Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Kurt woke up to find his mother smiling at him.

She smoothed a strand of hair back from his forehead. "Good morning," she said.

He frowned. "Hi," he said, confused. He blinked up at her. "What's…"

"You had a bad dream last night," she said, still tangling her fingertips in his hair. "What's wrong, KK? You want to tell me about it?"

He nestled a little closer. "I'm just stressed, I think," he said. "And…I'm lonely. Is that weird? I mean…I have friends, but…I just…" He sighed. "I don't know."

She smiled, tugging the blankets up around his shoulders. "I know," she said softly. "You're growing up, finding your place. It'll get better, sweetheart. And your dad and I will be right here for you, whenever you need us."

He sat up. "Mom? Is Dad okay?" he asked.

"Of course he is," she said, scrunching up her nose. "How stressed are you, my love?"

Kurt woke up to find himself alone.

He stared up at the ceiling and the bright lights still blaring in his face. Slowly he turned to glance at the clock on the nightstand; it read 2:19 in steady blue numbers. His mouth felt thick, like he'd swallowed cotton balls, and his eyes felt crusted over.

With some effort he dragged himself out of bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling off some of his layers of clothes. He set the alarm, turned off the light, and crawled under the covers, pulling the worn sheets and blankets over his head.

When the alarm went off, he pulled himself out of his nest and sat up. He stared down at the quilt, fingertips tracing the pattern of stitching. The strangest thing was…he actually did sort of feel a little better. Even the dream about his mother seemed more soothing than unsettling.

Actually, it sort of reminded him of having bad dreams when he was little, really little, before his mother died. He would lie there in bed, too scared to move but too scared to be alone, calling for her in a pitiful little warble. She would soothe his tears and tuck him in and sing him back to sleep. Usually a Beatles song. She loved the Beatles, so he loved the Beatles.

Kurt studied the ceiling thoughtfully. He hadn't thought about that in a long time.

Eventually he pulled himself out of bed and padded down the stairs to his basement to take a shower. Please let today go better, he thought. Just let it be better than yesterday.

He called the hospital one more time on the way to school- still no change. The first homeroom bell rang as he walked in the front doors, but he bypassed the choir room and headed straight towards his first class. He didn't know what he was supposed to say after the night before. How was he supposed to explain what he was thinking?

He passed some of his glee club friends in the hallway. They offered awkward smiles, but kept a wide berth. What am I supposed to do? he thought, frustrated.

It didn't hit him until he was reluctantly on his way to glee. Oh, he thought. Of course. Why didn't I think about this in the first place?

He took his seat quietly in the far back corner. The others wandered in, chatting quietly amongst each other, none of them acknowledging him past a weak smile or a glance in his direction.

Quinn looked up at him as she walked in. Hi, he mouthed.

Hi, she mouthed back. You okay?

He raised and lowered one shoulder. She smiled crookedly and took the seat directly in front of him, next to Mercedes who was still looking down at her shoes.

"Okay, guys, let's get started," Mr. Schue said.

Should I do it now? Kurt thought. Should I raise my hand and ask? Should I just…get up?

"I know things have been pretty morose around here this past week," Mr. Schue said. "But I want to celebrate some good news for our little family."

Kurt kept looking down at the floor, running through options in his head, his stomach beginning to tighten in anxiety. "Let's hear it for Finn, for getting back his quarterback job and leading the Titans to a win in their second game in the season."

The glee clubbers clapped politely and Puck leaned over to congratulate Finn. Finn didn't look very excited; he seemed more nauseated, and he half-smiled lamely.

And suddenly Kurt was standing up and walking over to the piano. Mr. Schue looked at him, concerned, and a hush fell over the glee club. "Mr. Schue?" he said, clasping his hands behind his back. Mr. Schue nodded and took a step back. "Um, I wanted to thank everyone for your kind emails and queries about my dad, but…for your information, his condition remains the same."

He had never seen the glee club this quiet before.

"I need to express myself," he said softly, and he saw the flicker of a smile on Quinn's face. "So with your permission, Mr. Schue, I've prepared a number for the occasion."

"Sure, Kurt," Mr. Schue said, taking Kurt's vacated seat.

Of course, his preparation had been mostly just a jumble of thoughts and memories as he walked in, but he took a deep breath and it all fell into place.

"On the day of my mom's funeral, when they were lowering her body into the ground, I was crying," he said, tangling his fingers together. "I mean…that was it. That was the last time I was ever going to see her. And I remember…I looked up at my dad, and I just wanted him to say something. Just…something to make me feel like my whole world wasn't over."

