Two: Distrust
Kit didn't trust easily.
The constant wariness gnawed at him, like a persistent itch that couldn't be scratched.
Trusting in your own instincts was essential, but trusting others made you vulnerable; a target. Putting trust in the wrong person could cost you everything you owned and more.
Therefore, he opted not to trust. As a rule. Especially not men. And especially not men in positions of power.
Kit also didn't like to receive orders. He was done with that.
So it happened, under the harsh thumb and tongue of his teacher, that he told Mr. Webster where – exactly – he could put his multiplication tables.
Despite another tirade from the principal, he was fortunate to only receive a week of detention and a letter. One that never found its way to his 'parents', as he was instructed to deliver by a rather uncaring secretary. Until it was finally discovered, accidentally, by Miss Cunningham as she cleaned out the overflowing paper bin.
That was how, after another dull, navigator-less haul, Baloo got greeted by the rhythmic tap of Miss Cunningham's foot, and a crumpled piece of paper pressed under his nose.
"By George…" The worn armchair creaked as he slumped down into it, his body sinking into the faded fabric as he shook the letter vigorously, as if hoping that mere motion would change the message somehow.
"Did you know about this?"
He glared at her, but realized she was only the messenger; one of the pestering hawk kind, and not a self-caring pigeon, that was for sure. "Obviously not, but I'm sure…" he attempted to explain, only to be interrupted by her sharp, cutting retort.
"Baloo, he hid this!" she exclaimed, huffing as she paced around the room. She really, really shouldn't be involved in these domestic disputes, but once again seemed to be the only one who cared enough to get angry.
This at least provoked a little more urgency into Baloo's tone, even if it wasn't the amount she'd aimed for.
"Ah, Becky," he replied, his deep voice carrying a hint of resignation. "I'm sure he had his reasons. You know him."
"I'm not so sure anymore… It says here he lacked discipline, refused to do an assignment, was disrespectful to a teacher, and left the class without permission. Baloo, this can't continue!" Rebecca's voice rose with each accusation, her frustration seeping into every word.
When he hoisted himself out of the chair, the wooden legs scraped against the floor, punctuating the reluctance with which he rose.
She wasn't sure if the severity of the situation had actually gotten through to him, or if her nagging had finally worn him down. Regardless, Rebecca decided to take what victory she could.
"Alright, alright, I'll talk to him," he sighed, his footsteps heavy as he trotted up the stairs.
Each step seemed to carry the weight of the somber task ahead; a reminder of the difficult conversation that awaited him. Baloo knew he wasn't cut out for this… lecturing thing. However, as he climbed, he also realized that Becky surely wasn't the right one to do it, either. She just didn't get the kid.
He cautiously turned the doorknob, wincing as the rusty hinges creaked, shattering the room's oppressive silence.
The boy perched on the edge of his bed, feet dangling and swaying above the worn-out floorboards. Kit ducked his head, avoiding eye contact.
The walls of the shack were thin; Baloo was sure the cub had heard every complaint and demand from downstairs.
The pilot carefully settled himself on the mattress – or at least he tried to be careful, but still shook the cub up considerately with the extra weight.
"What happened?" he asked wearily.
The boy let out a sigh.
"Does it matter?"
Baloo leaned in closer, catching the boy's eye for a second.
"To me it does," he whispered.
Silence.
He gently nudged the boy's small shoulder and said, "Hey, yer not in trouble with me, Lil' Britches. You can tell old Papa Bear."
Looking up, the cub carefully studied him for a moment, his eyes scanning the weathered face. He lowered his gaze to where his fingers traced the wood patterns on the bed frame.
He'd never met anyone like Baloo.
Having learned the hard way that everything in life came with a price, and to never overstay your welcome, he had kept track from the very beginning. He'd constantly checked for signs he wasn't wanted anymore, his ears attuned to detect the subtle changes in the voices around him. Every gesture, every nickname - and there had been an abundance of those over the months - and every expense Baloo had generously taken care of on his behalf had been noted and filed away for future reference.
Especially since school had limited his usefulness as a navigator, Kit felt that the balance of their relationship shouldn't be so heavily in his favor. However, despite all that and the trouble he caused, Baloo somehow seemed to genuinely like having him around.
"Yeah… I know." Kit truly did. It was pretty much a first for him, trusting anyone like he trusted Baloo. It was scary; trusting, being vulnerable, and depending so much on someone weight of it sat heavy on his mind, both daunting and exhilarating.
"So?"
The cub took a deep breath, recalling how he had wished for an adult to listen to his side last time.
"He–um, Mr. Webster, that is, he yelled at me," he said, fidgeting with his knitted sweater. "I had a mix-up with the numbers; no big deal, right?" he asked nervously.
A wave of relief washed over him as he received an empathic nod in response.
"He told me to try again, but with my hands stretched out on the desk…" he trailed off, balling his fists.
Baloo's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his face.
