whatever it was. It was pretty obvious that Finn regretted his near slip, but he hadn't stopped himself soon enough. There were only two people Burt knew of that had B names. Brittany and Blaine... or That Bastard, as Burt had taken to calling him in his head. Either way, it was still a B. He sincerely hoped it was the former because he didn't think he'd be able to restrain himself from anything short of murder if it was the latter.

"You were at Brittany's last night?"

He'd hate himself for how ridiculously hopeful he sounded later. Finn cringed and that was all the answer Burt needed. Sure, he'd caught Brittany and Kurt semi-making out that one time, but he'd never seen the daft cheerleader again. The odds had to astronomical for Kurt to have gone to Brittany when he was upset about his father being in the hospital. Although, given his impression of Blaine he didn't understand why Kurt would go to him either.

Carole's grip on Burt's hand tightened and her thumb traced a few soothing circles into his skin. It was the latter then, his worst nightmare for his son's first love interest. If that's what Blaine was. He'd missed a lot in the past week it seemed, and Kurt had some sort of uncontrollable weakness for that vile, foul-mouthed little–

"No, I was at Blaine's place, Dad."

Kurt sat up, his lower lip trembling slightly, but he looked Burt square in the eye as he spoke. There was so much confidence in that look that Burt hesitated, the angry bellow dying in his throat. Instead, Burt sucked in a huge breath and willed himself to remain calm. The stern look Carole was giving him would have stopped his fuming rant regardless of whether or not he made his own effort to calm himself. Obviously, Carole had all the details and if she was fine with this situation (whatever it was) then there had to be a reason. A damn, good, flawless reason for Kurt to still be associating with that delinquent. He'd seen that boy's ankle monitor, he knew what that meant– trouble.

"Why the– just what were... why."

Burt couldn't settle on a question to demand answers, too. At least, he'd kept most of his anger out of his voice. This was undoubtedly not what his doctors had meant when they'd told him to relax. But never mind that not. He'd had plenty of that while he was in a damn coma for the past week. Resting could take a backseat to his son's explanation.

"Dad, you don't need any stress– "

"And you think not knowing the reason my son's lying here in tears is going to make me less stressed?"

If anything, the constant worry and terrible thoughts that would invade his mind until he had real answers would be a thousand times worse.

Finn shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Carole's gentle voice interrupted the tense silence.

"Tell him, Kurt. He needs to know." She reached across the bed and brushed Kurt's hair back, and wiped a tear from his cheek.

"I– all right." Kurt took a steadying breath and started talking. For the next hour, Burt and Finn listened to Kurt, with help from Carole, stumble through the disastrous tale of Blaine's life before Lima. If Burt hadn't trusted his son's honesty so much he wouldn't have believed any of it. He didn't want to believe any of it. But, whether he wanted to or not wouldn't change the fact that Kurt was tearing up in his arms as he started telling them about last night when they'd almost been cornered. Finn's mouth was hanging open in horror, and Carole's hand squeezed Burt's tighter when his grip became slack. The very thought of his son being at the mercy of those homophobic assholes tore him to pieces, but Blaine had been there. Blaine had protected his son. Unfortunately, he knew it wouldn't end there no matter how much he wanted it to. This would be the first in a long line of such incidents. It was an unavoidable conflict that Kurt, and even Blaine, would face for the rest of their lives. He hated that thought even more.

Carole ended up finishing the story, telling them how they'd returned a few hours ago to find Blaine's apartment ransacked and how Blaine had lashed out and then demanded for them to leave. Burt's chest clinched up, though it had nothing to do with his recent heart attack. Kurt had curled himself up at his side, tears silently pouring down his cheeks as he hiccupped. He knew Lima as a whole wasn't very accepting of anything out of the norm, but the fact that people that terrible lived just a few miles from his home – people that would target his son – terrified him. How could anyone be so cruel? That kid had nothing and nobody to fall back on, and they'd taken what little he had left and made a mockery of it. Burt couldn't blame Blaine for how he'd reacted. It made sense given everything he'd just heard.

"He's seventeen and he lives alone," Burt said faintly, letting Kurt clutch at his hospital gown and latch onto him tightly. Kurt hadn't been this much of a wreck since Elizabeth had died, and it terrified him because Blaine evidently meant more to his son than Burt had ever wanted him to.

"He's got nobody," Carole told him. "Nobody except... " Her words trailed off as her eyes fell on Kurt's tiny form. She looked back at Burt, an urgent need for him to understand in her eyes. And Burt already understood. He understood so much more than he wanted to right now. "He can't even lock his front door. He has to barricade it with his trunk because the lock is broken and he can't fix it."

Kurt shot up at Carole's words and scrambled off the bed. Everyone else startled at the sudden, agile movement and watched Kurt rub furiously at his eyes.

