AN: So this had two inspirations - lyrics from "When You Were Young" by The Killers an also the Burt/Kurt scene in I believe it was "Dance With Somebody". Hope you enjoy!
Prompt
Burt: "Or you know, wreck the kitchen playing restaurant."
Kurt: "I was nine. Who knew paella was gonna be so complicated?"
Turning off the vacuum, I moved to unplug it. The cleaning chores I had set for today was finally done, and while the house probably wasn't cleaned to Kathleen's standards, at least it was presentable. Putting the vacuum away, I headed for the kitchen to see how Kurt was doing in his game of restaurant.
"Hey Kurt..."
I let the greeting trail off as I'm not prepared for the sight that greets me. I know Kurt usually takes things a little further than just imagining things. I had expected some bowls, pots, measuring cups and simple ingredients being out. I did not expect that to the extent it was or the mess that was on the counters and the floors. Nor did I expect my nine year old son to be standing on a step stool in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand and the lid to the pot in another.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my mind trying to figure out where to start in the cleaning process.
"Cooking Paella, though I'm not too sure how it's going to come out. The recipe is a bit more complicated than I anticipated."
~Paella. What the hell was Paella?~
I took a few tentative steps into the kitchen, mentally naming what ingredients I saw that I could recognize. Onion, parsley, sausage, a piece of chicken, oil, chicken broth . . . apparently not all the ingredients had found their way into the dish. My eyes fell on a trail of red that went from the counter to the floor. At first I thought it was blood and then realized it was flakes of something.
"I knocked over the red pepper flakes," Kurt said, seeing what I was looking at. My gaze went to him, as he placed the lid over the pot he had been stirring. "Sorry."
I want to yell, but looking at him I can tell he doesn't realize he's done anything wrong, well beside spilling the flakes. And I had given him permission to be in the kitchen. I took a deep breath, getting a whiff of the aromas from whatever Kurt was cooking, and realized that it didn't smell all that bad. Perhaps it would be edible. I let out my breath slowly.
"Kurt, I think from now on I only want you using the kitchen when I'm in here with you," I tell him.
From the chair he's standing on, Kurt looks around and then looks back at me. "I did make a bit of a mess didn't I."
"Yeah, you did. How about we get it cleaned up," I suggest, wondering how I'm going to get through another nine years of raising my son alone.