It just occurred to me that Burt HAD to have had some reaction when this happend on the show.
#
#
#
"Dad?"
Burt pulled his head out from under the hood of the car he was working on and looked up with a smile. The expression faltered; his brow furrowing as he got a good look at his son. He was completely used to seeing Kurt decked out in unusual clothing (Heck, some of it was downright weird!) but today he was wearing sneakers, bright-red warm up pants and a short sleeved red and white shirt with WMHS emblazoned across the chest in large block letters.
"You lose a bet?" he asked, that being the only reason he could come up with for Kurt to be voluntarily wearing a polyester uniform of any kind.
Kurt shifted in place, clutching the binder he was carrying a little bit tighter. "No."
"Then what's with the outfit? This one of those glee-club things?"
The boy dropped his gaze to the floor, his cheeks going nearly the same shade as his uniform. "It's . . . it's a Cheerios thing, actually. Coach Sylvester invited me and Mercedes to join the team." He pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook and held it out to Burt. It was wrinkled, as though it had been folded and unfolded dozens of times by nervous hands. "I need you to sign the permission slip and liability waiver."
Burt's brain had stuttered to a halt at the word 'Cheerios'. "You're telling me you want to become a cheerleader?" he asked faintly.
He had seen the squad performing at football games when Kurt had briefly been the Titans kicker, and at a couple of parent-attended pep rallies for school events, and he knew that they were good. Way better than they had been back during his own days at McKinley. But cheerleaders were supposed to be girls! Cute, short-skirted socialites that all the jocks wanted to date. They were what his only son should want, not what he should want to be!
Burt had been coming to terms with Kurt's sexuality for months, ever since he had finally confirmed as fact what Burt had strongly suspected since the kid was barely out of diapers, and he thought that he was doing pretty good most of the time. But this!
"The Cheerios are the most popular kids in school," Kurt told him, a note of pleading in his voice. "Coach Sylvester is kind of insane but her squad has won Nationals six years running, and nobody messes with them. I talked to some of the other guys on the squad and not one of them has ever been slushied or dumpster-tossed. This uniform brings automatic respect and I really want to try it. Mercedes and I sang with the Cheerios at an assembly today in front of the whole school, as part of the Madonna-Week tribute we've been having. It was so much fun. I couldn't believe how incredible it felt to hear everyone cheering for us that way!"
Burt watched his boy's eyes shine at the memory and his gut clenched. He had often suspected that he did not hear about half the crap Kurt took for being the way he was, and this seemed to confirm it. A little applause, a little respect from his peers, and the kid was on Cloud 9.
"Other guys?" he repeated, feeling a little stirring of hope. "So, the Cheerios aren't just girls these days."
Kurt blinked, coming back from the lovely memory he had been reliving. "Oh, uh, no. There's about a dozen boys, I think. We didn't perform with them today but they're always involved in the field routines, picking up the girls and tossing them overhead for their flips and things. Plus, some of the squad is working on a really amazing co-ed routine involving stilts! I saw them practicing when I went in to pick up my new uniform."
His fingertips grazed lovingly over the letters on his chest, an unconsciously proud smile tilting his lips.
Burt nodded. He wasn't entirely happy with this; the gender-conscious, misogynistic jock mentality of his youth rising up and gibbering in horror at the very idea, but as he always did when his baser instincts started screaming, Burt firmly clamped a hand over the mouth of that bigoted little inner-voice and crushed it back, hoping one day he could exorcise it completely.
Managing to offer his hopeful-looking son a smile, he accepted the permission slip and read it over. His brow furrowed when he saw the long list of potential harm that the liability clause covered, requesting his agreement that McKinley High School would not be held responsible for any physical, mental or emotional damages incurred during the practice and execution of Cheerios routines. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid? It sounds like it might be less dangerous to join the circus and let 'em shoot you out of cannons into the lion cage!"
The teenager just smirked. "Coach Sylvester is a perfectionist, but you have to take the risks if you want to play the game, right?"
"No fair using my own words against me," Burt scolded, chuckling a little. "Sylvester . . . isn't she that nut-job who does that news spot where she rants about crazy stuff every week?"
Kurt grinned. "Sue's Corner," he confirmed. "Yeah, that's her. She's the same one who has such a massive grudge against Mr. Schuester, too. She comes up with a new scheme at least once every week to destroy glee-club."
"But you like her anyway?"
He shrugged. "I do. I don't even know why. Maybe it's because for all her weirdness and insanity, she really seems to care what happens to her kids. I've worked with her a couple of times on other things and it was kind of fun both times."
Burt leaned against the side of the car, studying his son's face intently. "This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
Kurt came a few steps closer, resting against the vehicle next to his dad. His young face turned very serious as he looked Burt in the eye and said quietly, "She asked me. There are kids at school who'd sell their vital organs for a chance like this, but Sue Sylvester wanted me. Nothing is more important to her than the winning reputation and performance of her Cheerios, Dad; but when she decided to add vocals to her Nationals routine, out of all the singers she could have chosen to represent her, she picked Mercedes and me. Not one of the star singers from glee-club, or any of the perfect, popular kids already on her squad. Us. Mercedes and I want to prove to Sue and Shue and everybody else that we're worthy of that. I want to prove it to myself."
Swinging an arm around his narrow shoulders, Burt gave his son a firm squeeze. "You are worth it, Kurt, and if this is what you really want then I'm not gonna stop you." Fishing a pen out of his coverall pocket, he rested the permission slip against the top of the car and signed his name at the bottom. "Does this mean you guys are quitting Glee, if you're joining the Cheerios?"
"No," he said, reclaiming the form and tucking it safely back into his binder. "We're going to do both, same as Santana and Brittany."
"Gonna musically rule the entire school, eh?"
Playfully, he sang, "We will, We will, Rock you!"
Laughter lightened Burt's worry as he saw the mischief dancing in his son's bright blue eyes. "All right, then. But before you begin your world conquest, I suggest you go do your homework. I see those grades slipping and you'll be off both teams faster than you can blink."
He laughed and grabbed Burt in a quick hug. "And people say Coach Sylvester is a tyrant! See you later, Dad." He walked away, then spun mid-stride, pointing a finger at Burt. "Dinner will be on the table at 7 o'clock, sharp. Don't be late!"
Burt sketched a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!"
Kurt just grinned and continued on his way.
As he watched the boy walk away with his bouncy, self-confident stride even more pronounced than usual – hell, the kid was so pleased with himself that he was practically skipping – Burt shook his head fondly.
"My son, the singing, football-playing, cheerleader," he mumbled, snorting as he returned to his waiting car engine. At least college recruiters would never be able to say that his kid lacked extra-curricular variety!