"He can't lock his door anymore. T- the trunk was smashed. What if they come b- back? I have to go– go help him or– or bring him here." Kurt's babbling was slightly hysterical as he stumbled towards the door. Burt's heart ached at the sight. All his son wanted was to help this boy, a boy who had kept the life shining in Kurt's eyes even as his world had threatened to collapse around him. An hour ago, Burt would have said he hated Blaine Anderson and would always hate Blaine Anderson for the rest of his life. He still didn't like him, but he was so grateful Blaine had been around this past week and just been there for Kurt. It takes someone special to get through to Kurt the way this kid had done, and from what he'd heard the same applied vice versa.

Finn's hand caught Kurt's arm and pulled him back towards the bed. Kurt's resistance to the tug was so weak he stumbled back and dropped onto the bed. He was still crying, the tears falling faster than he was able to swipe them off his cheeks.

"You're not going back there tonight, Kurt," Burt said sternly. Or, attempted sternness. Everything was starting to feel heavy again. "This isn't something you can fix on your own– "

"Why? Because I'm sixteen? He trusts me, Dad. He won't let anyone else see him like this! He needs me and I need him!"

"You're still not going back there toni– "

"I can't just sit here knowing they'll go back to finish him off!"

"Kurt, honey, I don't think he'd even let you in until he's calmed down some." Carole tried to reason with him. Burt knew from the look on her face that Carole hadn't liked leaving Blaine there anymore than Kurt had, but Blaine was clearly a fragile, volatile boy. If his reaction to the destruction had been half as bad in person as Burt was imagining it to be, then they were better off letting Blaine cool down on his own for a bit. Only then would Kurt stand any chance of bringing the boy underneath back to the surface.

"Then I'll sit outside of his door until he does, I don't care! I am not giving up on him. He's come so far already."

The room's only door creaked open.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Burt turned away from Kurt's tear-stained face and saw his old high school buddy, Jim Ferguson, step through the doorway. He was in full police officer uniform, spinning his hat on one of his fingers as he eyed them uncertainly.

"No, just a little... disagreement," Burt said, waving Jim over as Carole sat down next to Kurt on the bed and wrapped an arm around him.

"I was just stopping by here to follow up on a case and heard one of the nurses say you were awake," Jim grinned down at him, and patted his shoulder. "Good to have you back, Burt. Was starting to think I'd lost my favorite mechanic."

"I'm your only mechanic, Jim."

And it was true. He'd been working with cars since he was fourteen and had helped Jim fix up his first busted up Chevy when they were seniors in high school.

"Well, I just wanted to pop in and see you. I've gotta get back on patrol, but if you need anything, you know my number."

He shook Burt's hand firmly and ruffed Kurt's hair a little and said teasingly as he passed, "Chin up, kiddo. You look like your dad just made you do an oil change in your fancy clothes."

Burt's eyes drifted over to Kurt's miserable face and he had a sudden idea that he hoped would calm Kurt down for the night at least. Tomorrow was going to be another story.

"Actually, Jim, there is one thing you could do."

Jim turned and raised his eyebrows in response.

"You remember where you saw Kurt last night?"

Jim nodded, "Yeah. Not the smartest place to be after dark. Doesn't get much worse than that side of town."

"Do you think you could keep an eye on that place tonight? Make sure nothing happens?"

Jim's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he shot Burt a calculating look.

"That kid in some kind of trouble?"

"No!" Kurt defended immediately, "He's just alone tonight and there's always drunks outside... "

"But he's been in trouble. There's only a handful of reasons a kid your age would have an ankle monitor slapped on," Jim countered, folding his arms. He sighed uneasily, and glanced at the door to make sure it was closed before continuing. "He's on his own, too, isn't he?"

Kurt had frozen next to Burt's knees, his mouth opening to vehemently deny the question, but he couldn't get his lips to form words. Burt couldn't either. Jim might have some idea of what they could do to help Blaine. Still, he'd have to be careful. Jim was a good guy and a great cop, but given the little information he had on Blaine now, any cop involvement would be more of a hindrance than a help. If anything it would push Blaine even further away from Kurt.

"Say he was," Burt started carefully, fighting the tiredness starting to weigh down on his eyelids. This was way too much mental exercise so soon after waking up. "What would happen if you guys got involved?"

"Usually, he'd go into the foster care system, but with a criminal record... "Jim paused and shook his head, "I don't know. It depends on what he's done, but if it's got him an ankle monitor he'd probably go straight to a juvenile detention center, or a rehabilitation center if they thought he was worth the effort to reform."

"What if someone took him in?" Carole asked sadly. Kurt was shaking his head as she held him tightly. Burt knew Carole couldn't afford to take care of another teenage boy on her own, and while he certainly had the money to do so, Burt knew he was in no condition to do it. Besides, he still didn't know the boy beyond a few lewd comments that had made him want to rip Blaine's throat out.

"In all honesty, that'd be your best option in this case. I could probably help you reset the ankle monitor to the new address, and get all of his basic information switched over for you or whoever took him," Jim said thoughtfully. Burt didn't doubt his words. Jim was a senior officer and had been with the same station since they'd graduated. "If you get the station involved he'll get put into the system or shipped off to a detention center," his eyes fell on Kurt's shivering form. "I don't think you'd want that. Most of the guys aren't too... keen on gay rights either. I mean, if he's... "

Jim looked to Burt questioningly, and Burt nodded in confirmation. That was another good thing about Jim, he'd been around Kurt since he was born. Any homophobia he'd had when they were younger had diminished as Kurt had grown and shown them who he was.

