The Impossible Children

Kurt thought he would feel more relieved to be back home in the loft, but more than anything he felt oddly shell-shocked. He barely spoke to Rachel and Santana, and after a few minutes, they obviously had concluded that it was best to leave him alone. Sometimes he could hear them whispering, and it seemed rather clear it was about him. He let them whisper.

It was really starting to sink in now, the horrible realization that his life was over. He would have to quit his job, quit school, quit everything. Everything that he had worked so hard for. Quit Adam.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and took deep breaths. It just wasn't fair. "Well, life's not fair," he thought, mentally scolding himself, "Even if this is a whole new level of cruel and unusual."

So, he would quit his job that he loved, and take a leave from the school that he had worked so hard to get into, and then, probably never get to return. And he could cut off all contact with the sweet, British man who made him smile when no one else could.

And then, he would become a grotesque, shut-in freak. And then, well, then he might not even survive. Then, he might just die. In fact, he probably would.

This thing, this whatever it was and however it had gotten where it was inside him, would probably die, too. Somehow that just made him angrier. It wasn't necessarily that he wanted it to live, but the idea of it killing him and then just dying...Then, what was the fucking point of any of this? He was trembling violently now with all of the pent-up emotions raging inside of him.

He was probably going to die a horrible, humiliating, and bizarre death of some sort for no real, sense-making reason at the age of nineteen before he even had a chance to do anything significant with his life. He could not accept it or deal with it, but neither could he change it.

Well, there was one thing he could do. He shivered at the thought. He could end his life now and get it over with.

No. He couldn't. He absolutely could not kill himself. No, this—whatever was wrong with him—would have to do it, even if it ended up doing it at the price of his sanity and dignity, which it likely would.

He couldn't because there was just that chance that he might survive, and even though he wasn't sure he had anything to look forward to if and when he did, something about that chance made him cling tightly to his life. He never realized how afraid he was to die until his own mortality not only faced him, but seemed to be approaching him.

And he also couldn't do it because of the people in his life that his death would negatively impact. He feared his death twice as much when he thought of how it would likely destroy his father. God, no matter what hell he had to go through, he had to live for his family and friends, for his dad.

The numb shell that had both smothered and protected him was shattering. There were too many emotions in him demanding to be felt and to be expressed. Not daring to pierce and break the silence that had formed, he tried his best to break down quietly.

He could practically feel their eyes boring holes through him. Their concern was palpable, especially Rachel's. He could picture her perfectly without ever turning his attention to her; her big, brown eyes were wide and glistening with emotion that bordered on melodrama. Santana just seemed weird, scary weird; Santana had been walking on eggshells and whispering anxiously, and those were not Santana behaviors, so clearly, she was having some sort of reaction to all of this, too.

Still, at least another hour seemed to have elapsed before he talked to either of them. He had given himself time to calm down again before he even considered telling them anything. Even now, dread consumed him. He felt like he was on fire and like he might throw up. He did not want to do this. He could not do this. He had to do this.

He made them all coffee; he had wanted tea, but it reminded him too much of Adam at the moment, and he really could not handle that. Several times he tried to start dialogue with them, but he couldn't manage it.

Finally, Santana tried to save him. "So, what's up?"

That question was far too broad. Kurt laughed bitterly. "'What's up'? I don't even know where to begin with 'what's up.'"

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Well, you can start by telling us what the hell you were in the hospital for?" Her words were all Santana, but her tone was alarmingly gentle.

Kurt's face had to be red; he could feel it burning. He shook his head. "That's sorta the hard part." He paused and tried to think of what he should say and how he should say it. "Okay, here's the thing, you guys have to swear two things to me right now." His tone was deadly serious.

Santana eyed him skeptically. "Ookay?"

"What is it, Kurt?" Rachel asked.

"You have to believe me, even though I'm gonna sound totally crazy, and I'm having trouble believing any of it myself," Kurt continued.

"Okay," Rachel agreed, "Kurt, why wouldn't we—?"

"Yeah, alright," Santana said, cutting Rachel off.

Kurt left Rachel's question unanswered. "Okay, and two, you have to promise me you won't make any jokes, and you won't laugh. I mean it. What I'm about to tell you will sound like a bad joke, but I'm going to have to live it, and trust me, it's not funny."

"Kurt, I don't under—"

This time Kurt cut Rachel off. "Just promise me, okay?" The question came out more forcefully than he had intended.

"O-okay," Rachel replied, "I-I promise."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, me, too."

"I'm serious, Santana," Kurt said.

"I know you are, Kurt," Santana retorted, "I promise I won't laugh at you or whatever. For real." Her tone was a little more typical Santana this time, but she had very noticeably called him by his name and not some, usually insulting, nickname. Kurt was not entirely certain what to make of that.

