Kurt quietly walked into his toddler's room and over to her crib. He smiled, looking over his little girl, her curly white blonde hair immensely dishevelled and her pyjama top slightly rumpled as she sucked on her pacifier. The countertenor gently picked her up out of her bed and placed her against his chest. Chanel's little blue eyes started to open and she gazed up at her father. A small smile appeared on her face as Kurt leant in and he placed a kiss to her soft cheek.

“Morning sweet heart,” Kurt murmured as Chanel wrapped her tiny arms around her father's neck. She mumbled ‘dada' into the crook of his neck as he felt her droop in his arms. He rolled his eyes fondly at his precious daughter and placed her down on the large fluffy ottoman in the corner of the room while he went in search of comfortable clothes for her to wear.

Down the hall he could hear his husband struggling with their crying two month old son, Marc. The countertenor knew there would be no easy way dealing with a grizzling baby who didn't like to be woken up from his sleep, so that is why he had taken the job of getting the thirteen month old little girl ready. To some it might seem odd to have two children so close in age but that's what happens when you adopt; miracles just happen and they wouldn't have it any other way. The couple felt immensely lucky that they had the chance to choose their children's name as both of the biological mothers wanted a closed adoption and no connection with the child. Both of their kids where named after designers who Kurt had worked for and helped him achieve his big break into the industry: Marc Jacobs and Coco Chanel.

After dressing his daughter in a simple pink cotton shirt and matching tulle fairy skirt, he carried her out to the bathroom to fix her hair before they hit the road. Attempting to carefully detangle his squirming daughter's hair he saw his husband pacing past the open door trying to soothe Marc, Blaine serendipitously glaring at Kurt before poking his tongue out at him and continued walking up the hallway. The countertenor laughed quietly as he adjusted the tiny bows in Chanel's hair before letting her run off to grab her toys to take with her on the trip to Lima.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt had all their bags packed into the silver Hyundai ix35, gone were the days of his beloved Navigator and replaced with a more suitable family car. Shutting the back door of the car, Blaine came out of the house with Chanel racing towards the car with her dolly clutched firmly in her hands and a more settled Marc dressed in a cute baby bear onesie with the hood over his little head. The countertenor placed a kiss on his son forehead before scooping him up in his arms and buckling him in the car seat while his husband did the same with their daughter.

“So you get him when he is quiet and not crying but I have to deal with him when he first wakes up and screaming, that seems fair,” Blaine told sarcastically as he sat down in the driver's seat. Kurt rolled his eyes and leant over the console to silence him with a kiss, knowing that he was partly joking.

“Better?”

“I'll let you know once we have been driving for a few hours.”

After the long gruelling hours it took to get to Ohio plus numerous trips to Starbucks along the way, they were finally at Kurt's father's house. The motion of the car had lulled the children back to sleep but now they were screaming and crying because they were hungry, and Marc had been sick for a few days with a high fever, he hadnt been feeling too great.

When they pulled up to the house, Burt and Carole were sitting on the porch steps waiting for them. Blaine parked the car in the drive way and got out, shortly followed by his husband as they both grabbed a child out of their car seats. Carole laughed when she saw her step son's face, picking the little boy out of his arms and cuddling him to her chest in an effort to soothe him.

“How was the trip?” Burt asked, helping Blaine retrieve the bags from the car, smirking serendipitous at their tired faces.

“Long,” the couple replied in unison. Kurt helped his husband with their belongings as well, pressing a light kiss to his cheek just to lean against him for a second to rest. The curly haired man hugged him with one arm briefly before following his husband's parents inside. Once inside, Blaine placed Chanel on the floor along with the bags as everyone went into the kitchen, Carole still bouncing a crying Marc in her arms.

“Would you like some tea, coffee?”

“I'd take something stronger if it wasn't still early,” Kurt murmured as he rummaged through the diaper bag looking for a premade bottle of formula.

“Coffee is fine,” Blaine told, taking his son back as she set about making drinks for everyone. The countertenor put the bottle in the microwave to heat it up, fixing his little girl's curls sightly as she unsteadily ran past him to her grandpa, who lifted her is the air before placing her on his knee. The family tried to speak but it was becoming pointless as they were being drowned out by the baby's crying.  When the bottle was heated, Kurt tested the temperature on the back of his wrist before handing it to his husband. Little Marc settled immediately when he drank the creamy mixture.

“Works like a charm,” Kurt said proudly as he took a seat at the table, mouthing a thank you to his step mother as she placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of him, drinking half of it in one mouthful, ignoring the fact it was scolding his throat.

