Ok...so from the descriptions and summary...you get that this is not a normal story.
It is VERY dark, and I'm not kidding, so if easily freaked out, offended or bewildered please do not read.
I, in no way, condone violence or rape, or animal abuse, this is purely a fictional story, just on a very dark basis, please don't hate me. The characters depicted in this story are in no way canon, and have very twisted minds...
So with that warning...lets get on with it
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The one thing Burt could tell anyone was that he loved his son. Unconditionally.
The second thing he would tell you if he could, was that he didn't like him very much.
But he loved him. It was a slightly confusing emotion.
Burt Hummel had always been a gruff man, but had a heart of gold, or so his first wife always told him. He had good morals, always tried to do the right thing. Be a role model. he prided himself on finding the good in any situation.
His first wife Jessica, was a lovely woman. She was so open minded and loving. Burt felt extremely lucky to be a part of her life, since he first met her, he knew that she would be the one.
And life was good for a while. They were married for about 4 years before starting a family. The pregnancy was good and everything was fine. Kurt was born in July, the height of the summer, and Burt felt the happiest he had ever felt in a long time.
His baby boy was beautiful, and so tiny. He felt a rush of affection as he stared down at his little face. The face that looked exactly like his wife's.
As Kurt grew up, he was a cherub. He could be mischievous, but never hurtful. He was a good little boy. Never did anything wrong, never hurt others, was always polite and cordial. he was a golden child.
But something had gone wrong somewhere, and Burt had no idea where it had come from.
He found Kurt in their yard at age 6, singing happily as he played. Burt had smiled at first as he watched his little boys back and head bopping along to whatever tune he was singing. Until he stepped closer.
At first he thought Kurt was cutting up some clothes, maybe making something, the kid liked to be creative. But then Burt saw blood and immediately his heart threatened to climb out of his throat.
Kurt had a pair of scissors in his tiny hand, the kitchen scissors that he knew he wasn't allowed to touch, and in front of him on the grass, was the shaggy remains of what looked like Mrs Withers cat, from across the road.
Burt had swallowed hard at the sight, but had played it off as Kurt not realizing what had happened and had called out to him, watching as his little angel face smiled up at him, innocently, but Burt could see that Kurt's eyes were a little different.
"Hi daddy."
He had said it so sweetly that Burt could feel the anger and confusion of the situation dampen down with his affectionate fatherly instinct took over. He reached out and pried the blood soaked kitchen scissors from his son's hands and then told him to go in the house.
He did, without a word and Burt was left to clean up the yard before his wife saw it.
Later that same night, while Kurt was asleep he tried to engage his wife to talk about Kurt, he didn't want to actually tell her what he found, but he knew that something wasn't right with this. He tried to act a little nonchalant as he asked if she noticed anything strange about Kurt.
His wife had shrugged from next to him on the couch.
"He's been a little quieter lately."
And that was the end of the conversation that night.
Burt watched him. As he grew older he became more independent, and tried to help out around th house a little more. At age 8 he decided it would be his job to help with dinner every night. But he had a strange fascination with knives and scissors, looking at the blades and running his thumbs over them gently.
He nicked himself a couple of times, but he didn't make a sound, he just watched the blood from in the small cut and trickle down his hand with an interested look on his face. Until Burt wrapped it in a bandaid and told him to go and sit down.
Jessica became ill when Kurt turned 9. Cancer. She deteriorated quickly, and Kurt was deadly silent. Burt had asked a few times for his son to come to him with any worries or fears, or even to cry, Kurt had sent him a small smile and promised he would, but he didn't.
When Jessica died, Burt lost his mind a little. Kurt was still silent. They grieved separately. Over time though Kurt started talking more, but Burt knew that his son must be hurting, the slight hint of pain in his eyes was present for a while after.
At 13 Kurt was so independent it frightened Burt a little. He acted so grown up all the time.
He could work his way around a kitchen like a head chef, he knew exactly how to make any kind of dinner. His fascination with knives wasn't present and Burt felt a little better. Maybe it was a phase.
That problem was doubled though, when one day at 14 years old, Kurt came home from school, late and covered with blood.
"What happened, are you hurt? we should go to the hospital."
As Burt frantically ran around the house to gather up coats and bags to take Kurt to the hospital, his son was extremely calm and just laid a hand on his dad's arm. Burt paused putting on his coat to look at him.
"It's ok, dad, it's not mine." He had said in a collected voice, giving his father a small smile, "but I think I'm going to head to bed now."
And with that he was gone. Burt had no idea what to think.
If it wasn't Kurt's blood then who's was it? Did Kurt hurt them? Was it human?
he sank into the couch as the full weight of whatever was going on stumped and depressed him. His son was still his little boy, he loved him. But after the events throughout his short life, Burt found that he didn't like him very much.
He was afraid of his son.
At 15 years old, Kurt found a new friend, and as the boys stood at the door, Kurt introducing his new comrade to Burt, the boy couldn't have been any older than Kurt, and he was holding his hand out politely enough to shake, but Burt was worried about the look in this kid's eyes.
It was the same kind of look Kurt had, a dark one.
Kurt had a new friend who was just as scary to Burt as Kurt himself. Blaine had smiled up at Burt as Kurt tugged him past and into his basement room, and Burt looked on helpless to stop whatever they were doing.
All he could do is be there for his son if he ever needed him. That and make sure that this Blaine kid really was a friend and not someone who was going to hurt him.
But as long as Kurt kept that secretive but happy smile on his face then Burt would keep his mouth shut.