He could hear a pin drop. He swallowed hard, his eyes watering. "And he just…took my hand and squeezed it," he said. "Just the knowledge that those hands were there to take care of me…that was enough."

Suddenly he could see it clearly- him small for his age and dressed up a little bit more than the occasion required, his nose pink and his eyes red; his father silent and looking older than he did a week before, their hands clasped tightly as they stood beside the shiny new headstone.

"This is for my dad."

He had heard his mother sing this song when he was little, when she was tucking him into bed at night or driving down the road to go teach a piano lesson or washing dishes after dinner. It had been a part of life that he never noticed until it was gone.

He didn't want that to happen again. He didn't want to forget.

He remembered his father patiently teaching him to ride the bike he got for his seventh birthday, even though he couldn't keep his balance long enough to get all the way down their street.

He remembered his father having a tea party with him in the backyard, because his mother had promised but she had to go to a school conference at the last minute, and they spent the afternoon pretending to eat play-doh cakes and sipping water out of plastic teacups.

He remembered trailing behind his father after his mother's graveside service, not wanting to stay in the cemetery but reluctant to leave her behind. His father had stopped and held out his hand, and he had caught up to slip his tiny fingers into Burt's.

It was definitely easier to sing what he was feeling than possibly attempt to explain. He just…couldn't put it into words.

His friends stared at him as he finished singing, as if they hadn't realized how deep his feelings ran. Puck gaped at him open-mouthed; Rachel looked like she was about to cry. He ended his song and tried to square his shoulders and meet them head on, but he couldn't. His attempt at a deep breath came as a shuddering, messy choked sob, and he wiped frantically at his nose and eyes, trying to keep from crying in front of everyone.

Mr. Schue squeezed his shoulder. "That was amazing, Kurt," he said softly. "Your dad would be really proud of you."

Kurt just nodded, hiding his face behind his hands. Mr. Schue squeezed his shoulder again. "Is there anything else you need to say? Anything you need to do?" Kurt shook his head, still anxiously swiping at his face. "Okay, Kurt, why don't you go ahead and sit down?"

Kurt nodded, still shielding his face from everyone else as he tripped blindly to his seat. A hand tucked around his wrist and suddenly he was sitting next to Quinn. "Are you okay?" she whispered as Mr. Schue started his next lecture. He rubbed frantically at his watering eyes, his breath catching somewhere around his sinuses.

Quinn slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in a little closer. "It's okay," she whispered in his ear. "It's okay. Just take a deep breath and calm down."

He hid his face in the crook of her neck, still swiping furiously at his nose, his shoulders trembling. Quinn rubbed his back, up and down, in firm steady strokes. He felt Mercedes squeeze his knee tentatively. He sat there for a while, trying to slow down his breathing, trying to relax as Mr. Schue talked to a class still sitting in silence.

After a while he sat up as straight as possible, his eyes still red-rimmed but finally dry. Mercedes withdrew her hand from his knee, but Quinn kept her hand against his shoulder. When the bell rang, he paused long enough to whisper a thank you in her ear before grabbing his bag and darting out of the room. The last thing he wanted was for the glee club to descend upon him, but they gave him space.

He headed towards his locket, intent on exchanging his books for his next class and just moving on- three more periods till school was over. And hopefully the glee clubbers would continue to give him space. He was starting to regret his public sobfest.

"Hey, Kurt? Can I talk to you?"

He glanced over to see Mercedes at her locker, biting her lip anxiously. She closed the door and walked over to him, fingers tangled in the strap of her messenger bag. He raised his chin. "I know you're going through a really scary time right now," she said softly. "But I feel like I don't know how to be around you anymore. And I know you're not really spiritual or whatever, but I feel like you're closing yourself off to a world of experiences that just might surprise you."

Kurt's gut reaction was not a very nice one.

His first reaction was to grab her by the shoulders and give her a nice firm shake till the sense settled back in her head. I just bawled in front of all of our friends because all I want is to hold my dad's hand, he wanted to stay. And you're concerned about how you can't talk to me? And you want me to be more spiritual?

He closed his locker door, swallowing hard. He tried to remember what Quinn had told him.

Look, Kurt, Mercedes is one of the sweetest, most giving people I've ever met. The thing is, she doesn't know how to help.

