Burt woke to the low whistle of the teapot.

He glanced at Kurt’s bedside clock – almost three a.m. He’d been asleep for nearly three hours. Quietly, he eased to the side of the bed, placing his feet on the floor to steady himself. Through Kurt’s bedroom curtain, he could make out a dark form in the kitchen – tall, wrapped in pajama layers, a scarf around his neck.

Kurt.

His son had been on his mind since he’d received the news. He knew he’d done the right thing – telling Kurt face to face – but it hadn’t made the experience any less dubious or painful. He’d sat through the Rockettes glancing periodically at his watch, thinking about how much time he had till he let the cat out of the bag, how much time before Blaine would arrive in the city and light Kurt’s face up again. Up until that point, Burt had never needed anyone else to be there to take care of Kurt. He’d always been the only one Kurt needed to feel safe, loved. But this circumstance was special.

Kurt’s dark form lifted the teapot, pouring the steaming water into a waiting mug on the side of the stove. After replacing the pot, he stood with his hands braced against the counter, as if he was holding himself up. As if he had to hold himself up.

Burt lifted one foot, preparing to step from the bed, but another dark form moved across his line of sight, coming from the living room and crossing into the kitchen. Blaine’s soft voice broke through the air.

“Kurt?”

His voice was a mixture of concern and caring, an intimate intonation that only someone who knew Kurt well enough could form. Burt had used that voice on Kurt many times as a child, knowing what was coming.

Kurt didn’t respond. He took a deep breath, letting it leak out through his nose. His head hung, eyes bathing the countertop in front of him.

Blaine moved closer, bare feet stepping light across the floor. He lifted one hand to Kurt’s back, resting it there.

Kurt turned and looked at Blaine. “My…dad…”

He sounded strangled, like he couldn’t get enough air to form the words. Blaine rubbed his back, patiently waiting for him to finish his thought.

“My dad has…cancer.” Kurt visibly slumped against the counter, shoulders dropping. “My dad has cancer, Blaine.”

Blaine continued to rub his back. “I know,” he replied softly. He stepped even closer, their bodies almost flush. “I know, baby.”

Burt knew what he needed to know about Kurt and Blaine’s breakup – honestly, he didn’t need all the nitty gritty details – and one thing was for certain: they were just friends at the moment. But the term of endearment from Blaine went unnoticed, as if its presence was something familiar, casual, expected, even now.

And then Kurt started to cry. Not his stand-tall, I’m-going-to-beat-this-anyway crying that he reserved for when he was in the company of others – even Rachel, who was one of his best friends. Instead he sobbed openly, gasping for air, whimpering in the same way he used to as a child after every skinned knee, the same way that broke Burt’s heart open every time he’d had to endure it those years ago.

Kurt slumped further, almost uncontrollably, and Blaine moved immediately to catch him. Together they slid down the flat surface of the oven door, Kurt curling onto his side, Blaine behind him, supporting him, arms wrapped tight around Kurt’s torso. Kurt cried into his own shoulder, clutching Blaine’s arm, until he turned and wrapped his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine held him, rubbed his back, whispered comforting words into his ear, let Kurt cry himself out right there against the oven on the cold kitchen floor.

Burt moved back into Kurt’s bed, pulling the blanket back over him. In any other situation, wild horses could not have dragged him away from his ailing child. But Burt had known – knew – that he’d done the right thing in flying Blaine out here, in bringing the one person he knew Kurt would want – the one person he knew Kurt would need – the one person Kurt was always himself with no matter the circumstances, to help him get through whatever obstacles the future held on this particular path.