Author's Note: My first Glee fanfiction and I'm almost certain I didn't really capture Kurt or Burt's personality at all- but I tried. Just a little one shot full of pure fluffiness between father and son. Reviews are nice.
Burt was running late for picking Kurt up from school. He had been held up by some traffic created by a car accident and he himself was about to have on if he didn't slow down. But he was never, not even once, late to pick up his son and he hated that he had slipped up even if this was only the first time.
Elizabeth Hummel had passed two years ago and Burt was still trying his damnedest to do right in his parenting but he had a horrible feeling he was failing Kurt. Elizabeth had been so much better at understanding and accepting Kurt and had helped bring Burt around. Now she was gone and he was left alone to try and raise both himself and his son.
He pulled into the almost empty parking lot of McKinley Elementary where Kurt, at age eight, attended the third grade. He pulled up alongside the little pavilion where one lone kid, dressed fashionably, sat, his legs swinging and his head bowed until he heard a car. His son looked up and immediately ran for the familiar truck.
Kurt was elated to see his father. He had been extremely worried for a while, wondering whether he would ever show up. He had been just about ready to burst into tears and his face certainly showed it. He had though his daddy had gone to be with his mommy, having grown tired of Kurt.
Immediately after Kurt had hopped in, Burt hugged his son close and whispered, "I'm sorry I'm late, kiddo," then kissed his son's impossibly perfect hair.
Kurt smiled, though he hated that nickname. "It's okay, Daddy. What happened?" He was curious. He quickly buckled his seat belt and smiled brightly at his dad as they took off.
"Traffic," Burt explained simply, pulling out onto the main road. "How was school?" He glanced down at his son, smiling back.
The smile soon fell from Kurt's face, like someone had literally smacked it off. He looked out the window and remained quiet.
Burt frowned at his son, worried. He placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "What happened, Kurt?" he inquired, unsure if he really wanted to know but he knew that asking was the right thing for him to do as a parent.
"Do you think I'm a fag, Daddy?" Kurt deadpanned. He didn't know what the word meant- he just knew that some of the older kids had called him that name; he was pretty sure it was a mean word, though. He wanted his dad's opinion.
Burt spluttered in the shock of hearing that word cross his son's lips. He hit the brake a little too hard and fast when he came up to a red light, glad that no one was behind them. "W-what?" he asked smartly, glancing over at his kid.
The little boy glanced back at his dad, curiosity clear on his childlike face that reminded Burt so much of his deceased wife and mother of his baby. "Am I a fag, Daddy?" he rephrased, his eyes wide and round and innocent.
Burt quickly shook his head, his muscles obviously working ahead of his brain because he still could hardly get it through his head that someone had called his son a fag. "I... I never want to hear you saying that again. You aren't a... a fag, Kurt. You're just... different. But that's what makes you special and don't ever let anything anyone else says keep you from being... you." He sure as hell wasn't going to win an award for that lousy speech that he had intended to assure his son with but he was truly trying.
Kurt seemed to find comfort in his words at least. His son relaxed and offered his hand on the armrest between their two seats. Burt rest his much larger hand on top of it and sighed softly, easing the truck forward. He felt like he had aged about ten years in those few minutes.
Who would actually stoop low enough to call an eight-year-old- an eight-year-old- such a horrid name? Burt felt a deep furry replace his shock as reality set in. He knew that his son would, in later years, get much more shit thrown at him. He just wished it hadn't set in so soon. His son was just in the third grade and still dealing with the loss of his mother. Why would anyone even want to hurt someone as great as Kurt? Kurt had never hurt a fly- though he could most definitely make someone feel three feet tall with just that mouth of his in five seconds flat.
Burt looked down at his son, who was now contentedly gazing out the window, then at their intertwined hands. He knew he would never win an award for Father of the Year but he promised, then and there, that he would do everything in his power to make sure his son got his fair leap at life.
"Oh! I drew you something," Kurt suddenly remembered, bending over in his seat to reach his designer bag(he had begged for it for Christmas last year).
Burt beamed. His son was quite the artist when he wanted to be- though singing was more his passion. But, occasionally, Kurt would draw something during school and give it to his dad; when that happened, Burt felt like the proudest dad in the world. "Yeah, buddy? I'm sure it's great."
Kurt pulled out a piece of art paper and handed it to his daddy. "That's me and you, last summer. Remember the tea party?" He giggled that giggle his dad swore he stole from Elizabeth. "That was fun."
Burt pulled into their driveway and finally got a good look at the picture. It was indeed of the tea party Kurt had drug Burt into. But he had gone willingly because Kurt had yet another nightmare the night before- though that one had to have been the worst one yet. The dad and the son sat across from each other at a white table in the backyard; the table was set up completely with the son's tea set; the dad looked confused as the son showed him the proper way to drink from a tea cup(pinky out, don't rush the sip).
Burt snickered, remembering the day all too clearly. He was in awe at how well his son had captured the moment on paper; sure, the faces weren't perfection, but at least they weren't stick figures. He guessed he looked just as confused as he felt.
"It's great, buddy." He reached over to muss up his son's perfect hair(which always peeved his son to no end but Burt couldn't help it).
Kurt scowled lightly at his dad and hurriedly fixed his hair the best he could without a mirror, but he couldn't help but smile at his dad's praise. "I know you woulda rather been watching football but I was happy you tried." He smiled knowingly then hopped out of the car.
Burt was, once again, dumbfounded by how mature his son was. Kurt was always so perceptive and far too old for his age and Burt knew it was the death of his mother that made Kurt grow up so quickly. He followed his son out of the car and quickly caught up with him.
"Hey, Kurt... How about another tea party?" the father asked, feeling a little desperate to bond with his son. He knew Kurt was already aged beyond his years- that didn't mean Burt couldn't try to keep his son in the here a now, where he was only an eight-year-old kid.
Kurt positively beamed at this and practically leaped into his dad's offered embrace. He held on tight, giggling like any kid would. "Can I change first? Oh! Can I pick out your clothes? Flannel absolutely won't cut it. What about tiaras? We could be princesses!" the kid rambled excitedly, back in his child mindset.
Burt was glad to hear his carefree Kurt again and he would be a princess to appease his son.