His best friend looked at him earnestly. He took a deep breath. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pushing my friends away." Her relieved, happy smile alleviated some of tension in his chest. He leaned a little closer. "Especially friends as fabulous as you."

"Do me a favor," she said. "One thing? Come to church with me this Sunday?" He opened his mouth to say something back, but she kept going. "My church does this thing where we dedicate the service to someone, and I got them to dedicate this Sunday to your dad."

How am I supposed to tell her no? he thought.

"I don't know," he hedged.

"You get to wear a fabulous hat," she offered.

He looked down at the floor. The last thing he wanted to do was sit in church on Sunday morning, listening to things he didn't believe while he was surrounded by strangers, but he couldn't say no to the pure hope in Mercedes's face.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Mercedes, you had me at fabulous hat," he said.

Mercedes' face split into a wide grin. "Let's go to class," she said, draping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing playfully. "What are you doing after school? Do you want to go do something?"

"Oh, thanks, but…I'm probably just going to the hospital," he said. "You know. See how my dad's doing."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Mercedes said, giving him another little squeeze. "Want me to come with you?"

Her hand on his shoulder suddenly became less comforting. He had the sudden image of the various members of New Directions descending upon him en masse, filling up the waiting room at the hospital while they waited for him to have another nervous breakdown. "No, no, I'll be fine," he said, hastily slipping into his classroom. "I'll see you later?"

"Uh-huh," she said cheerfully. "Text me later, okay?"

"Sure," he said.

He didn't text Mercedes later.

He skipped the after school glee rehearsal again and drove straight to the hospital. His phone buzzed a couple of times, but he shoved it deeper in his pocket and sat by his dad instead. The doctors came by a few times for cursory examinations, and at one point he took a trip to the hospital cafeteria for a Styrofoam cup of thick, bitter coffee. But the rest of the time he just sat there, studying his father's face for any signs of change.

The next thing he knew, there was a warm soft hand on his shoulder and pale sunlight filtering through the windows. "Hon, you should probably scoot on home," Nancy said gently. "Don't want the higher-ups to catch you here."

He sat up sharply, his neck stinging as he uncoiled his twisted vertebrae. "Where'm I?" he mumbled.

"I came by last night to tell you that visiting hours were over, but you were sleeping so hard that I just didn't have the heart to wake you," she said, looking over his father's vitals and checking the fluid level in his IV. "You should probably go, though. Don't you have school?"

Kurt licked his dry lips. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed cotton. "Um…yeah," he said. "Thank you…thanks for letting me stay here."

She patted his shoulder. "You're welcome, honey," she said. She smiled fondly. "I remember when your mama was here for that whole month. You and your daddy came to see her every single day."

"Yeah, I remember," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll be back right after school."

"I'll take care of your daddy till you get back," Nancy promised.

He limped through the hospital lobby and back out to his car, planning to drive home and at least change before school- he probably didn't have time to shower. His stomach ached, still empty after his dinner of black coffee the night before.

I can't do this, he thought. I can't do this again. Not another day of this.

It was beginning to wear on him, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. He couldn't take it anymore. Get up, drive to school, sit through classes, avoid glee, sit at the hospital, go home and avoid sleeping. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But he didn't have a choice.

So he went home. He changed clothes. He drove to school. He sat through classes.

But he still…he just couldn't do it anymore.

His history class had been assigned to work on essays about key battles of the Civil War; he asked for permission to go to the library and find books about Antietam.

He found a book and sat down to read over it, but his vision kept blurring. Words swam across the page and he read the sentence four times over without understanding it. Eventually he just gave up and leaned his cheek against his hand, staring blindly at the book as his eyes glazed over.

He was just so damn tired.

He didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want to drag himself through school, avoiding his friends. He didn't want to have to worry about his dad's garage or the medical bills that we're beginning to pile up.

I just can't do this anymore.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and he stood up, surreptitiously wiping at the stray tear dripping down his cheek. Time for rehearsal.

He had only taken a step or two into the hallway before someone caught him by the elbow; he jerked away on reflex. "Whoa, whoa, sorry, I'm sorry," Finn stammered. "Geez, are you okay?"

"Fine," Kurt said sharply.

Finn dogged his steps. "Seriously, Kurt, are you okay?" he asked. He squeezed Kurt's bony elbow lightly. "You…you want to talk about it?"

Kurt glanced at him over his shoulder. "No," he said incredulously, and he brushed past Finn into the choir room to take an empty seat between Puck and Mike. Mike smiled at him, and Puck nodded.

