Don't I Get A Dream For Myself? [Chapter Twelve]
Title: Don’t I Get A Dream For Myself [Chapter Twelve]
Author: niblettk
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Burt Hummel, Finn Hudson, ensemble / Puckurt, other couples are mostly canon (Finchel, Brittana, Wemma, Tartie, and Burt/Carole-whatever we’re calling that one)
Warning: This story does include medical themes and could possibly bring up cancer-related memories for some readers. Other than that, it’s possible some characters (Puck) could have a potty mouth.
Spoilers: Up to and including the season one finale.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Genre: hurt/comfort, drama, gen
Author’s Note: I take credit for all my mistakes, but I also need to give credit to the amazing rainbowdocms for all her help.
Summary: Kurt is diagnosed with the same disease that killed his mother.
Word Count: 2109
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven
Katherine Hummel had deteriorated slowly, passing away in her sleep, and Burt had hated every minute of those last days. Burt had watched her health deteriorate, struggling to help Kurt understand but also to maintain his role as father-Kurt had needed him to be strong, so he had been.
Now, he sat in what felt like the same hard plastic chair by his son’s bed, in the same brightly-lit hospital, with the same horrified foreboding in his stomach. He was cradling his son’s limp hand in his own, much larger one, watching his eyes move quickly beneath his thin eyelids.
Burt wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. According to Finn, Kurt’s fever had spiked dramatically and he’d collapsed in his room. Finn had left him alone-Burt didn’t know, but he was covering for Puck, who still hadn’t answered Finn’s call-and nobody knew how long he’d been laying there. He’d been mostly unconscious for the past two days, drifting in and out of a delirious haze of sickness.
They’d changed out his central line while he’d been sleeping, and hooked it up to an additional I.V. to keep him hydrated; the skin around it was still faintly red from infection. A thin white bandage was visible under Kurt’s baggy shirt-Carole had sent Finn home to grab some comfortable, loose-fitting clothes for Kurt to wear, and he’d come back with a few pairs of silk bottoms from Kurt’s drawer and two of his own shirts. He’d merely shrugged when he’d handed them over to Burt, claiming that most of Kurt’s shirts were too fancy and tight.
So he’d changed his son into Finn’s loose shirt and then nearly cried-Kurt had looked washed out and pitifully sick for weeks, but seeing him in Finn’s clothes was like taking twenty pounds off of his torso and it made it so much harder to be strong, to pretend he was sure that the outcome was going to be positive, to maintain the façade of strength he’d been holding around himself for too long.
---
Kurt woke up, coherent but exhausted, on his third day in the hospital.
Finn and Rachel were sitting on the left side of his bed, playing cards on the small fold-out table that was attached to his bed, “I’m pretty sure you’re cheating.”
“I’m appalled that you would accuse me of cheating. ‘War’ is a game of luck.”
Finn dropped his cards with a sigh, pushing them towards her, “A game of luck that I’ve never won.”
She smiled at him, looking adoringly into his eyes, and then her gaze shifted and landed on Kurt’s weary face, “Kurt!” Finn jumped, turning and pushing the table down and out of the way; they both scooted closer, “How are you feeling?”
Her hand was cool on his forehead, and he closed his eyes as he answered, “Tired.”
She started speaking immediately, talking about everything and nothing. Kurt listened, watching Finn watch Rachel with a look on his face that was full of pure devotion; he’d seen the look directed at Quinn, and now at Rachel, and although he no longer wanted it from Finn, he realized he’d seen it directed at himself.
At the graveyard, in the moment before Puck had kissed him, Kurt had recognized the look that he’d seen once before-when Puck had been staring down through meshed glass at his newborn daughter.
“Rachel, I don’t think Kurt is interested.” Rachel frowned, but she didn’t look insulted.
Kurt pulled himself back to the conversation, “I may not be listening, but it’s nice to hear your voices. You could sing, if you wanted.” Rachel beamed and Finn’s eye twitched as she dragged him from his seat, moving chairs aside so they had room.