The memory of the cold, hard surface of a desk beneath his fingertips sent shivers down his spine. If he remembered one thing from his own school years, it was the sharp crack resonating in his ears, and the pain searing through his palms; the sting as sharp as the humiliation.
"I refused. He called me stupid, so I left," Kit continued, crossing his arms defiantly. "And I'm not going back!" he declared.
Holding his massive hands out in a 'hold yer propellers' motion, the large bear cast an intense gaze upon his companion.
"Woah, woah, not so fast! First off, yer not stupid. That's prop-wash!" he exclaimed, the deep rumble of his voice filling the air.
Kit didn't bother to look up.
Baloo leaned in closer. "Kit-boy, you know yer smart, right?" he asked with genuine concern.
The cub fell backwards, glaring at the ceiling. "Obviously I'm not," he grumbled. "Can't spell, can't do math, can't–"
"'Can't do math?!' Kit, what do you think you're doing planning up all that navigation-mambo-jumbo? That IS math! Like, big-scale math! I bet that Mr. Webby couldn't handle it!"
A dismissive shrug was all he received in response, accompanied by the distant chirping of the crickets outside.
Baloo let out a weary sigh.
He felt he had done little else tonight. The weight of his incompetence pressed down on him like a suffocating boulder that refused to budge. It was a burden he had carried for as long as he could remember.
Being competent in ways the education system dismissed or failed to acknowledge as talent, seemed to have stayed just as harsh a reality as all those years ago.
Baloo had never liked hard. That's why he had eagerly left school at the first opportunity, and built his life around all the things he enjoyed and was good at. He'd always chosen the easy way, a seemingly carefree existence filled with endless parties.
However, deep down, Baloo knew his way of life had depended entirely on luck, and she was a fickle mistress. If it weren't for Rebecca taking over his business and needing a staff pilot, he would have lost everything.
No house, no plane, no job.
And then what?
No Kit.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't imagine his life without the boy.
As much as Rebecca's bossy, know-it-all attitude drove him up the walls, he needed her in his life. More so, he needed her in Kit's life.
But his way of life was not for Kit, not in the long run. He had too much talent, too much potential to waste it on a lifetime of endless cargo hauls. Baloo was determined to push the kid far away from that path. And that meant… taking the hard way. School. College. Whatever came after that. For the first time in his life, Baloo made the conscious decision to take the challenging route - and all for the sake of someone else.
He looked at his pint-sized navigator, pondering how he had changed his life's course so much without even trying.
Poking the kid only got him a half-hearted growl.
"School is important. Ya got the brains; yer need to make something out of it," he said, his voice resolute. "And…" He trailed off, distracted by a flicker of movement above.
It was a small, vibrant blue airplane that hung from the ceiling, peacefully soaring on the gentle breeze coming in through the window. The one Kit had ogled at every time they passed the store for two months. He would have never asked for it. The kid hardly asked for anything; certainly never for something so expensive.
However, the surprise and pure joy in the child's eyes when he had given him the toy... Baloo knew at that moment that every hard-earned Kaboozy spent on the overpriced thing had been worth it.
The tyke loved, lived, and breathed airplanes.
Suddenly, he knew the right approach.
"Yer know you need to stay out of trouble to get yer license, right?" His deep voice echoed through the room.
The child turned away from him, a frown etched on his face.
"I know," he groaned, his words half-muffled as he curled up on the covers. The fabric felt soft against his fur, providing a small comfort amidst his frustration.
It wasn't fair. His age meant he wasn't liable – and wouldn't be for years to come – but his actions already counted against him. If he'd be liable at all, considering his past 'occupations'. He hadn't mustered the courage to ask about it yet.
Undeterred by the kid's somber mood, Baloo continued, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight as he shifted. "Here's the deal: yer stick to your studies, we get you switched to the big schoolhouse, and if you can go a whole week with no trouble," he chuckled at the absurdity of the condition coming from him of all people. But he saw the spark of interest as Kit's ear perked up, and it fueled his determination. "We'll go flying on the weekend. No worries, no problems, just you, me and the Duck. And definitively no cops to tell us what we can and can't do." Baloo's playful wink was audible.
Kit gasped and turned, his eyes wide with excitement. "You'll let me fly?!"
"Shhhhh!" Baloo hastily clasped a hand around the small, tan snout. Holding on to it, he listened intently before talking loudly towards the door, putting an extra crab-load of sternness in his voice, "Of course I'd never let you fly! You're way too young and that would be absolutely irresponsible of me!"
The declaration was so over the top, the cub couldn't stop laughing, muffled as it was by the large hand.
When no complaints arose from downstairs, Baloo released him.
Giddy with the prospect, the child jumped to his feet on the bed and hugged him tightly.
"You're the best, Papa Bear!"
Enveloping the enthusiastic furball in his arms, the pilot laughed wholeheartedly.
He knew he certainly wasn't the brightest light in the department store, but at least he had his priorities straight.