Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.
Burt tapped his knuckles lightly against Kurt's closed bedroom door. "Kid, you awake?" he said. "Time to get up, if you want to eat breakfast."
He didn't really have a choice except to take the boy to work with him. There wasn't time to find a sitter, and there definitely wasn't time to get him into school. He knocked one last time and headed down the stairs.
The child eventually made his way downstairs and slipped into a seat at the kitchen table. Burt did a doubletake. He looked awful. His eyes were ringed in dark shadows, like he hadn't slept all night, and his clothes were badly wrinkled. They were the same clothes from yesterday, if Burt wasn't mistaken.
"You want some cereal?" Burt asked. Kurt shrugged. Burt ended up pouring him a bowl of Cheerios and milk and sliding it in front of him. The boy spooned the cereal into his mouth, staring blankly at the wood grain of the table.
"We're gonna go to the garage today," Burt said as he cleaned up the kitchen. "I'm a mechanic. You like cars?"
Kurt shrugged. Burt suppressed a sigh. Apparently the kid didn't have any preferences at all.
He sent Kurt upstairs to brush his teeth, and once the kid was ready, he loaded him into the car and drove off towards the garage. His assistant manager was already there, working on an oil change, and he raised his eyebrow skeptically at the little boy trotting along at Burt's heels.
"This is Kurt, my…my foster kid," Burt explained. "He's going to stay with me for a few days. Kurt, this is Jake."
Kurt whispered a hello and ducked behind Burt's legs for safety. Burt tugged him out gently. "Go play in my office, okay?" he said. "You can…color or something."
Kurt obeyed and disappeared into the office. Burt sighed heavily and went back to work. "He's not one for talking, is he?" Jake commented.
"Not one for anything," Burt said. "He's real quiet. Kind of skittish. Just being around Sammy freaked him out."
Jake shook his head. "Kids in the system are messed up," he said. "He's probably going to kill you in your bed and rob you blind."
"But he's not even in the system," Burt objected. He made a mental note to ask Kurt about why he was there in the first place. Something about his mother, he was pretty sure the social worker had mentioned.
He worked steadily through the morning, occasionally glancing into the office to check on the kid. For the most part, Kurt seemed all right. He just hunched over at Burt's desk, his gray sweater bunching around him like a turtle's shell as he dragged a pencil across a blank piece of paper. He seemed tremendously unhappy.
At his usual lunch break, Burt actually deviated from his usual routine. Instead of eating the lunch he had packed, he got in the truck and drove to the McDonald's down the road, ordering a Big Mac meal for himself and a kid's meal for Kurt. Maybe something like that could get the child to eat.
"Here," he said, setting the brightly colored paper sack down on the desk. Kurt started. "Eat your lunch."
Kurt just stared at it like he just been handed moon rocks. Burt sighed and unpacked the fries and burger, setting them down on unfolded napkins. "Eat," he repeated.
Kurt blinked, then tore into the food. Burt took a step back. The child was starving. "Slow down, it's not going anywhere," he said. "You don't want to choke."
He sat down across from him and started eating his own lunch, eyeing the boy suspiciously as he devoured his food. When the last fry was eaten and nothing remained of the burger, not even crumbs, Kurt folded up his trash neatly and tucked it into the bag, then looked at Burt expectantly.
"Aren't you going to get the toy out?" Burt asked mildly. Kurt blinked; Burt fished around in the bag until he came up with the plastic-wrapped toy. He pulled it out of the package and placed it in Kurt's hands. It was just a tiny plush toy in the shape of a rabbit, but Kurt's eyes widened like he had just been handed the moon.
Burt gathered up their trash. "You stay here and play," he said. "I'll be out working. You let me know if you need anything, all right? And the bathroom's right over there, can't miss it."
He threw the trash away and left Kurt to his own devices. Most likely he would just keep up his quiet playtime. He was turning out to be the easiest kid in the world to babysit; he didn't mess around with stuff that wasn't his, he didn't run around underfoot when the mechanics were working, and he didn't even make a sound.
Burt peeked in on him around three o'clock. Much to his surprise, Kurt was fast asleep on the floor, tucked up in a little ball. He clutched the toy in his hands, pressing his cheek against the soft plush. That wasn't so weird, though. The weird thing was that Kurt was lying on the bare concrete floor instead of the worn plush couch right behind him.