"Hey, guys, come on in and-" Mr. Schue started to say.

"Mr. Schue?" Finn interrupted. "I've got something I want to say. I mean, sing."

Mr. Schue blinked. "Yeah, sure, Finn," he said. "Go for it."

Clearly anxious, Finn shrugged his shoulders as Brad started the intro to his song. "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. was an unusual choice, but at least it was a better choice than if he had attempted another show tune or something.

There was something different about the way Finn was singing, though. He seemed so…earnest. Almost desperate. It was strange.

Tina wrinkled her nose as the song ended. "I thought we couldn't sing songs about religion," she objected.

"Evidently we can't sing about having faith, but we can sing about losing faith," Mercedes said sharply.

"That's sort of what I wanted to talk about today," Mr. Schue said, standing up from his front row seat. "Earlier in the week, Finn, it seemed like you felt differently."

"I used think God was up there looking over me," Finn said glumly. "Now I'm not so sure."

Kurt glanced up at him, frowning a little. Finn met his gaze, as if there was something he was trying to convey but he didn't know how to say it.

Mr. Schue clapped Finn on the shoulder. "Go ahead and sit down, Finn," he said. "Okay, so I was thinking that today we could try…"

Kurt tuned Mr. Schue out. He sang along mechanically when called upon, but he just really wasn't thinking about it. Finn sat in front of him with his shoulders slumped, one foot tapping anxiously on the floor. He didn't even bother to sing.

"Okay, you guys, that was a good run through," Mr. Schue said as the bell rang overhead. "Let's try it again after school."

Kurt picked up his bag and started for the door, but Finn took him gently by the arm, his big fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. "Would it be okay if I talked to you?" Finn asked hesitantly.

Kurt paused and turned towards him. "I have to get to my next class," he said.

"Look, I just really want to…Kurt, I'm sorry," Finn said.

Kurt blinked. "What are you sorry for?" he asked.

"I'm selfish," Finn said bluntly. "I've been really, really stupid this week. And I'm sorry." He squeezed Kurt's arm gently. "I prayed for all the wrong things."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "I still don't know exactly where that's coming from, but…I accept your apology," he said.

Finn shifted his weight. "Listen, is…is there anything that you want me to…you know, do? Or something?" he said. "I feel like I have to make this up to you."

Kurt's frown deepened. "Again, Finn Hudson, I'm still confused as to why you feel you have to make something up to me," he said. "And I'm fine. I don't need anything."

He slipped away from Finn's grip, leaving him behind in the hall outside the choir room. But suddenly the rest of the day loomed in front of him, hours of sitting through class and sitting in the hospital and sitting in his empty house. He paused and turned around, tangling his fingers in the hook of his messenger bag. Finn straightened like a hopeful puppy waiting for a pat on the head.

"But if you and your mother wanted to stop by the hospital tonight during visitor hours…I think my dad would like that," he said.

"Sure!" Finn said eagerly. "Sure, yeah, I'll tell her. She's been really worried about Burt and everything, so…yeah. Yeah, thanks, Kurt."

Kurt smiled faintly and headed towards his next class, steeling himself for the rest of his long day.

He didn't really expect to actually look forward to seeing Carole and Finn, but when the sky grew dark through the windows of his father's hospital room, he started shifting his weight in his chair and glancing between the clock and the door. The idea of company was suddenly overwhelming.

It was a little after six when Carole peeked into the hospital room. He straightened up, balancing his coffee in his hand. "Carole, hi," he said.

"Hi, Kurt," she said. "I just got off work. How's Burt doing?"

Kurt glanced over at his father's prone, limp form. "No real change," he said. "But his vitals are all strong, and they told me they don't think he's in any pain right now or anything."

"That's good," Carole said, her eyes still fixed on Burt as she stood in the doorway. "That's good."

Kurt looked up at her. "Do you want to come sit?" he asked.

"Oh, sure, thanks," she said. She sat down in the chair close to the door and set her bag down. They sat in silence for a moment. "Thank you so much for letting Finn and I know that it was okay to come over."

"Well, I know that you and my dad are really close," Kurt said quietly. "I know that if the roles were reversed, he'd be trying to spend as much time as he could with you."

Carole gazed down at Burt. "I really do care about him," she said. Her eyes welled up a little and she pressed her lips together like she was going to cry. "He's one of the best things that's happened for me and Finn in a long, long time." Kurt just glanced down at the toes of his shoes.

