"All four of them? At once? You've got to be kidding." Kurt was loud enough to be heard in the waiting room.
"Kurt, you'll be nearly asleep during the procedure, and it's better to just get it over with," Dr. Osterlund said calmly. "When is your next big Glee performance? We'll want to do it after that."
And that was how Kurt found himself, grumpy and under-caffeinated, at the dentist's office on a beautiful spring Friday. "No coffee before oral surgery, what kind of stupid rule is that?" He was honestly growling, which made Puck want to laugh until he cried. Thirty minutes later, and he was laughing at Kurt, who was giggling himself as the Valium kicked in.
Sooner than he expected, Puck got the call that Kurt was done. Perfect timing, he thought, and finished paying for his purchases. Gauze, check. Percocet, check. Antibiotics, check. Ben & Jerry's Crème Brulee, check. Also, yogurt, applesauce, eggs, and an ice pack.
He laughed again while he was pouring a boneless Kurt into the car, trying not to hit the smaller boy's head on the way down. Kurt mumbled non-stop, and Puck only understood one in about ten words, but they seemed to consist of "I'm starving, lets go have breakfast." Clearly he wasn't feeling much pain, and was high as a kite. Puck hoped to get him home and into bed, with Into the Woods playing and some good drugs in his system, before the Novocain wore off.
Mostly, the plan worked. There wasn't much Puck (and Burt, once he got home from the garage) could do but feel terrible for their boy when the inevitable happened. Changing the gauze every few hours made Kurt sick to his stomach, as did the Percocet, but throwing up was something to definitely be avoided. The applesauce helped with that, but he could barely open his mouth to eat it. His face swelled, and both eyes began to bruise, and if Puck hadn't been warned this would happen he would have been kicking some ass at Dr. O's office. Worst of all were the little whimpering sounds Kurt made when he was asleep, or thought no one could hear him.
Finally, though, the first 24 hours were over, and Kurt became his fussy, adorable self. He hadn't pulled the Brady Bunch thing and demanded a bell for his bedside, but only because he had that damned phone, which worked just as well. No matter where Puck was in the house or the garage, the chime of Kurt's text coming in would find him – two or three times an hour. After a morning of filling requests for custard or scrambled eggs or pillow fluffing or a pain pill or a fresh glass of vitamin water, Puck entered the Royal Bedchamber with everything Kurt could possibly ask for in the next two hours, and then jumped into bed himself.
"What in the world are you doing? Doesn't dad…"
"Nope, he gave me the afternoon off, since I can't be in two places at once. So, we're going to watch Rent for the five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundredth time," he said, and pulled the smaller boy under his arm. Kurt sighed, finally content, and Puck smiled.