New chapters for Wings and Oz are underway as well as a new Monfer fic.
Aching within his chest was his heart which had finally registered that he was alone while he sat stunned in a hard yellow hospital chair listening to the flat line of his wife's monitor.
The last words of his wife still flowed through his mind.
"Don't give up on him, Burt. Please, never stop searching for my precious child." She cried softly, never had she imagined that her beautiful baby would be snatched, taken for her by a stranger. "When I leave, I will not find him in heaven. He's not gone; he's somewhere out there without his mommy and daddy."
"I promise. I'll search for him myself if I have to. I love you so much." His voice cracked while tears jumped to his own eyes.
"I love you, sweetheart," she murmured clinging to his hand weakly. His heart sped while her eyes began to glaze over. "He's not up there," she whispered. "My baby…."
Then she was gone leaving behind her husband. Alone.
Eleven Years Later
"Good morning," Carole kissed Burt's cheek lightly, and he smiled in return. She went back to the stove where she was making pancakes for her son, Finn.
A clatter followed by a curse came from the living room. Burt sighed but chuckled making his way into the other room, but his stomach dropped when he saw his step-son and his friend, Puck, holding a football. On the hearth sat a picture frame which lied on its face. Scattered broke glass was strewed.
"Sorry, Burt, I'll clean it up," Finn went to reach out for the frame, but the men hurried forward.
"Don't touch it," he murmured, and Finn flinched back for he had never heard the man speak so softly. With wary hands, Burt brushed away the glass staring into his lost child's face beaming up at him.
"Are- are you alright?" Finn's voice was only a blur in the man's mind, and he made his way to the door.
"I'm going to head to the garage and check up on things," he murmured pocketing the photo.
Finn looked to Puck who shrugged before following him into the kitchen.
"Mom, I don't understand."
Puck clapped a hand on his friend's back, grabbed a pancake straight off warm plate, thanked Carole, and left the mother and son to talk.
"Who is the boy in the picture?"
Carole frowned deeply; she remembered very clearly how she had met Burt. She had been a friend of Karen's, and when the women died, Burt turned to only an empty shell. Without telling her son, he rehabilitated the man with cooking and sweet encouraging murmurs. When Finn was a teenager, Carole and Burt began to date. A few years later, they were married. It wasn't they had been dating that he revealed the mystery behind the picture.
Carole's heat broke over the story of the lost child, and she prayed with all her might that one day, he could miraculously appear.
"Mom?" The woman snapped out of her thoughts and smiled kindly towards her son.
"Sweetie, if you want to know, you are going to asked Burt. It's just not my place to tell you." She kissed his head before shoving the steaming plate of pancakes his way which he eagerly took nearly forgetting the picture all together when syrup plastered his meal.
But Finn didn't remain innocent for long; as soon as he had swallowed the last of his breakfast, Finn snuck down to the basement where he was sure Burt must have hidden some pictures. Dust covered the room for people rarely went to the basement. A bed, still covered in a pale comforter, matched the noir walls.
The boy shifted uncomfortably in the room as if he was invading someone's privacy, as if someone had lived here.
Looking under the bed, low and behold there was a brown rectangular box coated in a layer of film. Inside were tightly packed pictures, and Finn grabbed a small stack. The top picture was of a woman. The ocean was held in her wide blue eyes, and a brown loose braid rested on her shoulder. Her hands were delicately sitting atop of her round large stomach.
Finn turned to the next photo; it was the small background except a young Burt was present, and he rested his ear on the round belly.
Finally, at the bottom of the stack, Finn found what he had been looking for. The young boy, whose wide eyes full of amazement matched his mother, was held in thin arms.
Grabbing the box, Finn returned back upstairs to the kitchen. "Mom, I found-
When Carole saw the brown box that she hadn't seen since Burt told her about his lost child in the hands of her son, she swiftly plucked it from his hands. "Finnegan, what have I told you about going through other people personal items?"
"Mom, we live here now. Burt's my step-father! There is a woman in these pictures…"
"Honey, Burt was married before me, and you know this."
"Why does he have pictures hidden away like porn?"
"Finnegan! Burt's wife died of cancer eleven years ago." Carole looked down ashamed; she wanted Burt to be the one to tell Finn when he was ready. The boy went silent taking the box back from his mother, and he left the room to place it back where he found it but not before pocketing a wallet sized photo of the mystery boy smiling and holding on to his own small feet.
When Burt left the house early that morning, he was well aware that the shop was closed on Sundays. Instead, he went to the cemetery.
"I'm sorry, Karen. I nearly blocked it from my mind after the news papers stopped printing missing articles of him and the pictures became out-dated. Some days I pray that you are holding his tiny body in your arms so I know that is no way he would be suffering."
Snow drifted around Burt, and he pulled his jacket closer to his body. Finally, he turned away from grave, his heart aching.
When he came home, Carole engulfed him in her arms. He took comfort in her hold for a moment before heading up to the shared room between him and his wife.
