Wow. I logged on this morning to find like, a billion alerts and favs. Thanks so much you guys! I just discovered Glee recently, and it's awesome that the community is so active! It encouraged me to write more, sooner.

So here you go!

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Part II – Cracks.

He was vaguely aware of the star-burst crack looming in front of him. It would appear, glowing red before vanishing again just as silently. Crack, blackness. Crack, blackness. For a long time, he just watched it, his head heavy with cement, his eyes somehow hanging open.

Gradually, his senses returned to him. It was dark, and silent. No more rain pounding on the windshield, no more wipers swishing back and forth, no more truck engine. Just cold, dead silence.

He shifted, trying to move. His arms hung above his head, dangling as he swayed. How... how were they doing that? Through a groan, he clenched his eyes shut and tried to move, finding that his body pulled downward rather than up.

He opened his eyes again. The crack was a few feet from his face, and above him, the dashboard. He looked down at the car ceiling below, and suddenly realized why he felt so light-headed.

Kurt pulled his weight back up, trying to get free from his seat belt. He was hanging in his seat, the truck still overturned. His hips twisted, his leg lifted from the seat, and suddenly, Kurt felt it release him. He gave a sharp cry as his weight dropped down into gravity's pull delivering him on the ceiling of the truck's cabin.

For a moment, he was still. Every muscle was tight with pain, and he couldn't see clearly. Then, as the alternating red light appeared to him again, he tried to breathe. The first attempt failed; it was as if his lungs didn't work. The second was more successful, but just so, and for several long minutes, he just lay there gasping.

Finally, a moan escaped his lips. His eyes opened again, staring at the seat above him, how the side of the truck was so oddly shaped. He could see a dark spot on the tan fabric, even in the dark; blood. His eyes shifted around, trying to see what could be wrong with him. His arm hurt more than the rest of his body, and his knee ached. His head throbbed... What else?

Suddenly, Kurt's head began to whirl. Dad! Twisting, the teenager looked desperate toward the driver's seat, his eyes widening. He gasped, his chest slowly starting to work again.

"D-..." he started, the form of his father lying on the roof beside him. His leg was extended upward, wrapped in the seat belt. It was bent horribly.

"... Dad..." Kurt panted, his voice all but gone. With whatever strength he had, Kurt pulled his weight toward his father, heavily favoring his left side. He groaned, pain shooting through him as he slowly reached the man's shoulder.

"Dad," he insisted, pressing the palm of his left hand against Burt's shoulder. "W-... wake up..."

He was answered with a groan. Then, after a moment of silence, a tight word.

"Kurt?"

His father's voice was constricted with pain, but despite how awful it sounded, the man managed to roll his head toward his son. "Kurt," he said again, his arm shifting some as if he had intended to reach for his child. It only moved a few inches.

"Don't move," Kurt rasped, gently pressing his forehead against his father's shoulder. For a moment they lay still before Burt shifted again.

"Call for help," he whispered. Kurt opened his eyes and lifted his head, a little strand of blood connecting it with his father's shoulder before it broke. Weakly, Kurt touched a few fingers against his forehead and flinched. It felt sticky, slimy and lumpy. And it stung, like a mother.

After a moment of thought as to where his phone could be, Kurt redirected his left hand down toward his right pocket. He had to lift his middle to reach it, and the pain in doing so made him groan. His father exhaled his name worriedly.

By the time Kurt fished the device out, he was out of breath. His hand clutched it weakly, and he looked down at it desperately.

He didn't expect the screen to be crushed. A crack, not unlike the one on the windshield, looked back at him.

The car had hit Kurt's side of the truck. His phone had been in that pocket. It must have taken the brunt of the hit instead of his hip. As his mind swirled with this realization, he became aware of the ache in his side.

"Dad, your phone," he whispered. With each breath, he was regaining strength and consciousness. Burt shook his head. No, I don't have it. Kurt asked again, and once more after that, unwilling to accept the fact that they had no way of calling for help.

"Dad, come on. We gotta get out of here."

Burt just shook his head. "I can't, kid," he rasped. Kurt's eyes flashed toward his leg, lifted up and hanging there, constricted in the seat belt. He swallowed the bloody lump that had formed in the back of his throat. They both lay in silence for a few minutes, Burt groaning, Kurt panting.

"I'll go," Kurt said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I can probably walk. I'll go get help."

"No," Burt replied, hardly waiting for Kurt to finish speaking. "No you will not."

"Dad, you need help." Kurt managed to get up onto his left elbow, slowly getting to his knees. His body screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't.

"No, some-... someone will come. Don't be stupid..."

"It's only a mile or two. I'll come... back." Kurt paused, clenching his teeth to hide the groan that welled up from his chest. He was almost too disoriented to move.

"Kurt, stop," Burt insisted. His voice was growing weaker, as was his defiance to his son leaving. Kurt remained on all fours for a moment before taking a deep breath and tilting his head toward the back seat. The junk that his father had let accumulate back there was lying on the ceiling now, and among them was a large towel. Reaching for it, Kurt pulled it free from the other clutter and draped it over his father's torso, breathing carefully as he looked for something to support his father's head.

"Kid, stop. You'll just hurt yourself."

"I'm fine, dad," Kurt lied, his hip throbbing, his right arm almost completely useless. Awkwardly, he yanked free an old sweatshirt and folded it inelegantly. "C-can you life your head?"

Burt tried, Lord help him he tried. Somehow, Kurt managed to force the jacket underneath him, letting him relax again.

"I'll be back, okay?" Kurt exhaled, tears welling in his eyes as he said the words. "Just stay here, okay? Try to stay awake."

"Kiddo," his father started. Kurt shook his head, thinking that Burt was going to protest again.

"I love you, Kurt. No matter what."

The boy sobbed once, inhaling shakily. "I love you too, dad."

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