He couldn't let the kid sleep on dirty cement. There was no way. Burt bent to pick him up, slightly startled at how light and bony the child felt. He set the boy down on the couch, wishing he had a blanket to tuck around him. Instead, he just adjusted the rabbit against Kurt's cheek.
He usually didn't leave work until long after dark- there was no one waiting for him at home, after all- but he didn't want to make the kid stay at the garage so late. At five o'clock he closed up his station, calling out instructions to Jake, and headed into the office.
"Hey, kid, time to wake up," he said. "Come on, rise and shine."
The child bolted upright, blinking dizzily. "Oh," he said, glancing around wildly at the couch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't be sorry, I put you there," Burt reassured him. "Come on, we're going to go home. Dinner time. Get your things."
Kurt slid off the couch and picked up his backpack. He held up the rabbit toy wordlessly in his palm, as if waiting for Burt to take it away from him. "No, kiddo, that's yours," Burt said, surprised. "Keep it."
Kurt held the toy to his chest, his blue eyes solemn. Burt patted his shoulder. "Come on, go out to the truck," he said.
They walked outside in the light rain. Kurt shivered; Burt made a mental note to check that little blue backpack of his for a warmer coat than that old sweater. He tucked his hands under Kurt's arms and hoisted him into the passenger seat, then walked around to his side.
Burt switched on the radio as they drove home, setting it to a quiet oldies station. He tried to think of topics of conversation, but what was he supposed to talk about with a strange seven-year-old? Better to stay quiet, he guessed.
Kurt seemed incredibly uncomfortable. He kept shifting in his seat, tucking his legs underneath him. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, and he kept closing his eyes and hunching forward. "You okay?" Burt finally asked. Kurt nodded, his chin jutting out.
Apparently that was a lie, because as soon as he parked in the driveway, the child bolted out of the seat and was promptly sick in the front yard. Burt stared at him in shock, then finally snapped out of it as Kurt fell on his knees, dry-heaving.
"Hey, kiddo, hey," Burt said, patting his back. "You're all right. You just get carsick?"
Kurt closed his eyes and nodded. Burt helped him up and guided him into the house. He could feel the child shaking under his hand. "Go get cleaned up," he said. "Rinse your mouth out."
The little boy obeyed, sliding his backpack off his narrow shoulders and stumbling down the hall. Burt paused and picked it up. It felt shockingly light in his hands
He set it on the kitchen table and unzipped the top. Carefully he picked out the few items inside. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A threadbare towel and a half-used bar of soap. A Bible. A letter addressed to "whom it may concern" in spidery cursive.
He pried the envelope open, his jaw clenched. The letter inside was written in the same handwriting.
Dear sir or madam,
Thank you for taking Kurt off my hands while I recover. Like most boys he's quite naughty, but he did promise to be good without me. The social worker will let you know if I want him back. I've put the belt in the front pocket of his backpack. Feel free to use it when he acts up. Tell him I told him to be good.
Mrs. Dinsmore
Burt stared at the letter in disbelief. She couldn't be talking about the same child. Kurt was silent and obedient and sickly. There was no way he was as evil as she claimed.
I've put the belt in the front pocket of his backpack.
Burt tossed the letter aside and unzipped the front section. A man's wide brown leather belt coiled in the pocket. He pulled it out; the brass buckle weighed heavy in his hand.
Suddenly the bruise on Kurt's shin made a lot more sense. So did the fainting spell when he saw the dog's leash and buckle. For a second he pictured that belt used on the fragile child that fell asleep on the floor with a stuffed rabbit in his hand, and his blood ran cold.
He rummaged through the backpack one last time, searching in vain for…well, he didn't know what. But there wasn't a change of clothes, or pajamas, or toys, or anything. Just the sparse handful of necessities and that godawful belt.
Burt walked to the bathroom, the belt clutched tightly in his hands. Kurt curled up on the floor, his cheek leaning against the cool ceramic of the toilet, but he started at the sight of the belt in Burt's hand. Burt knelt down to his eye level, the belt in hand. "I don't believe in hitting children," he said quietly. "You live in my house, you live by my rules. I've never struck a child before and I'm not going to start now."
