Fic: Acceptance
Title: Acceptance
Disclaimer: I don't own em, I if I did glee would probably have to be on a different channel.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Er lets say through season one
Characters: Burt, Kurt, Slight mentions of Carole and Finn
Warnings: Angst...oh the angst! language, character death, violence, blood
Word count: 1,626
Summary: Burt didn't think anything could be worse than losing his wife. He now stands corrected.
A/N: Filled for
This Prompt over at glee_angst_meme. Good news though, this is probably the last death fic I'll write for a while.
PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ AUTHOR NOTES AND WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING WITH THE STORY, THANK YOU!
Burt Hummel had always thought the worst thing that could ever happen to him was loosing his wife. Now he realized with startling terror, that the worst thing that would ever happen to him, was watching his son die right there in his arms and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. This was all because some punk who thought they were a robber decided to hold them up and then got nervous. Whether he meant to fire the gun or not, he had.
And the bullet had hit Kurt.
Since his son was never shown any kind of mercy, Burt really shouldn’t have been surprised that it wasn’t a quick kill, a death shot or anything. No, while Kurt had been shot, in the throat, (Which was some sort sick irony Burt thinks) it hadn’t gone directly through and it hadn’t severed an artery, just nicked one. Kurt was basically drowning in his own blood. It wouldn’t be a quick death, but the injury would lead to it, that much Burt was certain of.
There was nothing Burt could do to stop it either.
He could remember hearing the gun go off and he had seen the kid go running off and it wasn’t until then he realized Kurt wasn’t standing behind him anymore. When he turned to look for Kurt, at first he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Kurt was slumped against the dirty wall, his legs twisted oddly in front of him, but it was his hand that drew his attention. His left hand had flecks of blood on it, but the right one, that was pushed up against the side of this throat, it was caked in blood.
“Kurt!” Burt’s voice had been abnormally loud in the now deserted parking lot; he dropped to his knees and pulled Kurt towards him, pushing his son’s hand away to see the damage. First, he went into denial, pushing Kurt’s scarf against the wound, because he needed to try and stop the bleeding, even if he could feel more blood gushing out.
“Hey buddy, you’re ok. It’ll be ok.” He said, but even as he said it he knew that his denial could not last. Someone informed him they’ve called for an ambulance, Burt didn’t thank them. He didn’t take his eyes away from Kurt, whose own eyes have flickered up to meet his. Kurt’s eyes were wide and terrified, and Burt wished he could do anything to take that away. After a few moments, Kurt opened his mouth and when thick dark arterial blood trickles out of the corner, Burt was quick to try and silence any attempt to speak.
“Stop Kurt, you just be quiet and hang on ok?” Kurt’s sprawled across his arm, and he quickly adjusted the way they were sitting so Burt could cradle Kurt to him. Kurt blinked and a tear rolled down the side of his face. Burt lets his arms tighten a little bit. His son was drowning in his own blood and he’s in pain and Burt was helpless to stop it. He was his father for Christ sake, he should be able to do something, he should have been able to protect him!
Kurt made a gurgling noise and Burt’s pretty a sure a piece of him just died. He looked back down at his son, and he nearly cringed. Kurt’s eyes weren’t as wide anymore, and the terror has faded somewhat to be more of a dull fear, but the worst part, is there was acceptance there now too. Like he knew that even he couldn’t fight this. Kurt has pulled through every bad situation he has ever been put into, but he couldn’t pull himself out of massive amounts of blood loss.
“Don’t you dare.” Burt warned, though his voice cracked. “Not now, you just hang on. You don’t give up, do you hear me?” Kurt looked apologetic, like he wanted to do as his father told him, but he just couldn’t. More blood trickled out of the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and his eyes look to his father’s though they are still wet, and now a little fogged over.