“We could show you the number we’ve been working on in Glee, if you were interested. I mean, I understand if you’re not, but I’d love to perform it for you and get your opinion.” He nodded, allowing Finn to hoist him up and prop him against the head of his bed.
---
It got harder to tolerate his friends as the week wore on.
His dad spent most nights in the room with him, but as it was now summer, his friends were available during the day.
The Glee club trickled through his room, bringing small tokens and, in Mr. Schue’s case, a small coupon that read, “Redeem for any solo.”
None of them came alone.
When Rachel stopped by, Finn made sure to stay in the room. Matt would come with Mercedes, and during one delirious day, Kurt had seen them holding hands. Mike was trying to woo Quinn, and although she seemed reluctant to start anything, they were almost inseparable. Santana and Brittany came together, which wasn’t unusual, but Brittany was wearing a beautiful necklace that she proudly told Kurt was Santana’s promise to her.
He nearly cried when Schuester came with Emma Pillsbury; the two of them spent their visit smiling shyly at each other, or proudly, on Emma’s part, when Schue handed Kurt the hand-made coupon.
Artie and Tina came twice, bringing a video project Artie had made in AV club; it was a short video, filled with Tina sing-speaking a song that they’d obviously written together. At the end of the video, a black title card showed that the video had been dedicated to him.
He tried not to cry when his friends came to visit and brought him gifts. He didn’t bother crying when, after four days in the hospital, Puck still hadn’t come.
---
“Morning,” Finn set the coffee down beside Kurt’s bed, hovering for a moment to see if Kurt needed help sitting up.
“Where’s dad?” Kurt wrapped both hands around the cup, bringing it into his lap and enjoying the warmth in his palms.
Finn sprawled back in his chair, lifting his long legs and resting them on Kurt’s bed, “I made him and mom go get breakfast. Mom said she’d bring you a bagel.”
Kurt nodded, and took a small sip of his coffee-he was proud to notice that Finn had memorized his preference.
“How’re you feeling?”
He shrugged, “I’m okay.”
“You sure, cause you seemed kind of bummed when Mercedes left yesterday.” Mercedes and Matt, Kurt thought.
“Oh,” he knew his demeanor-the casual way he was trying to dismiss it-would give him away, “I’m fine.”
Finn’s shoe tilted into his vision, tapping once against his thigh, “You don’t seem fine. Are you mad at Mercedes?” Kurt lifted his head, arching an eyebrow at Finn’s earnest expression, “You fixed Rachel and I-”
“’Rachel and me’ is appropriate there.”
“-so I figured the least I could do is help you out with your girl problems. I mean, not that they’re the same type of girl problems, because that would be weird.” His expression was suddenly panicked, “Not that it would be weird if you had guy problems, cause I’d totally listen if you did,” he paused, searching Kurt’s expression-blank besides the twitching at his mouth that suggested he was amused. “Are you having problems with Puck?”
Kurt paled, suddenly furious at his illness for keeping him in bed. His flight or fight response was hindered by the impossibility of fleeing; he responded sharply as he reached for the remote, “No.” The television flickered to life and Kurt turned all of his attention to it.
“Are you-”
“No, Finn,” Kurt flicked through the channels rapidly, barely seeing each show, “Nothing is happening between me and Puck.” Not anymore.
He stopped, lingering on a black and white film, “But you want there to be, right?”
Kurt slammed the remote down beside his leg-the effect was lost somewhat because the collision between bed and remote didn’t make a satisfying noise. “And what could possibly have convinced you of that?”
Finn hesitated, nearly tipping backwards out of the blue plastic chair, “I just thought-”
Kurt didn’t wait. He’d screwed up with Puck, and he wasn’t about to listen to Finn tell him what he already knew, “You thought wrong.”
