Because I needed a break from my angst-monster of a story, I've been lurking over at the glee fluff meme and filling prompts. It makes me happy. Enjoy!
Five times Burt Hummel held it in, and once when he practically exploded.
It's been a week since they found out it was terminal.
Kurt had been dragged along to doctor visit after doctor visit after doctor visit, quietly sitting in the waiting room withHarry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone resting on his knees. Burt didn't like leaving him at home with a sitter. Kurt was seven years old and already smarter than any babysitter they could find for him.
And Kurt didn't mind it either. He knew what 'terminal' meant, so he wanted to spend as much time as possible with his mother, even if that meant sitting in a waiting room while both parents talked to countless "experts" about their options.
But all three of them knew that there weren't many options for them at this point. She was going to die, it was just a matter of when it was going to happen. Some doctors gave her three months, some gave her six, and one particularly optimistic intern gave her two years. (Burt had almost punched the kid in his bucktoothed face when he heard that. False hope is not funny, kid.)
Burt had expected his son to hole up in his room after finding out the truth about his mom. Not many seven year olds can cope with the knowledge that Mommy's going to die soon, and almost every doctor had slipped him a business card or pamphlet for a good child psychologist. Nobody expected Kurt to be able to handle that sort of knowledge without professional help.
They obviously didn't know Kurt Hummel, the smartest little seven year old in all of Lima.
This little seven year old wasn't going to let a single second go to waste. Burt watched as his little boy turned into a mini-machine that could speed through all his homework quicker than he could change a tire (and Burt was really,really good at changing tires). He read books out loud to his mother while she rested, barely stumbling over words that no seven year old should be able to pronounce. Every Saturday he would pop in their cassette tapes and sing along, dancing funny little dances and making his mother laugh.
When Kurt brought home his end-of-year report card full of check-pluses (because he was in second grade and they didn't use letters yet), Burt hung it on the fridge. His little boy had done what nobody had thought was possible. Burt wanted to yell and jump up and down and dance around with his son in his arms.
But he didn't. He let his wife take their little boy into her lap, holding him close and rocking him back and forth as they sang together, knowing that he would have plenty of opportunities to be proud of Kurt in the future. This one belonged to mother and son.
Burt Hummel had always hated funerals.
He had a really big family, full of great-aunts and great-uncles, third cousins twice removed... You name it, he probably has it. Unfortunately for him, that means lots of funerals once the elderly family members kicked the bucket.
Kurt, on the other hand, had only been to one funeral before. Burt's sister's husband's godfather had passed away, and because Burt's family was like that, they had all been invited to show their support for the family. Burt hadn't wanted to bring his wife and son along (because none of them had ever met this man), but his wife had persuaded him to do it.
I don't want Kurt's first funeral to be mine, she had said, tightening the scarf tied around her bald head. This way it's almost safe, because we don't know the man at all. No emotional attachment.
She was right, of course, so the Hummels had gotten all fancied up and drove the hour and a half to the funeral. Kurt behaved like a perfect little gentleman, sitting in the pew with his hands folded on his lap, listening to the preacher read Bible verses and family members tell stories about the man who had passed away. Kurt even held hands with the wife of the deceased when she started crying.
But this time was different. This time it was Kurt's mother lying in the casket.
The viewing lasted two days, practically all of Burt's family stopping in at least once to offer their condolences. His wife's family all showed up as well, in addition to family friends and neighbors and even Kurt's piano teacher. Mrs. Hummel had been impossibly friendly to everyone she knew, which meant the room was always crowded with mourners.
Burt didn't let Kurt leave his side once. He kept a tight hold on his son's hand - more for his own benefit - and steered him away from the casket at all costs. He didn't want his son to see his mother like that.
When Kurt did slip away, claiming he needed to use the bathroom, Burt found him five minutes later standing on a little stool next to the casket so he could see his mom. He was holding one of her hands and was looking at her with expressionless eyes. Burt came over to stand next to him, a hand going to rest on his son's shoulder.