“Don’t go.” Burt realized that he’s begging, that he’s crying, but he just can’t help it. It’s not like he could care at the moment, and really it isn’t like anyone would think any less of him. It seemed to take way to much effort for Kurt’s hand to come up and latch onto his Dad’s arm. Burt froze and looked down at Kurt; he realized that Kurt was starting to go. His eyes were starting to dim a little, and it was almost like he was apologizing and asking permission all at once.
He was apologizing for leaving, he really couldn’t help it, but even Burt could feel that the blood wasn’t gushing out anymore, and he knew it wasn’t because he had been successful by shoving something against it to help slow it down. No, it was because his heart was slowing down and the blood wasn’t going to gush out each time his heart beat if it no longer was. He was asking permission to go. To let go and escape the pain he was in. Asking for his dad to be ok, to not let this destroy him, and really Burt wasn’t sure he could do that. He didn’t see how he could possibly keep going after this.
Burt couldn’t find his voice, he couldn’t tell Kurt it was ok, or beg him to stay, he couldn’t do either. All he could do was watch through his thick film of tears, as Kurt grew heavier in his arms and made a few more terrible gurgling sounds. Burt knew Kurt’s lungs were most likely filling with blood, or maybe just couldn’t get enough air in them. Either way, Burt knew he was loosing him.
“I love you.” Burt finally forced out, it was as close to permission he could ever give, and he felt Kurt’s fingers tighten minutely around his arm. Burt vaguely wondered where the fuck the ambulance was; it feels like it had been an eternity since someone called for one. Burt forced himself to look at Kurt, and he knew, though Kurt couldn’t say it, that he loved him too. Kurt shut his eyes and another tear streaked down the side of his face. Burt could feel him getting heavier in his arms, and a few moments later, Kurt’s hand slid off his arm and thunked lifelessly to the ground.
“No.” Burt knew it was a useless denial, but he couldn’t help it. He picked Kurt up some, so his head was resting on Burt’s shoulder and Burt clutched at his son, not caring he could feel the warmth of Kurt’s blood on his neck. Kurt’s arms hung awkwardly behind him at the position, and that seemed to be what made it really sink in. Burt was sobbing hysterically now, and he shrugged off sympathetic and consoling hands. Nothing was going to make this ok; nothing would be ok again, not now. Not after this.
He couldn’t be sure how long it took for the medical crews to pull him away for Kurt, or how long it took the EMTs to decide he was in shock and make him go to the hospital. He wasn’t sure how long it took for Carole to arrive, and he didn’t remember her trying to consol him. He didn’t remember the funeral or the days that followed.
All he remembered was that look of terror that slowly faded into acceptance, and how heavy his son felt in his arms once he had faded away. His son had acknowledged and come to accept that there was nothing anyone could do to save him, not even his father, who loved him without question, could stop death. Kurt would have wanted him to keep living, to move on, but Burt also knew that Kurt knew just how hard that could be. Still, Burt tried to move on, he really did, but he just couldn’t get that look out of his mind.
He appreciated Carole and her concern and love. Appreciated Finn’s respectful attention, but all he wanted was his son. He visited the cemetery more and more frequently now. He used to alternate between sitting in front of the graves of the two more important people in his life. Now he normally just sat in front of Kurt’s gravestone and cried. He knew his wife would understand. It was one thing to lose your spouse; it was an entirely new ballgame to lose your child.
He could always tell when someone else has been there. His son’s best friend, the girl whose name he could never quite remember, she always brought white lilies. The other glee club members left musical trinkets, and those two girls who were on Cheerios with Kurt, they left pompoms on his grave. Even a few of the jocks who Burt knew had tormented his son had come by. Someone had draped Kurt’s football jersey over the gravestone. Burt made sure to take that home with him, as he did with other trinkets left for his son to make sure they wouldn’t get stolen.
He tried for Kurt’s sake to move on with his life. He knew his son wanted that for him. He couldn’t help but be kept awake at night as that look of acceptance still haunted him and he would wake up from nightmares having to relive that event over and over in his dreams.
Nearly six months later, Burt was fairly certain he wore that same expression of acceptance when that semi ran its red light and hit him head on.
