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Kurt stomped back and forth along a patch of curb. Goddamn Santana, he thought. They’d gone to a... a... questionable sort of club, because the cheerio had wanted him to see one of the performers. The moves, and the voice, had both been fantastic, but Santana had absolutely vanished, and he was awfully close to his curfew. He’d managed to get through to Finn, who’d known exactly where he was going, with whom, and why, to ask his brother to come rescue him. And then his phone had died, batteries dead after recording the fantastic performance.
Kurt knew exactly how far he was from home, and furthermore, Santana’s goddamn flashy BMW was NOT in the parking space the bitch had left it in. She’d had more than a few Long Islands, though he’d stuck with soda water with a lemon twist - there was no way he was gonna be in trouble with his dad over underage drinking again, anytime soon. He was exactly twenty minutes away from their house, and it had been FORTY minutes since he’d gotten Finn to agree to come get him.
His heels ground into the pavement and Kurt winced. It wouldn’t do to wear out the fine leather and have to have them resoled, they’d never be the same. He leaned up against the corner of a building, closing his eyes for a second and huffing a sigh. The list of people he’d like to murder was just growing longer - Mr. Schue, damn him, for assigning a song that addressed “base instincts,” Santana for luring him down here with a promise - though that was WELL fulfilled of SEX as the base instinct, and sex in a way that he could sing it - and he could... And then there was Finn.
Kurt was aware that he wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods. There wasn’t anyone else on the block with him, though he could see other figures on corners further away from the intersection he’d related to Finn just before his iPhone had abandoned him. He’d been fading into the alley any time a too-sleek car cruised by, or one blasting music that suggested gangs and guns to his sensitive soul.
He was quite startled by an upstanding, clean shaven guy strolling down the sidewalk. Maybe a lawyer in one of the business offices? The suit was Ralph Lauren for sure, the shoes Ferrogamo, and that was a nice tie, though it really should have been silk, and not a silk blend. The colors were all quite subdued, much like Mr. Lawton’s dress was. Definitely a lawyer type, and hotter than Puck’s lawyer was, Kurt decided.
The guy met his eyes easily, and Kurt relaxed a bit.
“Hey there,” came the deep bass voice, one that made Kurt’s spine shiver just a little bit at the tone and pitch. “Looking for someone?”
“Yes,” Kurt said with some relief.
The man gave him a sympathetic smile. “Stood up?”
“It seems like it,” Kurt said, frowning at the street. “My phone died at the end of the call though, and that was almost an hour ago.”
“One of those nights then.”
Kurt sighed. “Pretty much.”
“Would you like to borrow my phone? Do you know the number you need to call to check on your pickup?”
“Yes! That would be great,” Kurt said with some relief.
The man smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll loan you the phone for a kiss,” he said. “You’re too young, but a kiss would be nice.”
Kurt looked at the man, startled and blinking. A kiss? That didn’t sound that bad, he kissed any number of people on a routine basis without it having any meaning, aunts and uncles and old teachers, and older clients his dad had in from time to time. This guy was a little younger than any of them, but he was still, well, OLD.
“O-okay,” Kurt said, tentatively. “I don’t know your name though,” he said shyly.
“Dennis Mackenzie,” the man offered. “And you are...”
“Kurt,” he said, hesitating to give the man more information. “Thank you,” he followed up, relying on his manners to get him through. He could always break it off if the guy tried for more than a little kiss, after all. Kurt stepped up to the older man with a sense of relief as the man smiled.
Dennis leaned in, and much to Kurt’s relief, pressed a very chaste kiss on Kurt’s waiting lips, the older man’s hand gently resting in the small of Kurt’s back. He didn’t feel the least bit threatened.
And then the older man spun him roughly, pushing him up against the brick wall, which grazed his cheek painfully - his eyes opened wide in shock, and before he could even muster up the thought of how to try and fight back against someone who was almost half a foot taller than him and outweighed him by -
“You have the right to remain silent. Do you understand?”
“I... no! let me go!!!”
“Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”
“I, what!!! You’re a police officer??? What?”
The man flashed his badge, not letting up on the pressure he was holding on Kurt’s arms, which were neatly pinned behind his back.
“You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand?”
“I...”
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?”
“I have one? I - please let go, you don’t understand!” His eyes were wide with sheer panic.
“If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand?”
“I - yes - I - I want my dad - can you call my dad?”
“Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”
Kurt felt the second cuff snap onto his wrist, and the man turned him roughly. He stared up into the eyes that he’d thought kind, that were now harsh and unforgiving.
“I wasn’t - I was waiting for my brother to pick me up, he’s late and my phone’s dead, and I bet he’s lost - please - I just want to go home.”
“Sure, kid,” the handsome guy said tiredly. “If that’s all you’ve got, you can save if for the station.”
“The station???” Kurt’s voice squeaked, reaching it’s higher registers, and he felt the first tears prickling behind his eyes. This was turning into a nightmare...
“Yes, the station. Let’s go, kid.”
Kurt stumbled along with the man - plainclothes detective? his limp brain suggested, and they reached the curb just as a properly outfitted police car cruised up to the curb. As ridiculous as it was, the sight of the car brought some relief - this at least wasn’t some horrible kidnapping attempt he was caught up in and -
“Watch your head,” the deep voice said, and Kurt felt the warm hand on the top of his head. He plopped down in the backseat of the cruiser, staring at the grill separating him from the front, and as the door closed, he couldn’t help the tears that were starting to escape. The handsome guy got in the front with the uniformed officer.
“Uh, Denny, this one doesn’t look like the usual-”
“Stow it, Madison. Doesn’t matter one way or the other, I’m not leaving a kid like this on the street. Maybe his phone call will sort this shit out. I don’t like his story, either way.”
Both men glanced at the huddled form in the backseat, shifting uncomfortably. Dennis glanced at Madison, and gave the man a wink, at which the officer relaxed. Both of them knew that Kurt was too young, too clean, too healthy looking to be a prostitute, and if that had been what the kid was trying, they could maybe scare him straight.
Kurt had too much pride to sob out loud, so he ducked his chin, brought his feet up onto the seat so he didn’t have to press his face into the frighteningly disgusting fabric of the squad car. He was so, so, dead...
Detective Mackenzie was far more gentle, helping the teenager out of the car. The silent ride to the station, with the kid crying as quietly as he could manage - and hard, too - convinced him that his initial assessment was probably right. The boy’s story sounded pretty improbable, and whether it was that, or the kid looking for a thrill, or about to take a dive into the streets? He’d probably done him a favor by pulling him out of that neighborhood. Even if Kurt didn’t see it that way.
He looked at the wallet he’d removed from the kid’s back pocked when he patted the boy down. Kurt Hummel. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Well, they’d find out inside. He’d drag the kid to his desk, rather than booking him, though Madison would log the collar properly. If it was the truth, they wouldn’t book him, and iIt wouldn’t go on the kid’s record.
“I want my Dad,” Kurt said quietly, once Mackenzie had seated him in the visitor’s chair, still cuffed.
“Give me his phone number,” Mackenzie said gently.
Kurt dutifully recited his Dad’s number, and watched the detective dial, tears streaking down his face, unable to wipe the snot that was starting to run from his nose again.
“Mr. Hummel? Detective Mackenzie, Lima PD. I’ve got your son here with me, I wonder if you could come down to the station?” Long experience let him hold the phone from his ear while the irate man squawked, and he kept an eye on the kid, who cringed and shrunk down in his seat. Once the squawking was over... “Well, he’s been arrested, Mr. Hummel, and the potential charge is solicitation. I’d appreciate it if you could come down here and maybe help us straighten things out, Kurt looks like a good kid... Yes, sir. Just tell the receptionist, she’ll have a uniformed officer escort you up.”
Mackenzie hung up the phone, and looked sternly at Kurt. “Anything you want to revise in your story, here, son?”
“A classmate took me to see Shonda Waters at that club-” Kurt peeked up, and the detective was nodding. “We’re in Glee club together and it was for a Glee assignment?” Kurt’s voice was a little too hopeful, and it failed to net a reaction from the detective. “When it was over, my friend wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and her car wasn’t parked where we left it. So I tried to call my brother - my step-brother - to come and get me - he knew where I was - and my phone died, and then you came, and...” Kurt’s horrified eyes filled up with yet more tears.
Mackenzie sighed. He stood up and freed one one of Kurt’s delicate wrists from the handcuffs, though he clipped the newly vacant cuff to a sturdy ringbolt on his steel desk. The kid immediately huddled over, shivering hard.
“Kurt? Maybe a glass of water?”
“Yes, please,” came the sparse whisper, and Mackenzie stood up, motioning to Morrison.