"I'll keep an eye on his place tonight. I usually patrol around Thomas anyway." Jim patted Kurt on the shoulder gently, and leaned down a bit to look him in the eyes. "Nothing's gonna happen to him tonight, okay? He'll be safe, I promise."

"T-thank you," Kurt mumbled, wiping another batch of tears from his face, "Just, he... don't tell him you're there. H- he doesn't like cops. You'll only set him off if he knows you're there. He'll do something– something stupid."

"Sure thing, kiddo."

Jim patted Kurt's shoulder again, and nodded to Burt, Carole, and Finn before heading out into the hallway.

"You have the best ideas sometimes, Dad." Kurt's voice was still shaky and cracking from the emotional overload, but the tears had stopped for now. He leaned down and wrapped Burt in a warm, fierce hug and Burt sighed.

He didn't like Blaine one bit at the moment, but clearly there was something there that he was missing. If Blaine mattered this much to Kurt, then he indirectly mattered to Burt as well, regardless of whether or not Burt liked him. Besides, he'd given Finn a second chance after the basement fiasco last spring and things had been so great ever since it was almost unreal. Maybe that's what he needed to do with this Blaine kid, too.

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Blaine squealed as his father hoisted him up and tossed him on the bed. His little ribcage was assaulted by two pairs of wiggling fingers as his father collapsed down next to him.

"C'mere, you little rug rat," James growled playfully, tugging Blaine into his arms as the boy laughed uncontrollably. They wrestled on the bed for a few moments, until Blaine shouted shrilly in between bouts of laughter, "Okay, okay! I surrender, Daddy! I'll let you read me a story!"

James's fingers paused and he grinned slyly down at his son. "Are you sure? All that laughter makes me think you like being tickled more than stories!" His hands were a flurry of motion as Blaine tried to wriggle out of his arms, peals of high-pitched laughter echoing around the room.

"No, no! I want a story! I'll be good and I won't correct you tonight, I promise!"

"Hmm, if you're sure." He tickled Blaine's side once more before pulling the giggling boy against his chest and fishing a book out from the little shelf next to his son's twin bed. Blaine shifted against him, dropping his mop of thick, dark curls onto the left side of his chest and draping his little arm over him. James read animatedly for a good ten minutes, trying to ignore the way Blaine was plucking at the fabric of his shirt and clearly not paying attention to the story of Peter Pan. The book fell back against his thighs and he threaded a hand through Blaine's curls, and pressed a soft kiss against his son's forehead, waiting for Blaine to voice whatever was bothering him.

"Why does Mamma have to keep taking all of that medicine?"

James sighed at his son's words and sat up straighter, forcing Blaine to sit up as well. "The doctors said they'll make her happier, buddy. It'll just take a few more weeks for her body to get used to them. I've already told you this."

"I know, but, "Blaine bit his lower lip and worry flickered in his eyes as he searched for the right words to explain, "She's not...not Mamma when they make her take that stuff. And she's so sad that you have to work all the time, Daddy."

"I- I know that, buddy. Your grandfather is very... he wants me to work more and help him out." James couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone as he spoke and it didn't escape Blaine's notice.

"Grandpa's mean," Blaine said defiantly, tilting his little chin up and staring his father in the eye, daring him to challenge his words.

"He's– Grandpa's just very difficult, Blaine. He knows what he wants and nothing stops him from getting it," James said slowly, ruffling Blaine's hair, "If I do better at work, Grandpa will be happier. Don't you want him to be happy?"

"I want Mamma to be happy more," Blaine whispered quietly.

"Well, that's what this weekend's going to be all about," James said, pulling a grin onto his face. They'd finished packing the car up after dinner. Tomorrow, the three of them would be setting out for the lake for a long, Mother's Day weekend trip."I even took the day off work so we can leave in the morning, buddy."

Blaine gasped excitedly, "I get to miss school? Yay!""

"But I thought you loved school, amore mio." Lyra was standing in the doorway, smiling brightly as she watched her boys snuggling together on Blaine's little bed. Blaine smiled, too. He loved this time of night the best. It had been long enough since his mother's morning dose that she was back to herself until she had to take her evening dose. But he was never awake for that part.

"It's kind of boring now, though," Blaine grumbled, fighting down a huge yawn, "they always want me to take naps."

"Imagine how much more tired you'd be right now if you didn't take those naps," James said, picking him up and pulling back the covers.

"I'm not tired," Blaine mumbled around another huge yawn as he was tucked in, "my mouth is just stretching."

"Uh huh, and you're eyelids have taken up weight lifting," Lyra laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Ti voglio bene."

Blaine's eyes drooped closed and he snuggled down under his Batman sheets. "Love you, too, Mamma..."