They sat there in quiet for most of the evening, listening to the beeps of the machines and the faint steady rumble of Burt's breathing. Nurses walked in and out on their routine checks. Occasionally he would mention something to Carole, or she would offer a comment. Mostly they just sat in silence, but Kurt found himself grateful for her company, at least.

At nine o'clock a nurse poked her head in to remind them that visiting hours were over. Carole stood up and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "It was good to see you, Kurt," she said warmly.

Kurt stood up reluctantly. "It was good to see you too," he offered. He hung back a little as Carole leaned over to whisper a good night to his father, struggling to bite back the childish instinct to beg Carole not to go.

She patted his shoulder as she turned towards the door. "Take care of yourself, sweetie," she said. He only nodded. Her hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment, as if she wanted to pull him into a hug, but she just stepped back and smiled at him. "Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Carole," he said in a small voice.

She headed down the hall, the sound of her shoes fading away. Kurt bit his lip and bent over his father. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered in his dad's ear. "I hope you'll be awake in the morning."

He straightened and left his father's hospital room, trying not look back. All he could think about now was heading home to his empty, quiet house for another night of restless, lonely sleep. It made his stomach ache.

When he rounded the corner out of the ICU, Carole was still waiting by the elevator doors. She looked up and smiled at him as he approached. "These things always take forever," she said. He sort of smiled.

The doors opened and they stepped inside. Carole pressed the bottom floor bottom. "So, are you going home to Finn?" he ventured.

"Oh, no, no, not tonight," she said. "He got called into an emergency football practice, since he's the quarterback now. It's running late, so he's staying the night with Puck."

"Oh," Kurt said.

The doors opened onto the quiet, shadowed bottom floor. "I can walk you to your car," Kurt offered.

"Thank you, Kurt," Carole said.

They walked together through the lobby. "Did you already have dinner tonight?" Kurt asked.

"No, but I'll probably have some leftovers when I get home," Carole said.

"Well, that sounds nice," Kurt said.

Carole's car was parked under a streetlamp. Kurt dragged his feet a little. "So, are you-"

Carole turned around. "Kurt, do you not want me to leave?" she asked.

Kurt took a step back. "Well, I, um…"

She folded her arms and tilted her head to survey him. "Kurt," she said gently. "What did you have for dinner tonight?" she asked.

He faltered. "I, um…well, just coffee, but-"

"Kurt. What did you have for dinner last night?"

He bit his lip and stared carefully past her shoulder. "I've been drinking a lot of coffee," he said.

"Have you been getting any sleep?" she pressed.

"I did last night," he said, half-defensive. "Nancy let me stay at the hospital."

"Kurt," Carole said, her voice gentling. "Honey, who's been taking care of you?"

"I don't, I don't need anyone to take care of me," he said, shaking his head. "I'm fine. I don't…need…"

"Kurt," Carole said. "You are a child."

His chin trembled. "I'm doing fine," he pleaded, his voice spiraling up. "I'm fine, Carole, I'm f-"

He thought about drinking bitter black coffee for three nights in a row, about trying to balance the payroll for the garage, about bawling himself to sleep in his parents' abandoned bed. His shoulders shook.

"Oh, honey," Carole said. "Honey, are you okay?"

He shook his head. "I'm tired," he said, his voice shaking. "Carole, I'm so tired. I can't sleep and my head hurts and…and I…I can't do it anymore. I just can't. I can't!"

He tried to explain beyond that, but he couldn't voice anything cohesive anymore. All that came out was a high-pitched, helpless stream of words. He started to cry despite himself.

"Oh, no, sweetheart, no, no, no," Carole said. She cupped his cheeks in her hands. "Don't cry, honey. Don't cry. You're going to be fine. Your dad's going to be fine."

That only made him cry harder. Carole pulled him in tightly for a hug. "It's okay, Kurt, it's okay," she murmured. "Oh, honey, it's okay."

He hunched over and sobbed into her shoulder as she rocked him gently. She wasn't his mother- she wasn't small and slight and she didn't smell like strawberries and caramel popcorn and she didn't hum sweet little bits of melodies in his ear- but she was warm and solid and comforting and she smelled homey, like dryer sheets and soap. She hugged him tightly in the middle of the hospital parking lot, murmuring soft comforting nonsense in his ear.

He finally untangled himself, sniffling desperately and digging at his eyes in a futile attempt to stop crying and calm down. Carole dried his tears gently. "Sweetheart, you listen to me," she said. "I want you to get in your car, drive home, and take a nice long bath. I'm going to stop by Kroger and then make you something for dinner."