“You guys look beat,” Burt told thoughtfully, the married couple shared a knowing glance before Blaine answered.

“Marc has been pretty sick; he has had a fever and an ear infection. He's too young for most medication but we have given him children's pain medicine yet it doesn't seem to be working so we are just waiting for his fever to break.”

“That's the only thing that you can do,” Carole assured, “I always felt horrible when parents came in at the hospital at crazy hours trying to find an answer, all we could do was place the child in cool clothing and just wait.”

After the adults had finished their drinks, everyone went into the lounge room and put a movie on for Chanel with some snacks to keep her quiet. They talked and caught up on everything that had been happening in their lives, Burt telling them about an apprentice that he had recently hired, Blaine going back to work after paternity leave, Carole showing them pictures of a heavily pregnant Rachel and how her son's wife couldn't wait for the baby to be born, while Kurt told them stories of cute things that his kids had been doing.

Later that night they ate dinner and played different card games to pass the time. Kurt put the kids down to sleep and spent a few hours relaxing with his dad, Carole and his husband before going to bed themselves and getting some sleep; well that's what he thought.

Ear piercing, screeching, loud cries broke through the air for the umpteenth time that evening. Cracking an eye open and glaring at the alarm clock on bedside table of his childhood room that read two in the morning, he rolled over and kneed his husband in the ribs.

“What?” Blaine snapped, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Your turn,” Kurt told. Blaine huffed, violently throwing the blankets off him before going over to the port-a-cot and picking up his crying son, feeling his burning forehead and removing his onesie, leaving him in just a diaper. He took him downstairs into the kitchen and made a bottle of cold water before sitting down and feeding it to him; praying that it would work. But of course, he was not that lucky. He tried some gentle rocking to soothe him, placing a cool wash cloth on his forehead until he gave up and put his son in the high chair, on his knees and began to bargain with him.

“Ok Marc, if you stop crying now I'll let you do one stupid thing when you are older, anything you just name it. You want strippers at your eighteenth birthday? How about bowls of ice cream for breakfast or you can make me watch endless hours of mind numbing children's show, please just tell me!” the only sound he was met with was more crying. Blaine bowed his head in exasperation and felt like he was going to cry himself.

“I tried that once with Kurt,” a voice said from the doorway, the curly haired man's head snapping up at the sound. “I secretly think he remembers, the amount of tea parties I had,” Burt said, shaking his head fondly at the memories. Blaine just looked at him with a sad smile.

“I don't know what else to do,” Blaine told brokenly, tears forming in his eyes.

“Go back to bed; I'll take care of it.”

“No it's ok-“

“I wasnt asking, now go,” Burt spoke, “shoo!” when the other man didn't move.

Sighing, the curly haired man patted his father-in-law's shoulder before making his way up the stairs, telling him to come and get him if anything was wrong to which Burt ignored him.

“Now little man, what is all this noise about?” he asked as the baby continued to whimper uncomfortably. The older man carried the child to the kitchen sink and started to fill it up with cool water, gently bouncing the two month old against his chest to keep him quiet.

“Now this might not be the luxury you are used to but this house does not have a bath tub and I don't think your dad would like me too much if you accidently drowned in a huge tub anyway,” Burt explained like Marc could understand what he was saying as he removed the diaper he was currently wearing before slowly immersing him into the sink. Supporting the baby's back, Burt found a plastic cup on the drying rack and used it to trickle water over the small boy's burning skin. “Your dads have been pretty worried about you, daddy Kurt has been up with you most of the night worrying what to do about you. He read somewhere that giving you a cool bath might make it worse… but by the look on your face I don't think that, that is true,” Burt whispered, seeing that the little boy was not frowning for the first time that evening, splashing his hands into the water. He had to admit, the older man was pretty proud of himself.

They stayed there for a while, wanting to make sure that his grandson was feeling better and delighted to feel that his forehead was not the same fiery hot it had been and was cooling increasingly. Picking up the little boy from the makeshift bath tub, he carried him to the linen closet and grabbed a towel to wrap around the tiny boy and dry him on the way to his son's room. Burt dressed his grandson in a fresh diaper and a light cotton shirt before placing him back into the port-a-cot, elated to see him asleep. The older man glanced to the other side of the room to see his son and husband blissfully asleep. He silently walked over and fixed the sheet that had fallen off his shoulder and smoothed back the comforter. The older man pressed a kiss to his son and son-in-law's forehead before exiting the room.

‘You did good Burt, you did good.'