"Don't be sad, Daddy," Kurt said, looking up and giving his father a small smile. "Mommy told me she's going to sing with the angels. She's saving me a spot, too."
Burt felt his heart swell and his throat close up, and all he could do was pull the little boy into a one-armed embrace, managing to choke out, "I bet she is."
Later on, when the viewing ended and the coffin was about to be closed, Kurt ran up and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. Burt, who hadn't been able to bring himself to touch the dead body, felt tears prickling his eyes. His little Kurt was so brave, so strong, such a wonderful boy. His mother would have been proud of him.
Kurt loved to read.
This had been common knowledge ever since he had picked up a Harry Potter book at the age of seven and asked his dad if he could get it. Burt had laughed at the size of the book, the cashier had laughed when Kurt set it on the counter, and Kurt's teacher had laughed when he brought it to school for show-and-tell.
But Kurt read the entire thing, even writing a book report on it. His teacher had stopped laughing after he turned that in.
And Kurt wasn't about to stop there. He wanted to read everything he could.
At first Burt took him over to the bookstore near the elementary school every Friday after school, letting him walk around while he looked at the sports magazines. Kurt found all sorts of books: Redwall, Series of Unfortunate Events, Edge Chronicles, and sometimes he even went into the general fiction section and picked out some old literary classic with an author Burt couldn't pronounce.
It became clear not long after that one book a week was not enough. Kurt's paperback books had creases all through them from the number of times he had read them and bookmarks were sticking out of every Harry Potter book he owned, marking where he had left off. Wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner, Burt took Kurt to the library and got him a library card.
Kurt started to spend every Saturday at the library. Burt would drop him off in the morning and come back in the afternoon, and Kurt would tell him all about the books he had read while he clutched the pile of books on his lap.
When Kurt started sixth grade, he was placed in the highest level reading class. Each student received a packet detailing what they would be studying over the course of the year, including a booklist. When Kurt came home from school and Burt asked how he liked middle school so far, Kurt had shrugged, showing him the booklist and saying, "It's a good list, but I've read them all already."
A month later, Kurt got another list of books from his teacher. He told Burt that it was for a program called 'Accelerated Reader.' "Each book on the list is worth a certain amount of point," Kurt explained to his father, "and we're supposed to earn ten points each grading period. We have to take a test on the book we decide to read to prove that we really did read it, and depending on how many questions we get right, we get a certain number of points."
The way Kurt's face was glowing when he explained this was enough to tell Burt that his son already planned to read as many of those books as possible. He just wondered how many Kurt would be able to get through.
He got a phone call from Kurt's reading teacher. near the end of the first grading period.
"Hello, Mr. Hummel, I'm sorry to bother you," she began, "but I was wondering if you could have a word with Kurt about his reading habits."
Burt raised an eyebrow, asking, "Is there a problem?"
"Oh, no, well, not really," she corrected herself. "It's just that I told the students at the beginning of the year that they only needed ten accelerated reader points per grading period and any extra points would turn into extra credit. Kurt already has a very high grade in my class without any extra points, but he's taken so many accelerated reader tests that with all the extra points, he has an 107% as his final grade."
Burt couldn't help but laugh. He thanked Kurt's teacher for calling, told her he would speak to Kurt about spacing out his accelerated reader quizzes, and said goodbye.
There was a store-bought cake waiting on the table when Kurt got home, icing writing out, 'Congratulations.' Burt didn't tell him what it was for.
Burt had known that Kurt was... well... different since he was three.
Because of this, they weren't exactly the closest they could be. Sure, they ate dinner together and told each other all about their days and sometimes agreed on a television program or movie, but they didn't really have much in common. Kurt liked books and fashion and musical theatre. Burt liked sports and cars and rock bands.
But the pair of them had an unspoken pact with each other. Every few months when something special came around (like a touring musical coming to Akron or a football game Burt got tickets to), they would try to put their preferences aside and do that special thing with each other.