“Right on the money, Morrison, I owe you a drink,” he said quietly, knowing the kid wouldn’t hear him over the snuffling. “Get the kid some water?”
Morrison grinned, giving the older detective a wink. He was back in a couple minutes, handing a bottle of water to Mackenzie, who cracked the cap, opening the bottle, and then handed it to Kurt, who took a tentative sip.
“Thank you,” came the quiet whisper.
“Kurt, if that’s true... you know you shouldn’t have been alone in a neighborhood like that, right?”
“I didn’t think,” came the gulp, and Kurt’s eyes met his for the first time since Dennis had kissed the kid.
Dennis gave him a half smile. “I’d have to agree with that, if you’re telling me the truth.” If he hadn’t believed the kid before, the horrified look would have convinced him. That, and the kid half rising as his name was called out. The elder Hummel, Dennis discerned, and then did a double take. His mechanic. That’s why... he winced internally, thinking of the well-behaved kid who always handed him an impeccably precise work order, and putting two and two together.
“Kurt? What the hell is going on? Are you ok? Why the hell is my kid in handcuffs!”
Mackenzie found himself face to face with Burt’s bulk. “Your kid is in handcuffs because he was trading sexual favors on Redlight Row,” he said decisively. “Now, if you’re going to take responsibility here, we’ll take the cuffs off - but I may still be booking him,” he warned.
“Jesus Christ, Kurt - what -” It appeared to take some effort, but Burt reined it in, and looked steadily at the detective. “Yes. Take the cuffs off him. Please.”
Mackenzie strolled around the table, and simply freed Kurt’s wrist, leaving the handcuffs dangling from the ringbolt, a visual reminder for the kid and his father.
“DAD.”
“Carole stopped Finn from going out earlier, he had some cockamamie story about needing to get homework from Brittany, of all people.” As always, Burt went straight to the heart of the matter.
Kurt’s eyes closed. Oh my god, his clueless brother...
“I called him to come get me. Mr. Schue gave us a new assignment. I got paired with Santana, and she dragged me to Painted Pro’s to see a singer - no dad, wait!!!” Kurt’s voice hit his higher registers, recognizing the look on his dad’s face.
“She was really awesome! The singer, I mean- the way she used the diminished chords and harmonised with the -”
“KURT HUMMEL.”
Kurt lapsed into silence.
Burt shaded his eyes with his hands for a moment, then was able to take a deep breath and turn those piercing blue eyes on his offspring again. “And then what happened?”
“Well, when the singer was done, I thought we were leaving, but I couldn’t find Santana, so I went outside to where she left her BMW? And it wasn’t there?”
“Kurt, I thought we discussed you going places with her.”
“I told Finn where I was going, you weren’t home...” Kurt’s voice was small, and miserable.
Burt sighed, reasserting his grip on his temper. “And then what happened.”
“I tried to call Finn right away, I told him where I was, what happened, and the street names on the intersection, and then my phone died.”
Mackenzie observed the two, the kid squirming under the intense glare, and tried not to laugh. The mirth was half relief - the kid had just gotten into a preposterously ridiculous situation, and hadn’t been about to take the dive he was afraid that Kurt might have been about to. He could tell the kid was gay, and he knew firsthand the sort of trouble that could cause, and likely it was part of the issue with the kid’s so-called friend tonight.
“And then,” Burt prompted, reaching over and patting Kurt’s knee. “I’m glad you at least had the sense to call your brother,” he said, when Kurt wasn’t quite forthcoming with more information.
“I waited like forty minutes - twice as long as it should have taken, and I was trying to figure out what to do... and then I saw HIM,” Kurt said, nodding accusingly at Detective Mackenzie.
“HE looked just like Puck’s lawyer - dressed the same way, and Ferregamo! and he was clean, and nice looking, and he offered to let me use his phone, and I was going to call Finn and figure out where he was lost - that boy can get lost inside of a brown paper bag - and he said he’d trade me a kiss for the use of his phone...” Kurt’s voice faltered at the thunderous look on Burt’s face, and even Mackenzie was impressed by the way the teenager shrank - hell, he was fighting off slumping himself, when Burt glanced his way a moment later.
“And how did you answer this nice stranger,” Burt suggested.
“I... I said yes?” The words fell into silence, and Burt’s gaze didn’t waver from the boy. “I wanted to get Finn?”
“Try again, Kurt,” Burt said grimly, trying to repress the shudders at the horrors his kid had likely escaped tonight.