Disclaimer: I don't own em, I if I did glee would probably have to be on a different channel.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Er lets say through season one
Characters: Burt, Kurt, Slight mentions of Carole and Finn
Warnings: Angst...oh the angst! language, character death, violence, blood
Word count: 1,626
Summary: Burt didn't think anything could be worse than losing his wife. He now stands corrected.
A/N: Filled for
This Prompt over at glee_angst_meme. Good news though, this is probably the last death fic I'll write for a while.
PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ AUTHOR NOTES AND WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING WITH THE STORY, THANK YOU!
Burt Hummel had always thought the worst thing that could ever happen to him was loosing his wife. Now he realized with startling terror, that the worst thing that would ever happen to him, was watching his son die right there in his arms and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. This was all because some punk who thought they were a robber decided to hold them up and then got nervous. Whether he meant to fire the gun or not, he had.
And the bullet had hit Kurt.
Since his son was never shown any kind of mercy, Burt really shouldn’t have been surprised that it wasn’t a quick kill, a death shot or anything. No, while Kurt had been shot, in the throat, (Which was some sort sick irony Burt thinks) it hadn’t gone directly through and it hadn’t severed an artery, just nicked one. Kurt was basically drowning in his own blood. It wouldn’t be a quick death, but the injury would lead to it, that much Burt was certain of.
There was nothing Burt could do to stop it either.
He could remember hearing the gun go off and he had seen the kid go running off and it wasn’t until then he realized Kurt wasn’t standing behind him anymore. When he turned to look for Kurt, at first he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Kurt was slumped against the dirty wall, his legs twisted oddly in front of him, but it was his hand that drew his attention. His left hand had flecks of blood on it, but the right one, that was pushed up against the side of this throat, it was caked in blood.
“Kurt!” Burt’s voice had been abnormally loud in the now deserted parking lot; he dropped to his knees and pulled Kurt towards him, pushing his son’s hand away to see the damage. First, he went into denial, pushing Kurt’s scarf against the wound, because he needed to try and stop the bleeding, even if he could feel more blood gushing out.
“Hey buddy, you’re ok. It’ll be ok.” He said, but even as he said it he knew that his denial could not last. Someone informed him they’ve called for an ambulance, Burt didn’t thank them. He didn’t take his eyes away from Kurt, whose own eyes have flickered up to meet his. Kurt’s eyes were wide and terrified, and Burt wished he could do anything to take that away. After a few moments, Kurt opened his mouth and when thick dark arterial blood trickles out of the corner, Burt was quick to try and silence any attempt to speak.
“Stop Kurt, you just be quiet and hang on ok?” Kurt’s sprawled across his arm, and he quickly adjusted the way they were sitting so Burt could cradle Kurt to him. Kurt blinked and a tear rolled down the side of his face. Burt lets his arms tighten a little bit. His son was drowning in his own blood and he’s in pain and Burt was helpless to stop it. He was his father for Christ sake, he should be able to do something, he should have been able to protect him!
Kurt made a gurgling noise and Burt’s pretty a sure a piece of him just died. He looked back down at his son, and he nearly cringed. Kurt’s eyes weren’t as wide anymore, and the terror has faded somewhat to be more of a dull fear, but the worst part, is there was acceptance there now too. Like he knew that even he couldn’t fight this. Kurt has pulled through every bad situation he has ever been put into, but he couldn’t pull himself out of massive amounts of blood loss.
“Don’t you dare.” Burt warned, though his voice cracked. “Not now, you just hang on. You don’t give up, do you hear me?” Kurt looked apologetic, like he wanted to do as his father told him, but he just couldn’t. More blood trickled out of the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and his eyes look to his father’s though they are still wet, and now a little fogged over.