This time, there was an antique car show coming to Lima, and Burt really wanted to go. He thought that maybe Kurt would genuinely enjoy it too, since his son did have a flair for antique fashion-y things. Who's to say antique cars wouldn't appeal to that? Kurt had even started helping him out in the garage, for which Burt was very grateful.
So they went down to the car show, both grinning and Burt hoped that that grin would stay on Kurt's face all day.
They went their separate ways after arriving. Kurt favored the flashier cars whereas Burt just liked mingling with the car owners, so he started striking up conversation as Kurt made a slow loop around the whole area. Burt got so involved in his conversations that he lost track of time. When he checked his watch, saw that it had been two hours, and realized that Kurt hadn't returned, he started to get very curious. What had Kurt found that had kept him occupied for two hours?
Burt started to make a loop around the area, looking for his son's familiar flashy clothes and listening for the familiar high-pitched voice.
He was taken aback when he heard the voice coming from the ground.
Burt turned abruptly, wondering what on earth had gotten Kurt on the ground, then started laughing.
Kurt's legs were sticking out from under one of the antique cars, the owner crouching next to him with a box of tools open beside him. Kurt kept sticking his hand out, asking for a specific tool. It was clear that his son was trying to fix one of the cars, and as Burt started to listen to the conversation, he realized that Kurt was doing a damn good job of it, too.
He waited until Kurt pulled himself out from under the car, grinning and saying he was finished. He had dirt streaks all across his shirt and face and his hair was messier than Burt had ever seen it, but he looked completely satisfied regardless. The owner thanked him for his help and Kurt gave him the phone number of the garage, telling him that if the car gave him any more trouble, to bring it in. "My dad taught me, so he's bound to know what to do," Kurt told the man, shaking his hand and saying goodbye.
Kurt looked shocked and embarrassed when he realized Burt was standing right there.
But Burt just smiled and said, "Come on, let's go get something to eat. It's been two hours and you've got to be hungry after fixing a car."
He made sure to slip a few extra dollars into Kurt's wallet after they got home so he could replace the shirt he was wearing.
It had been two days since Kurt had hit the high F. Two days since he got the anonymous phone call, telling him his son was a fag. Two days since he had told Kurt about it, probably scaring his son half to death.
Yesterday, Kurt had blown the diva-off.
Burt wasn't an idiot. He knew how much singing that song had meant to his son. He knew how hard it must be to hit whatever that special note was. He knew how much Kurt practiced so he could sing songs written for women, knew how proud his son was of his voice.
That meant that blowing a note on purpose had to be really, really hard.
Kurt had explained why he had done it. Burt knew that it was Kurt's way of telling him that he cared and that he wasn't going to be selfish about this. Family first.
But that didn't mean Burt had to like it.
Sure, he appreciated what his son had done and understood how humiliating it must have felt, but he didn't like it. He was the father, and the father protects the son, not the other way around.
He decided then and there that he was going to take Kurt to see this show, Wicked, he thought it was called, over Kurt's next break from school. Musical theatre wasn't his thing at all, but it was Kurt's thing and Kurt had screwed up his thing so that Burt could be happy. It was the least he could do to show Kurt that he wasn't afraid and that he loved and supported him no matter what.
He even let Kurt cling to his arm in the theatre when the green girl sang the song with the special note.
He let Kurt pick out a souvenir from the kiosk selling all the merchandise, and followed two teenage girls once the show was over because they said they were going to "see the actors." Burt wasn't sure what that meant, but he hoped that maybe Kurt could join the girls if he asked nicely.
He stood with Kurt in the giant crowd outside the stagedoor, waiting for the actors to come out. Kurt had no idea that he had found it by accident, had no idea that they had followed two girls here, but it was a very happy accident. Burt took Kurt's picture with a couple of the actors, thanking them for a wonderful performance.
He almost didn't want to go back home to Lima when their vacation was over.