“I shouldn’t have said yes. I - I’m sorry - I didn’t-”
“Let’s focus on what Kurt should have done,” Detective Mackenzie interrupted gently. There was no way this was fake, he had a misguided teenager who’d likely been badly pranked here, and an irate father, and at this rate he needed to make sure that the father wasn’t going to half kill the kid.
“Good idea,” Hummel said, posture relaxing a little. “Kurt? What alternatives did you have?”
“My phone was dead!!!” His reddened eyes tracked both older men, who just waited. “Uh, walked to find a pay phone?”
Mackenzie shook his head. “Think again.”
“But there’s pay phones everywhere...”
“Were you in a good neighborhood, Kurt,” the detective pressed, gently.
“No.”
“So payphones...”
The kid blushed violently. “Oh. Um.”
Both men could see Kurt searching, and neither of them really wanted to hear the kid suggest that he might have been able to walk home-
“Kurt. Where did you go, when you went down there?”
“Uh, the club?”
“Yes. Did that club have security?”
“Security... they asked for our ID’s- oh crap-”
“Hand it over, son,” Burt said, getting in before Mackenzie had even taken a breath. Kurt fumbled in his sock - one place that Mackenzie hadn’t bothered patting down, as tight as they were, and handed over the id, altered by two years. “Big trouble,” Burt suggested. “Answer Detective Mackenzie.”
“They had security?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie said, and slammed a hand down on his desk, making the boy jump, though the father had seemed to see it coming. “SECURITY. When you realized your friend’s car wasn’t there, you should have gone straight back into the damn club, kid. Security would have let you use a phone to call a friend, or call a cab.”
“Oh,” said Kurt, voice small and ashamed. “Ok.”
There was a heavy silence.
“I... I won’t do it again... I promise - Dad, PLEASE...”
Burt met Mackenzie’s eyes. “You can have my word on that. For at least the next six months,” he amended. “Because he’s gonna be grounded for that, minimum. And we’re gonna talk to Schuester, there’s gonna be consequences at school too. We’ll chat later,” he said, with deceptive calm.
Mackenzie wasn’t a detective for nothing though. The kid had flinched, and shifted in his seat.
“I think,” he said musingly, “that this is pretty well cleared up. I don’t see any reason for this to go on Kurt’s record, especially seeing as there isn’t one at this point.”
“Thank you,” both Hummels said in unison.
“However,” he said, getting a minor kick out of the way both of them winced. “I teach a class on situational awareness and self defense, every Wednesday night, from 5 to 8 at the community center. It might rest easier on my conscience if Kurt were to be in attendance from now until the end of the semester. It’s... extremely... unusual, not to book someone on solicitation charges after they’ve been arrested,” he said gently.
“He’ll be there,” Burt said roughly.
“Yessir,” came the reply from Kurt, subdued, but relieved. The kid was a lot cuter when he wasn’t worried as hell.
“Good. Mr. Hummel, I’d like to speak privately with you for a moment,” he said. “I expect your son to stay put,” he said pointedly.
“Kurt,” was all the older Hummel said, and nodded at Mackenzie.
Mackenzie led the father into the adjacent conference room, pulling out two chairs, seating the man next to himself.
“I’ve got several questions,” he said quietly. “Kurt’s gay?”
“Yes,” Burt said roughly.
“How bad is the hazing?”
“Bad enough,” Burt replied shortly.
“Vandalism at your home or business?”
“Yes. Reported.”
“Any objections if I make that my business?”
Those blue eyes looked up, startled, into Mackenzie’s cloudy grey orbs. “Why?”
“I was on that beat for a reason, Mr. Hummel. Kurt doesn’t deserve it, you don’t deserve it, any more than my family or I did,” he told the father quietly.
“You kissed him,” came the unexpectedly astute reply.
“I’m not attracted to those that I’m trying to protect, Mr. Hummel. And if you question Kurt, I’d say he wasn’t thinking of anything more than an uncle he didn’t want to show affection to. And I’m married, per se. My partner is aware of my position, and backs up my work.”
The man relaxed. “And this class?”
“If Kurt is being harassed, it’ll help him be able to defend himself. How to prevent trouble in the future. I’m not the only instructor, the squad rotates in and out every week, so he’ll get to know the men in our precinct as well, and some of the women.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Burt said awkwardly after a moment.
