I don't own Glee or Into the Woods or a Lincoln Navigator
"So a poached egg isn't just a stolen egg?"
"What? What are you talking about?" Kurt glanced over at his father who was sitting in the passenger's seat of Kurt's navigator. Kurt had talked him into seeing Into the Woods with him at the local college's theater department. The guy who played Jack had been dismal, but the Witch stole the show. Burt didn't care for the musical that much, but enjoyed watching his son sing along to all the songs under his breath.
It had rained while they had been in the theater, so Kurt was trying to concentrate on driving, but it was difficult while trying to explain breakfast foods to his father.
"You know, poaching? Like when a hunter poaches something, he shoots something out of season," Burt tried to reason.
"No, Dad," Kurt laughed. "A poached egg is boiled."
"Isn't that called a boiled egg?" Burt asked.
Kurt laughed at his dad's obvious confusion. "No, with a boiled egg, you boil it in its shell. With a poached egg, you have to-"
"KURT! WATCH OUT!" A truck had slipped on the wet concrete and was careening into their lane. Kurt tried to yank the wheel out of the way, but it was too late. The truck smashed into the front of the driver's side, causing the Lincoln to spin out across the road, finally coming to sudden halt by crashing into a tree.
Burt sat slowly blinking in his seat, trying to clear the black spots from his vision. His shoulder and chest ached from being thrown into the seatbelt's strong embrace and his ears rang loudly in his head. The sudden stop had forced his elbow into the car door. Burt tried to bend it but stopped as pain radiated from the spot.
As his ears stopped ringing, Burt heard a plaintive call from his left. "Dad. Dad, are you okay?" Burt turned toward the sound and what he saw made his heart drop.
Kurt sat with his head leaning back against the headrest, staring at his father, his usually bright eyes glazed, blinking unevenly. His nose had evidently been broken when his head snapped forward into the steering wheel and was bleeding freely. His lip was already swollen and dripping with blood. Most concerning to Burt was the large gash on the side of his son's head. The only part of Kurt's face completely devoid of blood was his forehead, and even then Burt could make out some small cuts, probably from the windshield shattering.
"Dad?" Kurt called again, snapping Burt out of his horrified trance.
"Oh my God, Kurt! Oh, look at you!"
"Dad, I'm so sorry!" Kurt cried. "Oh my God, your heart Dad! Are you okay? Oh my God, oh my God, I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Is your heart okay? Oh God, Dad!" His words became garbled as ore blood came in a thin stream from Kurt's mouth, dripping onto his already bloodstained collar.
"Kurt, calm down," Burt said in a soothing voice. "I'm fine. I just banged my elbow is all. You're the one we need to worry about."
"What?" Kurt asked, dazed. "No, Dad. I'm fine. Your heart's okay?"
"Stop it, Kurt," Burt said sternly. "I'm fine. How're you? What hurts? Kurt," Burt said suddenly when he noticed his son's eyes begin to droop. "I need you to concrete for me," Burt instructed, reaching over with his good arm and taking Kurt's hand. "Tell me what hurts."
"Hmmm," Kurt moaned, twisting his head around to take in the damage. "My legs hurt." Kurt looked back at his father as if to ask if that was good enough. Burt squeezed his hand encouragingly. "My arm and my chest hurt. Ugh, my head..." Kurt moaned, spluttering on the blood that was still filling his mouth.
"It's okay, baby," Burt said. Kurt's eyes started to slip closed again. "Kurt," Burt called, squeezing hard on his son's hand. "I need you to listen to me for a second. Do you have your phone with you?" Kurt groaned in response. "Just tell me where your phone is, baby, okay? It's going to be okay."
"In my pocket," Kurt choked out. Burt could hear is breath start to come in wheezes. He had never been so scared in his entire life. Even when Elizabeth died, they had both known it was coming. But to see is little boy in so much pain, to see him choking on his own blood, it was too much.
Burt released Kurt's hand to unbuckle himself. "I'm just going to reach into your pocket and get your phone, okay? No, don't move," Burt said as Kurt gasped in pain, trying to twist around to give his father a better angle. Burt felt around for the phone as gently as he could, but Kurt still winced under his touch. Miraculously, the iPhone had survived the crash unscathed. His hands were shaking as he punched in the numbers as quickly as he could.
"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"
"My son and I were just in a car accident on Hwy 76 and we need help!" Burt yelled into the phone. Kurt flinched and rolled his head away from the noise.
"Please calm down, sir. Are you hurt?"
"Not too bad, but Kurt's bleeding a lot. He hit his head!"
"Okay, sir. I'm sending an ambulance to your location. Try to keep your son awake until we get there. Don't try to move him at all."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks." Burt hung up. "Kurt," he called. "Kurt, they're coming. They have an ambulance coming to get us." He heard a muffled "Yay" come Kurt's seat.
"Kurt, can you look at me please, buddy?"
Kurt turned his head to face his father. Burt was relieved to see that at least Kurt's nose had stopped bleeding, though it was already turning slightly purple. However, he was becoming more concerned by the blood that continued to drip from his son's mouth and stream down the side of his face. Burt took his son's hand again, rubbing is calloused thumb against the smooth, cool skin. "Hey, bud."
"Hey, Dad." Kurt managed a half-smile that quickly turned into a grimace. "My head hurts. I don't feel good." His brows furrowed in pain.
Burt's heart broke. "I know you don't. Help's going to be here soon, I promise. Just try to take deep breaths, okay?"
Kurt tried to comply, but on his first intake of breath, he started to cough, blood spraying the steering wheel. Kurt saw the bloody spray and started to hyperventilate.
"Oh, no Kurt. No, just look at me. Calm down, baby." Burt cupped his son's cheek and turned his face towards him. "You're okay. You're okay." Burt shook his sleeve down over his hand and gently dabbed the blood away from Kurt's mouth.
Slowly, Kurt was able to get his breath back, but the fit had thoroughly exhausted him; his eyes began to droop. "I'm tired."
"No, Kurt," Burt said, panic sneaking into his voice as Kurt's eye drifted shut. "Kurt! Come on, buddy! Stay awake!"
"'m 'wake, Dad," Kurt slurred. His eyes remained closed. "It's okay."
Finally, off in the distance, Burt heard the distinctively wail of an ambulance. Relief seeped through him.
"They're almost here, Kurt. Can you hear them?" There was no response. "Kurt?" Nothing. The relief turned to fear instantly. "Kurt! C'mon, baby, stay with me! Can you hear me? Just squeeze my hand, okay?" Kurt's hand remained limp in his father's.
"NO KURT!" Burt screamed, pressing his thumb into Kurt's cold wrist feeling for a pulse.