Page 159 of Untouchable

* * *

His panic has abated—slightly—assoon as he’d seen Harp, but he’s still trembling violently.

“No I’m not—I’m fine, I swear—” Parker says, smiling weakly up at Harp. “I mean, my neck might be sore for a little while but I can get one of the other MTs to work on me—”

"Your fucking airbag deployed and you're bleeding," Harp says, frowning. "I'm taking you to the ER. We'll get your car down the mountain and then we're going into town."

“I’m not—” Parker reaches up to touch his forehead, and his hand comes away hot and sticky and bright red. He lets out a weak little noise at the sight, a crimson that’s brutal and violent and terrifying.

“Oh,” he says weakly. He gingerly taps the cut again. “I—I don’t think it’s deep—I think it’s just superficial, we don’t need to—you don’t have to—”

He feels light-headed. Nothing hurts, but his head feels full of cotton, and Harp sounds very far away from him.

"Not a chance," Harp says. "You clearly hit your head. Hop in the truck with me. Is there anything you need to get out of your car right now?"

“Oh, shit,” Parker says vaguely, wandering back towards his car. “I should make sure my table is okay—it was in the trunk, I think it’s fine, but—”

“Parker,” Harp says firmly, catching Parker by the arm and steering him back towards Harp’s truck. “Get in the truck. Your table is fine.”

“But—”

“Baby, you’re in shock right now,” Harp says. “Get in the truck.”

Parker nods, but gets into the truck. The heater is blasting. He feels fine, really—the worst of the adrenaline is fading, and he starts laughing to himself, a high, hysterical giggle, when he thinks about just how bad this could have been. He could have spun through the guardrail and down the side of the cliff. The deer could have broken the windshield entirely and or gone up over the car and crushed him. Another car could have come around the turn too fast, taking them both out.

But he’s completely unharmed. Well, mostly, anyway, he thinks, absently touching the cut on his head as he examines it in the mirror. It doesn’t even hurt, although he looks like he’s an extra in an action movie, blood streaked brightly down the side of his face, his eyes wide, his hair mussed.

* * *

To Harp,it seems to take hours to get turned around, to get the car winched and lifted well enough to be towed down the mountain. In reality, they're back on the road within 15 minutes, dragging the car cautiously through the hairpin turns of the only partially-paved mountain road.

He'll leave the wrecked car at a public trailhead, then call a proper towing company, he figures, after they get to the ER and Parker is seen to.

His mind moves quickly, unemotionally now that he has Parker with him. He's out of panic mode and working automatically. It's easy—comforting, almost—that he knows what to do now to keep Parker safe.

"What day is it today, Parker?" he asks as they make their way down the mountain.

“Uh… Thursday? The day we always have our appointment?” Parker says. “You didn’t forget again, did you?” He flashes a crooked smile at Harp, which alleviates at least a little of Harp’s anxiety,

"I'm trying to make sure you're not concussed, smartass," Harp says fondly. He can't think of any other questions and realizes that even if Parker does have a concussion, there's nothing to be gained by figuring that out before they get to the hospital.

* * *

“Really,Harp, I’m fine—thank you so much, but like, I feel totally fine, I swear. We can just go to my mechanic and—well, shit, I’ll text Mindy, too, we can figure out a day to reschedule our session—fuck, goddamnit,” he says as he stops to think about just how much not having a functioning car will affect him. He’s practically talking to himself now as he looks out the window. “Hm, I can definitely carpool with Mindy on some days, but—ugh, fuck. I’m gonna have to rent a car and—god, I really hope my insurance covers that—“

"Relax," Harp says as he pulls off the side of the road. "I mean, I know that's easier said than done but... Right now, let's just make sure that you're safe."

Harp reaches behind his seat, coming up with a handful of gas station napkins.

"Here," he says, passing them over to Parker before hopping out of the car.

“What are you doing?” Parker asks, opening the door and sticking his head out, the wad of napkins still crumpled in his hand. “We need to take it into town—”

"You need to keep pressure on your forehead," Harp says.

Parker looks dumbly at the napkins and then back at Harp. He gives in after a moment, pressing the wad to his forehead and repeating himself. "What're you doing?"

"It'll take too long to get you into town if I have to drag this thing the whole way. You need a real tow truck. We can leave it here at the trailhead. I'll call and get it towed somewhere once we're checked in at the ER."

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