Mackenzie smiled. “I know a way to start. You’re grounding him, remanding him to this class... any other punishments you’re handing out?”
Burt’s clear gaze came up to meet his.
“I’m an old fashioned guy, what works, works. I’m probably gonna put him over my knee. You got objections to that?”
“Using anything more than your hand?”
“Depends. He breaks the law, I break out the belt - and he knows that. But I think you’ve scared him enough.”
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said, holding out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Burt said wryly, shaking the man’s hand.
Mackenzie chuckled, and he flipped the blinds open on the conference room, giving them a clear view of Kurt, who was slumped in the chair, eyes closed. It was nearly two AM, and Mackenzie escorted the father out to his son.
“Kurt,” Burt said softly, laying a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. The care in the gesture didn’t pass Mackenzie’s notice. “Kurt. Let’s go home,” he said, as the kid roused.
“It’s okay?” The teenager’s voice wavered.
“Yes,” Burt said, the deep quiet tone not altering. Kurt’s eyes slid to the detective.
“On those two provisos, yes, Kurt. I don’t find you down there again, and I see you in class.”
“Yessir,” he said, standing. A hesitant glance at his father, and then the boy held out his hand to the detective. “Thank you, sir.”
Mackenzie shook the delicate hand gently. “Mind your father, now.”
“Yessir,” came the return reply, and the last of the tension went out of the boy, leaving an exhausted teenager behind.
Burt’s blue eyes met Mackenzie’s and the man nodded. “Let’s go, Kurt,” he said softly, his hand gentle on his son’s shoulder.
Mackenzie nodded to himself. You couldn’t fake that, not the way Burt’s arm wrapped protectively around the kid, Kurt leaning into him, and Burt shielding the kid from the sight of another desk with a prostitute seated in front of it.
Outside, Burt walked his son around to the passenger side of his truck, and once the kid climbed in, Burt reached for the seatbelt and buckled it around his son.
“Dad-”
“Not right now, Kurt. It’s nearly two A.M., I want to be in our driveway before the bars close.”
Kurt slumped in his seat, into the -comforting - weight of the seatbelt across his chest. At least he felt safe.
Burt pulled wordlessly into the garage, slightly after two, and was amused by the fact that Kurt stayed put until he walked around, and opened the door, released the kid’s seatbelt. They were years away from that routine, but his kid was a good boy, and the fact that Kurt had followed that old rule was nice. After discussing things with the detective, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened, that his kid was guilty of nothing more than the fake id, being out of bounds, and some damn bad judgement. He reached down and took Kurt’s hand, leading him into the kitchen, where Carole was slumped at the table, clearly worrying.
Kurt’s eyes filled up with tears as she looked up in relief. Carole rushed forward to pull him into a hug.
“Oh, honey, we were so worried,” she said. “Here, sit down, Kurt. There’s warm milk on the stove, let me.”
Kurt obeyed his step-mother’s order, though his eyes hadn’t left his dad. Burt hung his jacket over the back of the chair, and gestured to Kurt.
“Phone,”
“Yessir,” he said, handing it over. Part and parcel of being grounded. If he was home, the phone was in Burt’s custody. Burt plugged it into the charger, and sat down next to his son, watching his beautiful wife hover over the stove for a moment, before pouring milk into a delicate coffee mug and set it before his son. She cleaned up, obviously relaxing in the commonplace of the task, and Kurt sipped at the milk, some of the tension went out of his shoulders as well.
Carole sat down, and her hand gently brushed over the fine hair on the back of Kurt’s neck. He shivered, but didn’t object to her touch.
“Finn’s grounded, honey. There wasn’t any reason for him to tell a lie like that. If he’d told us that Santana left you stranded and he was going to pick you up, I don’t think either of us would have thought about it.”
Kurt nodded. He knew what she was trying to tell him, that they didn’t blame him for Finn’s mistake. But his... mistake...
The three of them sat quietly while Kurt sipped at the milk, trying not to flinch under their eyes, which felt like they were checking him over again and again - and no wonder, he’d probably scared years off his dad’s life... He set the empty cup gently down on the table, and looked directly at his father’s tired eyes.
“Kurt. It’s way to late to talk about this. You go get ready for bed, I’ll be down in ten minutes. And you’d better be IN that bed, kiddo.”