“Don’t go.” Burt realized that he’s begging, that he’s crying, but he just can’t help it. It’s not like he could care at the moment, and really it isn’t like anyone would think any less of him. It seemed to take way to much effort for Kurt’s hand to come up and latch onto his Dad’s arm. Burt froze and looked down at Kurt; he realized that Kurt was starting to go. His eyes were starting to dim a little, and it was almost like he was apologizing and asking permission all at once.
He was apologizing for leaving, he really couldn’t help it, but even Burt could feel that the blood wasn’t gushing out anymore, and he knew it wasn’t because he had been successful by shoving something against it to help slow it down. No, it was because his heart was slowing down and the blood wasn’t going to gush out each time his heart beat if it no longer was. He was asking permission to go. To let go and escape the pain he was in. Asking for his dad to be ok, to not let this destroy him, and really Burt wasn’t sure he could do that. He didn’t see how he could possibly keep going after this.
Burt couldn’t find his voice, he couldn’t tell Kurt it was ok, or beg him to stay, he couldn’t do either. All he could do was watch through his thick film of tears, as Kurt grew heavier in his arms and made a few more terrible gurgling sounds. Burt knew Kurt’s lungs were most likely filling with blood, or maybe just couldn’t get enough air in them. Either way, Burt knew he was loosing him.
“I love you.” Burt finally forced out, it was as close to permission he could ever give, and he felt Kurt’s fingers tighten minutely around his arm. Burt vaguely wondered where the fuck the ambulance was; it feels like it had been an eternity since someone called for one. Burt forced himself to look at Kurt, and he knew, though Kurt couldn’t say it, that he loved him too. Kurt shut his eyes and another tear streaked down the side of his face. Burt could feel him getting heavier in his arms, and a few moments later, Kurt’s hand slid off his arm and thunked lifelessly to the ground.
“No.” Burt knew it was a useless denial, but he couldn’t help it. He picked Kurt up some, so his head was resting on Burt’s shoulder and Burt clutched at his son, not caring he could feel the warmth of Kurt’s blood on his neck. Kurt’s arms hung awkwardly behind him at the position, and that seemed to be what made it really sink in. Burt was sobbing hysterically now, and he shrugged off sympathetic and consoling hands. Nothing was going to make this ok; nothing would be ok again, not now. Not after this.
He couldn’t be sure how long it took for the medical crews to pull him away for Kurt, or how long it took the EMTs to decide he was in shock and make him go to the hospital. He wasn’t sure how long it took for Carole to arrive, and he didn’t remember her trying to consol him. He didn’t remember the funeral or the days that followed.
All he remembered was that look of terror that slowly faded into acceptance, and how heavy his son felt in his arms once he had faded away. His son had acknowledged and come to accept that there was nothing anyone could do to save him, not even his father, who loved him without question, could stop death. Kurt would have wanted him to keep living, to move on, but Burt also knew that Kurt knew just how hard that could be. Still, Burt tried to move on, he really did, but he just couldn’t get that look out of his mind.
He appreciated Carole and her concern and love. Appreciated Finn’s respectful attention, but all he wanted was his son. He visited the cemetery more and more frequently now. He used to alternate between sitting in front of the graves of the two more important people in his life. Now he normally just sat in front of Kurt’s gravestone and cried. He knew his wife would understand. It was one thing to lose your spouse; it was an entirely new ballgame to lose your child.
He could always tell when someone else has been there. His son’s best friend, the girl whose name he could never quite remember, she always brought white lilies. The other glee club members left musical trinkets, and those two girls who were on Cheerios with Kurt, they left pompoms on his grave. Even a few of the jocks who Burt knew had tormented his son had come by. Someone had draped Kurt’s football jersey over the gravestone. Burt made sure to take that home with him, as he did with other trinkets left for his son to make sure they wouldn’t get stolen.
He tried for Kurt’s sake to move on with his life. He knew his son wanted that for him. He couldn’t help but be kept awake at night as that look of acceptance still haunted him and he would wake up from nightmares having to relive that event over and over in his dreams.
Nearly six months later, Burt was fairly certain he wore that same expression of acceptance when that semi ran its red light and hit him head on.