Kurt nodded, his eyes still huge in fear. Burt dropped the belt on the floor and helped Kurt to his feet. "Let's get you to bed," he said. "Come on, get up."
He struggled to his feet, limp in Burt's hands. Burt toyed with the idea of carrying him, but he didn't know how Kurt would take that. "Go on, get," he urged, sending Kurt towards his bedroom. He stopped by the tiny laundry room and pulled out one of his old college tee shirts. It would be way too big on the kid, but it would be better than making him sleep in his clothes again.
"Here," Burt said, tossing the tee shirt at the little boy. "Put that on. You can sleep in that. I'll go make you something for dinner."
He headed down to the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry until he decided on toast and juice. It probably wouldn't do any good to try to give Kurt anything heavier than that, just in case he threw up again.
He walked into the bedroom to find Kurt sitting cross-legged on the floor, his tiny body enveloped in Burt's tee shirt. He still wore his knee socks. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.
Kurt looked up and blinked. "It's for me?" he said.
"Yeah, it's for you," Burt said. He set the toast and juice down on the nightstand and pulled the blankets back. "Come on, get into bed."
Kurt hesitantly crawled into bed and settled back gingerly against the pillows. Burt tugged the covers up and handed him the plate and cup. "Eat what you can," he said. "I don't want you to go to bed hungry, but I don't want you to eat yourself sick." He patted Kurt's knee. "I'm gonna go feed Sammy. Call if you need me."
He jogged down the stairs, whistling for the dog. Sammy bounded up to him, barking happily. Burt shushed him and herded him into the kitchen. "It's bad enough trying to make sure you eat, much less the kid," he mumbled to himself as he poured out the kibble. He glanced in the fridge in search of something to eat for himself. There was some leftover pizza from a day or two ago. That would work.
He headed back up to Kurt's room, Sammy bounding at his heels. Kurt was still aimlessly nibbling at his toast, but Burt was pleased to see that he'd eaten half of it and drank all of the juice. "Better?" he asked. Kurt nodded. Burt took the plate away and set it on the nightstand.
Sammy bounded on the bed, panting happily. Kurt jumped, but he hesitantly reached out and petted the top of the dog's head. The dog snuggled closer, nosing against Kurt's cheek and licking gently. Kurt hesitantly wrapped his arms around Sammy's neck, and Burt realized in horror that the little boy had begun to cry.
"I'm sorry," Kurt gulped. "I'm sorry, mister."
"Hey, now, don't worry about it," Burt soothed. Sammy licked a tear off Kurt's thin cheek. "You all right?"
"I'm trying to be good," Kurt pleaded, dashing at his eyes.
"You're being real good," Burt reassured him. When he was sure that the boy had calmed down, he shooed Sammy off the bed. "Lie down."
"Thanks, mister," Kurt whispered.
"You can call me Burt," he said. "Have a good sleep. Call me if you need anything."
He had already turned the lights off and headed down the hall when he heard the tiny voice call back. "Goodnight, Mister Burt."
Burt smiled to himself. The kid was starting to grow on him a little.
He ate dinner by himself in front of the television, flipping between the Discovery channel and ESPN, and took Sammy out for a brief walk around the block.
This isn't so hard, he told himself as he headed up to bed. This'll work out just fine.
He tried to forget about the belt and the look of terror in Kurt's eyes.
Author's Notes:
Oh my goodness. Thank you so much for all of your nice reviews and everything! I'm glad other people like angst too...
And I'm excited that other people have read Goodnight Mister Tom! Very few of my friends have read it, so I'm excited that y'all have.
As you can probably tell, things are going to take a turn downwards as Burt finds out more about the abuse that Kurt has gone through. Poor precious baby. So yes...if child abuse is something you don't want to read about...you probably won't enjoy this story. But there's going to be a lot of Burt fixing things as best as he can. Also Carole, Finn, and Blaine are appearing in the next chapter! Huzzah!
So thank you so, so much for reading this and reviewing. :) And remember, if you ever want to drop me a line, the best way to do it is to head over to my Tumblr! My name over there is redbullandcupcakebatter.