“I thought you might miss him or something. I mean, he hasn’t come by since he left you alone, so I’m assuming you had a fight,” Finn tried to grab at Kurt’s hand, but he shifted his body so it was facing slightly away and shoved his hand beneath the blanket, “I thought you were upset because he hadn’t visited.”
Kurt ignored him.
Finn sounded upset, like Kurt had insulted his intelligent, when he spoke again, “If it’s something else you can just tell me.”
“It’s-” Kurt sighed, turning back to Finn slowly, “When did you get to be so insightful?”
“Uh… What?”
Kurt smiled, “I’m not used to you knowing exactly what I’m feeling.”
Finn grinned, leaning forward and punching Kurt lightly in the shoulder; he settled back in his chair, propping his feet back up on the bed and watching the movie.
It wasn’t until the second round of commercials appeared that Finn’s startled voice filled the room again, “Wait, does this mean you are sad cause of Puck!?”
---
“Are you going to eat?” Kurt barely acknowledged his dad, lifting his burger to his mouth and taking a small bite out of it.
“I’m hungry, dad,” Kurt knew he looked pathetic, hunched over a greasy burger-snuck past the nurses by Finn-in his dad’s old University of Ohio sweatshirt, “I just don’t feel like inhaling my food like a wild animal.”
“You callin’ me an animal?”
Kurt rolled his eyes, “I’m calling Finn an animal.”
His dad snorted, but he stopped trying to make conversation, opting to watch Kurt chew his food slowly.
After a while, Kurt rolled his eyes and lifted his head to meet his dad’s eyes, “What?”
Burt shook his head, an unreadable expression on his face, “Nothing,” he sighed, “You have no idea how much I wish you were having boy troubles instead.”
Kurt snorted, unable to stop himself from blurting “What makes you think I don’t?” It was the kind of think that Kurt hated the moment he said it; he made ridiculous smart-ass comments all the time, but sometimes he’d say something that revealed just a bit too much, like this moment, or he’d make everyone around him feel uncomfortable, like that time Schue had asked them how they answered the phone.
His dad choked around a mouthful of burger and he lunged for the diet coke that was sitting beside Kurt; he slapped his chest a few times, coughing loudly as he tried to control himself. His face was red, but Kurt was sure that was because he’d been choking, and not out of anger.
But cleared his throat, schooling his expression into one of concern, “You’re having boy troubles?”
Kurt set his burger down neatly on the tray above his legs and crossed his arms across his chest, “I thought you weren’t ready for this conversation.”
“I wasn’t,” Burt admitted, “but that was in October. If you’re-seeing someone, or you’re interested in someone, I want to hear about it. I know I’m not the best father in the world-”
“You are, actually, but continue.”
But spared a quick smile at Kurt, clasping his hands together, “I try, kiddo. And I know how stupid boys can be. Hell, I made so many mistakes with your mom before I smartened up. So,” he leaned back slightly, opening his arms in a move that reminded Kurt distinctly of Mr. Schue, “Lay it on me. Tell me all about the dumbass boy in your life.”
Kurt’s smile dropped off his face, “Me. I’m the idiot.” He hadn’t even realized he was going to say it; hadn’t known that he believed it himself.
His dad frowned.
“I screwed up what may have been my only shot at anything,” he closed his eyes, falling back against the pillows with a small exhale of breath.
“Don’t talk like that.” His dad was quiet for a long time, and Kurt started to think that it was all he had to say; the only sounds in the room were the steady drip of his medication and the quiet ticking of the wall clock.
“So… Is this about that Puck kid?”
Kurt opened one eye and then the other, “How did you guess that?”
His dad shrugged, too smug, “Parents see all, know all.”
Kurt narrowed his eyes, “Remind me to smack Finn upside the head with my Gucci bag.”
Burt laughed, “Of course, kiddo. Now,” he took another bite of his burger, talking around the food, “Tell me how you screwed up.”
Chapter Eleven | Chapter Thirteen