"Okay." He sighed. "Okay, here goes..." How the hell was he going to explain this? "I-I don't even begin to understand how it's possible or really happening, and the doctors don't either; in fact, they don't all agree on what's happening at all... but I'm—I have this condition, and there's this- this thing, and it's like—it resembles—"

"Out with it, Hummel," Santana finally interjected.

"Pregnancy," Kurt finished, the dreaded word making his stomach turn anxiously.

"Wait, what?" Santana responded. Rachel responded in kind.

"There's a living thing inside me, and they tried to get rid of it, but for some reason they can't," Kurt replied.

"Kurt, seriously—" Santana began.

"I already told you I'm being serious," Kurt snapped.

"So, you're pregnant?" Santana asked. She was not laughing outright, but there was mockery lurking in her words and expression.

"Don't," Kurt replied with a glare.

"Kurt, please, this isn't funny, okay?" Rachel said sadly. She seemed personally offended for some reason.

"And I'm not laughing," Kurt retorted hotly, "I wish this were a joke. Believe me. It fucking feels like one, played by the universe at my expense." He could feel tears stinging in his eyes again. He fought them. "I mean, don't I get called things like 'lady' enough already?" Santana shifted uncomfortably at that, perhaps feeling guilty as she herself often called Kurt "Lady." "And just when it seems like I can actually get my life together and maybe my hopes and dreams are actually attainable, then of course, something utterly impossible happens to prevent any of that." Kurt was ranting, and he really did not intend to do so. He did not want to unload so much on his friends or expose himself so much to them either. So, it was much to his surprise and horror, and theirs as well, when he blurted out, "And, I'm probably gonna die."

"What?" Rachel asked anxiously.

Kurt sighed. "I'm- I'm probably going to die from this—whatever this is. Whatever it is, it isn't meant to be there, and over the course of its development both it and I are at risk." He stared at the floor, and let out a bitter chuckle. "What a way to go, right?"

"Kurt, this doesn't make any sense," Rachel protested.

"No, it doesn't, but it's happening anyway," Kurt said, "And if you don't believe me, well, then I guess you'll have to soon enough." Just the thought of what sort of physical deformity and torment likely awaited him "soon enough" sent another wave of sickening anxiety through him.

"And you actually believe all this?" Santana questioned skeptically.

"I actually do, yeah." Kurt briefly wondered if he should seek other opinions, but something instinctual was telling him to trust Dr. Samuels. After all, Dr. Samuels cared about him and both sought and provided answers when seemingly no one else would. "Look, I don't even begin to understand it, but it's the only answer I've been given, and I know something's been not right with me lately."

"But it's completely insane," Santana said, "You do know how crazy you sound, right?"

"Yeah, I know exactly how crazy I sound, but really thank you for pointing it out once again," Kurt retorted.

"So, um," Rachel began, interrupted their argument.

"What, Rachel?" Kurt asked, a bit too defensively.

"Have you told Adam anything yet?" she finished.

Not for the first time, Kurt found himself marveling at how utterly accurate the word "heartache" was. "No," Kurt said. After a pause, he added, "And I'm not going to."

"Well, if what you're saying really is true, you know he's gonna find out," Santana snarked.

"No, he won't," Kurt argued, "because he's not gonna be in the picture anymore."

"Why?" Santana asked.

"Why do you care?" Kurt shot back.

"Because I'm calling bull, Kurt. C'mon! Why the hell would you cut Adam out of your life? Especially now? What good is that gonna do either of you?" Santana argued.

"Because it's for the best," Kurt replied, "for him. He didn't sign on for something like this, and- and I don't want him to feel any obligation to me when things inevitably get, um...messy."

"Santana's right, Kurt. Adam deserves to know what's going on with you, and you deserve someone like Adam to help you through this," Rachel said.

Kurt could not handle this discussion. "I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me. I mean, we're not that serious anyway."

"Bull, again, or as Adam might say 'bollocks'," Santana said, "You just don't want him to see you get all big and gross. Ow!" Rachel smacked her in the arm.

"I don't want him to feel like has to stay with me when he's no longer attracted to me, yeah," Kurt said, "that's part of it."

"Kurt, don't you think Adam should be the one to make those calls?" Rachel asked.

"Enough," Kurt said finally.

"We're just trying to help you, Kurt. Surely, you don't want to go through this alone, do you?" Rachel continued.

"Enough," Kurt repeated with both more force and more tears that he could not fight, "Look, I don't wanna talk about this anymore, alright? But now you guys know at least."

"Okay," Santana said, and it seemed she was back to oddly-gentle Santana mode, "C'mon, Rach, let's leave him alone." Addressing Kurt once again, she checked, "If that's what you want?"

"Yeah," Kurt answered, "Thanks."