Burt rubbed at his temple. He sighed and decided he needed a minute. If Kurt was sulking downstairs he wasn't going to be much of a listener anyway, he figured. He went outside and cleaned up the oil and put back the hood of his car.
The kid has a point, he mused. He wasn't actually sure what paella was. Some kind of dessert? But Kurt definitely knew better than to be cooking without adult supervision. He could have gotten hurt, or caused serious damage. Chagrined, Burt headed back inside, examining the damage. Luckily the fire hadn't spread past the pan, but there was plenty of stuff to clean up. He looked over by the microwave, where a large book of recipes was opened up. A stool was pushed up near it; Kurt must have climbed up on it to reach it above the cabinets. Damn it, Kurt, you trying to break your neck? Elizabeth was the cook in the family; it was actually kind of a wonder the two of them hadn't starved in the last ten months. The recipe books hadn't been touched all year; they had been getting by with sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, and soup for the most part. What a year.
Burt opened the door to the basement, which served as both playroom and bedroom for Kurt. It had worked out well: Kurt was happy because he had more space down there than any kid he knew and Burt wasn't tripping over all of his toys constantly. He padded down the stairs, trying to put on his Dad voice. "Alright Kurt. Time for sulking is over, we need to talk."
"Go away!" Kurt yelled, still pouting face down into his bed on one side of the room.
"Oh no. None of that. You don't get to talk to me like that young man." Burt scolded, "You're already in enough trouble."
Kurt made a face but got up, facing away from Burt for good measure.
Burt rolled his eyes. His kid was exasperatingly stubborn sometimes. "You left quite a mess up there, kiddo."
Kurt fidgeted. "…Sometimes cooking is messy. It's not like I had a sous-chef to help out."
"Uh huh. Well you're cleaning it all up, young man. I didn't work all week at the tire shop to spend the weekend picking up after your mess. Your restaurant is closed for business until further notice."
Kurt huffed, annoyed.
"Okay?" Burt pressed.
"Fine, I'll clean it up. God." Kurt spat.
Burt eyed his son. "Young man, I know that was probably a little scary up there, and maybe you have some good reasons to be feeling upset right now, but I didn't raise you to be fresh to grown ups."
"I'm not being—"
"Your smart mouth is about to get you a smarting bottom young man, so I'd quit while I was ahead if I were you."
Kurt crossed his arms and slumped, scowling.
Jesus what am I going to do when he's 16?, Burt wondered. He looked at his watch. No way was he going to risk taking Kurt out in public if he was in mouthy mode like this. "I'm ordering a pizza," he announced. "Should be here in a half hour. That'll be plenty of time for you to get started."
Kurt sulkily got up and shuffled past his father towards the stairs.
"I want all the flour cleaned up, and all the food put away. We have enough problems without attracting bugs." Burt added.
"Yes, Dad." Kurt muttered.
"And once the pizza is here we can discuss your punishment."
Kurt turned slowly back to his father. "I thought my punishment was having to clean up."
Burt's eyebrows raised. "No. Having to clean up your mess is a natural consequence of making that mess, young man. You damn near set the house on fire. You're definitely getting punished more than that."
Kurt groaned. "You're no fair!" he complained. "I shouldn't have to listen to you!"
Burt closed the distance between himself and his son. "It seems to me that someone is forgetting who's in charge around here." he said, grabbing Kurt's arm and turning him to the side. He planted three sharp spanks to Kurt's backside, and then released the child, hopping and reaching back to rub his bottom. "Upstairs. Now." he commanded.
Kurt shrunk at his father's stern tone and ran back up the stairs. Burt watched him leave. Burt closed his eyes. Parenthood was a drag sometimes.