“Yes, Dad,” Kurt said softly. “Thank you for the milk, Carole,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on her cheek. She was really sweet, and Finn didn’t half deserve her sometimes. And she made his dad happy. He trudged downstairs, and stripped off his filthy clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor. There was no way he’d be caught dead in that outfit again, if that Detective had thought he looked like some... some... streetwalker.
He threw himself in the shower and scrubbed fast, regardless of his skin, exfoliating it ruthlessly, and tumbled out in record time, so that he’d have time to scrub his teeth and get a critical layer of moisturizer on himself. And be in bed properly when his dad walked in the room, not just guiltily sliding under the covers.
Upstairs, Burt took off his cap, laying it on the table and burying his face in his hands.
“Burt,” Carole said softly. “It’s late. Do you want to talk in bed? Or maybe a glass of wine in the living room?”
“Maybe a little,” he conceded, thinking that he was gonna have trouble relaxing. “I don’t want to get in the habit of taking family problems to bed,” he said heavily.
“Genius,” she said fondly, and poured two modest glasses of wine. “I changed the night offset temp, I didn’t want to be cold waiting for you.”
“Genius yourself. Kurt will be appreciative. He’s always cold when he’s tired out,” he said, and followed her out, where she gracefully plopped down on the couch, and slid an arm around him as he joined her. He sipped at the wine, sweeter than he liked, but it would do the trick, and the weight of the glass in his hand was oddly comforting. “I might want to take most of this upstairs with me,” he said, leaning over to kiss her.
She smiled. “You know I enjoy that. What happened?”
“Long story short? Kurt let that chick take him on Redlight Row, into Painted Pro’s, to see some hooker sing and dance. Complete with fake id’s.” He smiled at his wife. “No, wait, it gets better. So that delinquent abandons him, he does the one smart thing of the evening and calls Finn, who was less smart, to pick him up. When Finn didn’t show, he was pacing around on the intersection he’d told Finn to get to, and wound up with a plainclothes detective approaching him, offering to trade use of his phone for a... favor of sorts.”
Carole’s eyes were wide, her hands over her mouth.
“So Kurt actually says yes - no, Carole, nothing terrible. Just a kiss, but Kurt’s language about waiting for his pickup, being stood up... Once Kurt accepted the bargain, the guy arrested him. And here we are.”
“Burt... is Kurt - his-”
“No. The guy was nice enough, smart enough, I guess to see what was going on, let Kurt go with a warning. He’s got to be down at a self-defense seminar that the guy teaches on Weds nights until the end of the semester, I thought it was a good idea.”
“Oh Burt...”
“I told him straight off he’s grounded, six months minimum, for the lying, and the fake id, and the bad choices.”
“Good,” she said. “If Finn puts a toe out of bounds in the next three weeks while he’s grounded, it’s going to extend his time.”
Burt nodded. “I’m going to talk to Kurt in the morning, and I’m going to try and spank some sense into him. Finn got a spanking, I don’t see how Kurt is any less culpable for the lying and deception.”
“That sounds like a good decision, honey. You’re keeping him home from school?”
“And making an appointment with that Glee teacher of his - and that damn cheerleading coach too. That should be fun to watch,” he said grimly.
“Good,” she said. “I think our ten minutes are up, would you like me to take these upstairs?”
“Yeah,” Burt said, and leaned in to plant a kiss on her that turned into a little more than he’d been counting on. He was a go-with the flow kind of guy though, and Carole was flushed a little when they broke off. “Give me another ten with Kurt, and I’ll be back up with you, huh?”
Her smile was enough, and he headed down to the basement, relaxed and ready to deal with his impossible kid.
Who was for once, right where Burt wanted him. He seated himself next to Kurt, pulling the covers up a little more snugly, an idle glance looking for the stuffed Ernie, which tonight Kurt had hugged close to him.
“If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do, Kurt.” The words fell into the silence, and it was like flipping a switch, his kid was instantly sobbing, and scrambling up to reach for him. He wrapped Kurt in his arms, reassuring himself that his little boy was really all right, no harm had come to him.
“Dad, I’m so sorry.”
“I know, buddy. You’re home from school, with me, tomorrow. We’ll head up after classes are out to talk to that idiot teacher of yours, and Principal Figgins if need be. Santana isn’t going to come out of this clean, if I can help it.”
Kurt nodded against his dad’s chest. “Are you...”
“Yeah, kid. You’ll get your spanking in the morning. I don’t want you worrying all night, though, so I’m going to tell you exactly what that and the grounding is for. You lied, you made some piss poor choices, and I’m pretty ticked about the fake id. The spanking’s gonna cover the lying part, Kurt. The grounding is about the rest of it. You got me?”