Kurt still had one day off from school by the time they got back, but Burt had get back to work in the garage. The two went their separate ways, Kurt disappearing into his bedroom and Burt going out to the garage, both still on an excitement high from their trip.
When Burt went back inside for a water break, he heard Kurt singing from down in his bedroom. He pressed his ear to the closed door, recognizing the tune from the show and knowing that it was the song Kurt had messed up on purpose.
He listened as his son soared through the entire song, obviously hitting the special high note. He didn't realize he was crying until he walked back out to the garage and one of the workers asked if he was okay.
"I'm fine," he lied, but he was smiling. "I'm just really, really happy for Kurt."
Burt had honestly been speechless when Kurt told him he was a cheerleader.
He could have said any number of things. Good for you! or Are you sure that's a good idea? or How did that happen? but he just stood there with his mouth open for a second, then said, "That's nice."
Truth be told, he was terrified. He knew what that cheerleading coach was like, so it made sense for him to be worried. Kurt was a sensitive boy who'd been teased since middle school, and now he was joining a team headed by Lima's cruelest woman. He'd seen those "Sue's Corner" segments on the news. That woman was completely insane.
But it seemed that she had taken a liking to Kurt and showed it in her own special way. He came home glowing, telling his dad all about the snarky and inappropriate criticisms he was receiving from their coach, acting like she was blessing him with the Ten Commandments. But she was apparently giving him a chance to sing solos, which was surprising (considering it was cheerleading, not glee club), but nice nonetheless.
Burt forgot all about his misgivings when Kurt handed him an envelope one day, saying, "Coach Sylvester thought you might want to come to Nationals." Inside was a round-trip airline ticket and a pre-paid hotel room in his name. And it wasn't a ticket for some cheap, dodgy airline and a crappy motel. This was a first-class airline ticket and a five-star hotel. Of course Burt was going to go to Nationals.
His seat at the actual competition was right in the middle of the stands, close to the front. He could see everything perfectly, and by the looks of it, he was sitting with some highly-important people. Most of them were dressed in business suits and were carrying little notebooks. He wondered if they were judges or reporters, but he didn't really care.
Kurt's squad was going last, so Burt settled himself in. He had never watched a cheerleading competition before, so he had no idea what to expect. But he found himself getting into it, enjoying the artistry and the obvious physical strength that went into making these routines work.
When the familiar red and white uniforms met his eye, he straightened in his seat, nerves twisting his stomach and thoughts of the competition coming back. He really wanted his son's team to win.
The routine started out simple, but as it went on, it became more complex. Girls flew through the air, spinning and twirling and making Burt feel dizzy just watching them. Kurt had been placed at the back for most of this routine, but Burt watched him anyway. That was his son up there, and his son was fantastic, even if he wasn't in the spotlight.
But then the routine halted, the others parted, and Kurt made his way to the front. Burt was practically standing up, making sure he wouldn't miss a second of this.
And then Kurt was singing, and that was definitely not English. He was singing in French as if it was the only language he knew, and the others were dancing around him, the other boys lifting him up in the air as he struck poses and kept singing. He just kept going and going and Burt thought suddenly of the Energizer bunny.
After almost fifteen minutes of his son singing in French, it was over. Kurt stopped singing and backflipped - since when can he do that? - towards the back of the group again, staying in the background as their routine finished up.
Burt couldn't contain himself once the rest of the spectators started clapping. He leapt from his seat, shouting his approval and clapping so hard his hands were smarting. "That's my boy!" he was shouting. "That's Kurt Hummel, and he's my son! My son is a fucking superhero! That's my son!"
There was a similar eruption when it was announced that Kurt's squad had won.
And Burt didn't care that all the cheerleaders were on strict diets and that their coach monitored their weight twice a day. He didn't care about her post-Nationals celebration. He went right up to Kurt, pulled him into a hug, and took him out for ice cream, raving about Kurt's performance the entire time.