"No, no, you don't have to-" he started to say

"You're not going to argue with me, young man," she said, firm but gentle. "Get into your car and drive home, right this instant. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

Carole smiled, smoothing her hand against his cheek. "I'll see you in a little bit."

He nodded and headed for his car, properly chastised. His head ached and his nose dripped and his stomach was so empty it hurt, but somehow he felt…relieved. Suddenly it seemed like the whole world wasn't resting solely on his shoulders anymore.

He drove home with the radio crackling in the background and pulled into his driveway. The house was silent, but he flipped on all the lights as he headed downstairs to the basement. He stripped off his clothes, draping them over his chair, and turned the water on full blast.

His shower felt so good that it was probably illegal. Hot water pounded his back and eased some of the painful kinks left in his spine from sleeping in the chair the night before. His hair plastered to his forehead and he closed his eyes.

The water was already beginning to cool by the time he reached for his bottle of shampoo, and was positively tepid when the last soap bubbles rinsed clear of his skin. Reluctantly he switched the water off and grabbed the closest towel.

He spent some time smoothing lotion over his arms and legs and pulled on a thick pair of plaid flannel pajamas. They were decidedly unattractive, but they were soft and warm, and that was what he wanted more than anything else.

He emerged from the bathroom to find Carole busily changing the sheets on his bed. "Hi, honey," she said. "Do you feel a little better?"

"Much, thank you," he said. "You didn't have to do this."

She pulled the comforter back. "Get into bed," she said. "I'll bring your dinner down in a second."

"Oh…okay," he said, attempting to put together an argument and failing miserably. He obediently slid between the sheets and allowed Carole to tuck him into bed like a child before she headed back up to get his dinner.

It was sort of nice, now that he thought about it. It was nice to have someone else make dinner for him for once, and tuck him into bed, and, well…have someone be like a mom.

Carole walked back down the stairs with a tray in her hands. "It's not very fancy, but it's quick and it'll fill you up," she said, setting the tray carefully down on his nightstand. "I always make potato soup when Finn isn't feeling well."

"Thank you," he said, picking up the bowl and taking a small, hesitant bite. It was delicious, even if his empty stomach yowled in protest.

She smoothed out his blankets. "I brought you a Tylenol PM and some water," she said. "It'll help you sleep, and help your headache."

"Thank you," he said again, taking several quick bites of his soup.

"Tomorrow I want you to stay home and rest," she said. "This has been a hard week, and you've been pushing yourself too much. You're going to sleep as long as you need tomorrow morning."

He set his spoon down. "But Dad-"

"I'll stay with your dad tomorrow," Carole promised. "I'll stay all day and call you with updates. But I want you to get some sleep, and get some food back in your system. Plus, I'm sure you have homework to do."

"Okay," he said meekly.

Carole smoothed his hair back from his forehead, then wiped a drop of soup away from the corner of his mouth. "Get some sleep, blue eyes," she said softly, before taking the empty bowl from his hands.

Kurt stared down at his knees, his stomach feeling unexpectedly warm. "Blue eyes?" he ventured.

Carole paused. "I used to call Finn my little baby brown eyes when he was small," she said. "Now I just call him brown eyes, and it just…it just seemed like you needed something like that. It sort of slipped out."

He smiled down at his comforter. "I like it," he confessed.

She kissed the top of his head. "Take your medicine and go to sleep," she said.

He obeyed, chasing the Tylenol with a sip of water, and laid down obediently. Carole pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, and he was fast asleep before she could turn off the light.

Author's Notes:

This chapter in summary: ANGST ANGST AND CAROLE.

Yeah.

I think the thing that frustrates me the most in this episode is that this sixteen year old child (yes, 16 is a child, I am 24 and can say these things) is left on his own. We don't see anyone feed him, or make sure he's sleeping, or help him figure out all the hospital paperwork. So...now we have Carole taking care of him. And honestly, out of everyone, it should be Carole. She'll be his stepmother in five more episodes, anyways.

But yeah.

Also, thank you so much for having such kind feedback over how I handled the religious issues in the first chapter! I really did try to be respectful to both sides of the issue, and I'm so glad it came across well. (For the record, and for those who were curious, I'm a Christian and grew up in the church.)

So...yeah.

It is midnight my time and I'm quite tired and I have a dreadful sinus infection and I stayed up too late, so I should go. But let me know what you think of this chapter!