Title: If Only

Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long to update. I will hopefully post again before a week has gone by. This third chapter is from Burt's point of view when Kurt is five. Please let me know what you think!

Warning: Out of character Burt and some violence.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee. I own a Mac, and that's good enough for me.

Chapter 3: Fighting

Burt Hummel was having a good day. Not an exciting one, but certainly uplifting in most regards. He had spent a productive day at the shop working in his favorite set of coveralls and faded black baseball cap. He arrived at home in his Chevy truck, slammed the vehicle door shut, and strolled towards the two-step entry porch with a miniature version of his vintage truck tucked under one arm. The toy model—with custom paint and moveable parts—was a replica of his prized baby meant for a very special Kurt Hummel.

It's the perfect time to get my kid invested in automotives; just like his old man, Burt thought, hitching the neat package against his chest while a light smiled played at his lips. He reached for the house door and hopped inside. Their home was spacious and smelled familiarly comforting with that unusual combination of perfume and oil. Burt allowed himself one proud moment to notice the family room now displayed subtle tributes to his style. The dark woodworking and mantle pieces were his design, settling nicely with Jenny's black and silver wall sconces, decorative lighting, and other room pieces. The style seemed to express a melting pot of Hunting Lodge and Metropolitan Flair, which made him feel like they were finally sharing talents in all subjects—including the five-year-old boy elegantly sprawled across the beige carpet with paper and rainbow markers surrounding him.

Kurt dutifully shaded an image on the parchment while quiet music lilted in the background. Burt knew it was from Jenny's Broadway musical collection, but of course he couldn't identify the song title or artist on the spot. His little boy hummed along to the tune, and when certain lyrics played Kurt would sing softly, "Master of the House, Keeper of the Zoo..."

The mechanic moved closer, tucking the toy truck against the small of his back and inspecting pictures already drawn. Most of them showcased stick figures wearing finely detailed outfits, complete with scarves, hats, and fancy belts while music notes danced around the blank edges. The kid had talent, even though they were merely scribbles. Burt noticed the current picture, which no doubt was an image of Kurt dressed like a super hero. He even had a flowing cape.

"Hey Kurt," Burt greeted cheerfully. Kurt nodded in response, his tongue sticking out from the left side of his delicate lips in concentration. "How was school today?" Burt prodded, hoping for a more enthusiastic response as he shoved one hand into the pocket of his blue Carhartt.

His son paused, a red marker pressed against his nose, and said, "I had fun playing house today, until Noah decided to ruin it."

Burt's arm tightened on the truck just out of Kurt's line of vision, already jumping to bad conclusions. I knew that Puckerman kid would be trouble…the boy is twice the size of Kurt and they are only in kindergarten! He stifled any outward signs of anger and asked Kurt to tell him about it.

Kurt tapped the marker against his chin and scissor kicked his legs through the air as he spoke, "Well, Rachel decided she wanted to be the mommy and Brittany was the dog because she can bark real good…I mean, really well."

Any other time Burt would have chuckled at Kurt's insistence on correcting his own grammar, but was waiting impatiently to hear about the part that was ruined. He motioned for the boy to keep sharing, so Kurt continued.

"I was the daddy, so I made sure to be just like you!" Kurt smiled proudly at Burt, and then suddenly frowned. "But afterwards Noah shoved me and called me a wimp. I stuck my tongue out at him because he's mean, stupid, and wears clothes with boogers on them."

Burt crouched down beside his son and laid one hand on Kurt's arm. He gently asked why the kindergartner did not defend himself.

"Mommy and Ms. Copperstone say it's not polite to hit," Kurt mumbled, staring down at his most recent picture. He ran one thin finger along the length of his cape.

"Is this Super Kurt?" Burt asked, picking up the picture and turning it in circles while nodding in concentration with his chin perched between thumb and forefinger. The child giggled, admiring his father's "studious face."

"Yes, and I'd have mind control!" Kurt said, his eyes widening at the idea. Burt asked why, to which the boy replied, "Then I could make everyone happy and nice…even me."

Burt's knee shook at the quick realization this is only the beginning of harassment that will be thrown at Kurt, especially when the other boys start noticing the differences. He needed to stop this, right? To protect his son, Burt would have to nudge him in the right direction.

"Okay, Kurt, I got something for you today." The five-year-old lit up with anticipation, so Burt revealed the model truck from behind his back with a dramatic "Ta-da!"

