Chapter 2

Like so many other days, his first thought upon waking was pain. Everything hurt—his head was pounding, in a way that it hadn't since the aftermath of the bus crash. His thigh, instead of its normal dull throb, was pulsing with fiery pain. But worst of all was his chest—he felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed, and each shallow breath he took was a shock to his system.

He felt like he was dying. He kind of wished that he would already.

He squeezed his eyes closed, one shaky hand moving up to massage his forehead. Wetness coated his fingers. Suddenly he heard a small sob, and his eyes shot open painfully.

Shit. The kid.

Without thinking, he tried to twist in his seat to check on her, and was immediately punished for the attempt. His chest erupted in pain, effectively taking his breath away. For an undetermined amount of time (seconds? minutes?) he couldn't move or think. The only sensation present was excruciating pain, pulsing throughout his battered body.

When of a couple of his senses finally returned, he could hear her sobbing and his panting echoing within the car. Blurry eyes glanced down at his chest, mildly shocked at the way the car door could mold against the side of his chest. Shiny red blood dripped across a piece of twisted metal.

Groaning, he tried desperately to take control of his mind. The kid was in the backseat. He needed to make sure she was okay, but moving was definitely out of the picture.

"R-Rachel?" He gasped—head, chest, and leg throbbing in sync.

The only sound that he got in return was another small sob, and some pathetic sniffling.

"Rachel." He said more forcefully, squeezing his eyes shut. "Are…are you hurt?"

As he waited for any reply, he found himself praying to a god he didn't believe in. Praying that the kid was okay. Praying that he hadn't screwed up so royally as to damage the kid. He didn't really care whether or not he lived or died, but if the kid died he knew it would be the end.

"Uncle…House?" Sniffle sniffle, sob.

"Are you hurt?" He desperately tried to think logically, to remember the way the other car had hit them. It was obvious his door had taken the brunt of the hit. Rachel was on the other side, in the back. He vaguely remembered trying to angle the car so that the kid might be spared, but the accident was a blur. A shock ran through his head and he groaned.

"My…my neck hurts." She sobbed, her voice sounding small amidst all of the confusion.

Shit. Shit shit. He tried to suck up a deep breath, but his chest felt like it was on fire. He coughed dryly, trying desperately to ward off the dizziness that threatened to overtake him.

"Don't move." He croaked. Rachel sobbed louder, breath shaky. "Hear me? Don't…move."

"I'm scared."

He gritted his teeth, and reached one hand shakily to the rearview mirror. He adjusted the mirror until he could see the kid. Upon first glance, she looked okay. No blood that he could see—but that didn't necessarily mean anything if she had a neck injury. Her little face was red and splotchy, covered with shiny tears, a few strands of blonde hair clinging to the wet surface. She was still safely in her booster seat, and the window next to her was still in tact.

"I see you." He said, attempting confidence. "Look up."

Wet brown eyes looked up to the mirror, and he faked a shaky smile. She frowned, still sobbing.

"You're bleeding." She whimpered.

Silently cursing the head wound, he tried in vain to brush the blood off his forehead.

"I'm fine." He said, wiping the blood on one pant leg. "It's just like…when you crashed your bike."

It happened a year ago. While riding her bike (complete with training wheels) down a little hill, she had hit a patch of gravel and lost control. Her helmet hadn't quite been adjusted properly, and had slid back on her tiny head, leaving her forehead exposed to the rough pavement. She wailed, the head wound bleeding like no other. Cuddy, more hysterical then her daughter, immediately tried in vain to calm her screeching little girl. In some strange twist of fate he had found himself at Cuddy's during the accident, trying to convince her that his patient needed risky brain surgery to survive. Trying in vain to ignore all of the screeching, he abandoned his cane and swept Rachel into his arms, hobbling to his car. Two MRIs and an overnight stay in the hospital later, Cuddy had finally let her come home with fours stitches and a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on her forehead.

"You…you need a Band-Aid?" She asked, sniffling.

"Yeah." He said, watching the rise and fall of her chest slow to a more desirable level. "Maybe Cameron will give me…a Hello Kitty one too."

She smiled tearfully. He gasped, the pain from his chest radiating to his back. Even half-crazy with pain, he knew he was in bad shape. He couldn't tell where the car ended and he began. He knew at least a couple of ribs were broken, and he probably had a collapsed lung. He could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat, and he gasped quietly. Help better get here soon, he thought, sending out another silent prayer. The kid needed help, and he didn't know how long he would last.

OOOO

His head was swimming. The kid's little whimpers were mixed with the sound of voices…how many voices he couldn't tell. He forced his heavy eyes open, searching for the source of the voices. A man's face was hovering outside of what used to be his window.

"Hey Buddy." The face said. "Help is on the way."

"Don't…move…the kid." He gasped. "Neck…injury."

The face frowned, blurred for a moment, and then came back into focus.

"They're here. Help is here."

OOOO

"Uncle House!" His eyes shot open at the sound, and he immediately groaned as the pain hit him full force once more. There were so many voices, and he could hear what sounded like some sort of chainsaw. Shouting. Sirens. The kid.

"R-Rachel?" He gasped.

"I can't go with strangers!" She yelled, sobbing again. He glanced wearily in the mirror, confirming that they had at least stabilized her neck. A paramedic and a firefighter were trying in vain to get the little girl out of the car without injuring her further. Her little fingers were gripping the booster seat with surprising strength, pleading brown eyes meeting his own.

"I say you can." He assured her, trying to raise his voice over the sound of the machines. His door shifting slightly sent a sharp pain shooting through his chest and back, and he cried out softly despite himself. "They know…your mom."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. Take her to Princeton…Plainsboro." He croaked, darkness creeping in on his vision. He gasped for air desperately. Then everything went black.

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