Burt dreaded the days ahead. December sixteenth, the day his child was stolen from him, was nearly upon him, and Burt stared absentmindedly at the basketball game on television.
The garage was a blessing around this time every year; it gave him a place to escape and to reflect for his son.
Burt and Carole had once talked about explaining what had happened to Finn, but the man did not wish to burden Finn with such knowledge.
When finally the day arrived, snow blocked the driveway, and Burt was unable to get away from the house like he had planned.
Finn stared down at his homework intensely figuring there was nothing else to do other than watch the pre-game. Before long, Finn found himself staring out into the blizzard, and in the gusts of blurred white was a clouded silhouette
"Burt, I- I think there might be someone outside."
The man was out the door so fast that the door didn't both to close the door behind him. There, next to the mailbox, sat a boy in the snow. His eyes were covered by a thin cloth as well as his mouth, and behind his back his hands were held tied together with restraints.
Bone chilling wind danced playfully through the shaggy uncombed brown tresses, but the boy remained deadly still.
"My baby, my baby!" Freezing tears washed the man's cheeks, and he picked the boy up and carried him into the house.
Burt ripped the cloth from his child's face, but terrified eyes stood behind it. "Kurt, you're home. I- I thought I'd never see you again." He sobbed shameless, and Finn stared silently form the corner of the
Glistening blue orbs stared directly forward as if trained to remain on a straight path, but Burt gently cupped the hollow cheeks.
"It's me, Kurt. It's daddy," he sobbed, and the boy's eyes began to search the man's face. "Do you recognize me?" Slowly, the boy nodded, and Burt jolted forward to clutch to his son. Kurt, however, flinched back as of an automatic response before slightly leaning further into his father's arm though his own did not return the hug.
Finn dashed silently from the room entering the kitchen to speak with his mother. "Mom, the boy…he's here. I don't understand."
Explaining to her son the seriousness of the situation was the last thing on Carole's mind, and she crept silently from the kitchen to peek in on the scene. But all she saw were confused ocean deep eyes staring up at here from over Burt's shoulder.
Suddenly, Burt's arms were painfully empty as pieces of his heart were ripped away with his son who scrambled on his hands and knees toward the door.
Tears swarmed Carole's eyes for so many questions invaded her mind. What kind of terrible person would train an innocent to crawl as if he were an animal?
Kurt clawed at the door, and Burt wrapped his arms around his boy to tug him away from the door to reveal bloody scored marks scarred into the wood.
"We are going to go to the hospital, Kurt," the father whispered gently rocking the terrified child in his arms.
"Burt, we are completely snowed in. There is no way you are ever going to get out of-
"I'll carry him there if I have to," he murmured continuing to sway back and forth. "Finn, please, help me shovel get the car out. Please."
Finn nodded and hurried outside trying to process the events of the still early day.
"Come on, we're going to fix you up," Burt assisted his son, who seemed reluctant to get in, to the car. Carole and Finn sat together in the back, and the mother slipped a twenty dollar bill into her son's hand.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for being such a god sport. You'll understand everything soon."
Kurt allowed his father to guide him into the white clinic. Nurses bustled around the poor boy, and he appeared be in panic when one rolled the sleeve of his dirtied bland sweat-shirt up so an IV could be hooked up. Lines of scars were revealed, and the entire room seemed to gasp.
"Sir, we are going to have to perform a rape kit."
Burt nodded and turned to his son. "Son, the people here are going to help you. No one is going to hurt; they are just going to check how badly hurt you are."
It physically hurt Burt to see his son leave the room, and he dropped his head into his hands.
"Burt?" The man raised his head to see Finn front and center. "Please, I don't understand."
"At age six, he was kidnapped." Finn's stomach dropped for that had been the very last thing he had expected, and Carole placed a soothing hand on the man's shoulder.
"He's home now, and that's all that matters. We are going to take care of him."
The room remained silent though hundreds of question flooded the minds of the three family members, and finally, Kurt wobbled back into the room pale-faced.
"Mr. Hummel, may I speak with you?" A nurse pulled the man aside, and Kurt was left in the room with the family he never met.
"Sir, there had been critical damage down to your son. After eleven years, we expected it, but there are tares obviously from being raped as well as heavy scarring. Whoever hand him must have had a thing for inflicting pain. PTSD is expected, and a counselor is highly recommended after a few weeks of recovering. Your boy is severely under weight and is suffering from malnutrition. We don't advise you feed him too much meat at a time because his stomach won't be able to handle it."
Burt nodded soaking in as much information as he possibly could at a time, and when he reentered the room, he saw what was really wrong.
Hollow cheeks and darkly shadowed eyes illuminated his facial appearance. The tattered cloth hung from his body like a rag, and dusty rose scars lines his thin boney arms. Cadaverous skin clung to his skeletal body, and the boy gazed down aimlessly without focus. 'Much like a lifeless creature,' Burt thought to himself.
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