Kurt's face fell very slightly, but it was enough for his father to notice. Burt masked his hurt to explain, "This is a replica of my first truck when I was just a kid. You want to be like daddy, right? You can learn to fix things."

Nodding slowly, Kurt looked up and down his dad's body. "Do I have to wear your baggy suspender jeans, though? I'd rather wear mommy's vests and shoes."

Burt couldn't help it. His son's comment burned the image of a cross-dressing drag queen Kurt being egged, drenched in tar, or even raped by faceless, hulking bullies. He gripped the child's shoulders between his fists and growled, "No, Kurt. You have to learn to fix things!"

Kurt squirmed in his father's grasp; his lower lip quivered while the shape of his mouth became an unnatural contortion.

He wailed in increasingly high pitch, "Dad, you're hurting me!"

Burt could vaguely make out the form of his wife storming into the room to shout, "Burt!" and yank Kurt away from his rough hold. She murmured to Kurt before escorting him to the bedroom. Jenny closed his door with a loud snap and reappeared in the living space directly in front of Burt. She slapped him hard across the face.

The spot she impacted on his cheek stung like a wasp, but it was nothing compared to the buzzing that filled his ears as if he'd been submerged under a coastal wave. Jenny screamed silently in front of him, doing her best to stand even with him or at least look intimidating. His buzzing head couldn't hear anything, but he could imagine she was wrongly accusing him.

When he resurfaced, for the first time, he fought back.

"What do you expect me to do? Let him be picked on at school like some girl getting her pigtail yanked?"

"Kurt should always be allowed to express who he is! If only you were man enough to allow it!" she retaliated.

"He should at least learn how to defend himself!" Burt yelled as he flipped his hat off and smacked it against his thigh.

"And you think he should start by learning to fend off his own father?" Jenny's words hit him like a brick against his teeth. She continued unchallenged, declaring Burt was so fearful he would stifle his child to protect his own Lima reputation. Her words began to lose meaning because all Burt could hear was: You are a bad father…a bad father.

"I can't even look at you right now." Jenny's hand twitched like she wanted to strike him again, but instead she spun on her right heel and rushed outside through their sliding patio door. Burt stood numbly in the middle of their merging-style home, more alone than he had ever felt.

Several minutes passed of Burt standing numbly with Kurt's artistic images as his only company. Music still played quietly from the corner speaker, but the song must have been on repeat because he recognized the same lyrics Kurt had sung along with. His foot shifted the floor papers, revealing a new image of their happy family: Jenny, Burt, and Kurt Hummel all clasping hands beside the house with an overly large rainbow cascading across the top. Irony pressed on his chest like an iron dumbbell. The song neared its end with a crescendo:

Hypocrite and toady and inebriate!

Everybody bless the landlord!

Everybody bless his spouse!

Everybody raise a glass

Raise it up the master's arse.

Everybody raise a glass to the master of the house!

Burt moved stiffly to the stereo set and switched it off. He walked with the model Chevrolet truck still under one arm, and had to vaguely wonder why he won't put it down.

Almost walking past the bathroom in his trek down the hall, Burt heard the clang of metal against porcelain and froze. Kurt was in there, and he could not face the kid yet. Instead, he spied through the crack between door and hinge…just like a bad father.

Kurt had dropped the lid of his mother's cream jar, where it ricocheted off the toilet and down to the floor. He sniffed the substance lightly, and smeared a tiny portion against each cheek. The boy stared at his reflection for many long seconds while Burt watched. His expression moved from placid smoothness to a deep frown; his brow furrowed. Kurt rubbed a hand on each side of his face, rinsed his skin with water, and repeated the process multiple times.

With Burt watching the entire time, Kurt ran a hand through his hair, around his ears, and across his face while his gaze dug into the mirror. The boy could have been looking into his own soul for all Burt knew. Whatever the five-year-old found, his emotions were betrayed only through the way his mouth wobbly shaped incomprehensible, mute words; the way his hands gripped the countertop for support. Kurt made no sound, but Burt had to finally look away.

The older man crumpled into a pile on the floor, clutching that toy truck the way he would cling to glue as broken pieces of him scattered around the hallway.

A resolve built within Burt by the time Kurt quietly left the bathroom and returned to the solitude of his bedroom. Still on the floor, the mechanic mentally vowed that whenever he could, whenever he was aware of the need, he would fight for his son.

I will fight for him, so Kurt won't have to.

Author's Notes: Do you want to hug little Kurt right now? I did while writing it. Please review!