“Yeeees,” Kurt dragged out the word. “You...” he coughed delicately. “You can’t just... well... spankmenow?”
Burt drew the kid in closer. “No. It’s way too late, and both of us need to sleep. It isn’t gonna hurt you to wait a little while, and that way it’ll just be you and me in the house. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. It did sound better than winding up covered in snot and tears for the umpteenth time today. Especially knowing that it wasn’t going to be some record-breaking Kurt-screwup kind of punishment. He relaxed, leaning on his dad’s chest, listening to the strong, slow heartbeat for a few minutes, and then felt his father kiss the top of his head.
“Bedtime,” Burt said softly, and gently laid his son down, drawing up the covers. The kid was still so small, so light. “Sleep good, and you come up and find me if you’re waking up,” he said firmly. “Big trouble if you don’t.”
Kurt smiled, blinking sleepily. “Can’t I get Finn? You need to rest.”
“I suppose,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Just don’t be tired when I get you up. And you’re staying home with me.”
“Yeah,” said his son, voice fading out as he relaxed back into the comfort of pillows, warm blankets, and Ernie.
*
Burt woke to Carole’s kiss in the morning. “I’m leaving, I’ll take Finn and Noah to school. You’re off today?”
“Yeah. Tuesday. No garage time. I’ll be home with Kurt until school’s out - Finn’s to come straight home. If he doesn’t check in with you from here...”
“He will, honey.”
He watched his wife exit their bedroom, then stretched. He could grab another hour or two, and it wouldn’t hurt his teenager, either. Burt woke sometime later to the sound of the basement shower running, and cleaned up himself. Kurt always took forever in the mornings, and he was down in the kitchen, breakfast on the table by the time the kid made it upstairs. Just oatmeal and fruit, not wanting to give Kurt the opportunity to get on him about his diet.
Kurt barely touched it, glancing tentatively at his father. “Put a lid on it, and put it in the ‘fridge, Kurt. If you’re hungry before lunch, it’s there, and if not, there’s breakfast for tomorrow.”
Kurt nodded, and nibbled at a few more pieces of fruit as he obeyed.
“Front and center, then, living room, once you’ve finished the dishes,” he told the kid quietly.
Burt used the time to quietly think over the previous night, check in with himself to make sure he was calm enough to be doing something like this, and... mentally check in with Kurt’s mother, steeling himself away from the grief, focusing instead on what she might say about the situation. He had to smile, she would have been terribly distressed, and that would have been a thoroughly effective weapon, just as it had when Kurt was small, and she had bent down to Kurt’s level.
“That was very, very, naughty,” she’d said, one of the last times, when she was quite frail, and Kurt’s luminous eyes shone with tears. Had Burt been lecturing, Kurt would have torn himself from his father’s grip to run and hide at that age. But with his mother... “Actions have consequences, Kurt,” her gentle words had continued. “And Daddy’s going to give you a spanking.”
“Mama - NO!”
“Yes,” she’d declared firmly, and ushered her small son to Burt’s waiting hands. Burt gently picked up his little boy,, draping the child gently over his arm. He’d only given his offspring three or four gentle swats, but from the fuss you’d think the boy had been branded. Burt had gently hugged the sobbing child to him, and listened to the nearly incoherent apology.
He’d kissed Kurt’s flushed, damp forehead, brushing back the curls, and his wife had come close, so that they could embrace Kurt between them. The next kiss had been for her, and Kurt had fallen asleep, worn out from crying, before he’d let go.
“Dad?”
He looked up at his son, pale, and biting his bottom lip. “Come here, Kurt.”
Kurt walked silently over to his father, reflecting on the many times he’d had to make this same march of shame, fetching up at his father’s knee. Burt had never looked at him any differently, any time he’d done so. Always, his father’s face was stern, but his eyes always compassionate, the hand that grasped his arm very gentle, loving.
“What’s the spanking for, Kurt,” he said softly, half curious to hear what the reply was.
“For... for lying - you said, Dad, I -”
“That’s right,” he interjected, keeping all censure from his voice, carefully. “Tell me the truth right now, Kurt.”
“I lied to you about where I was going, and who I was going with. But I! I tried not to miss curfew, I really did-”
Burt shook his head, thumb rubbing on Kurt’s bicep, which he absently noted was better developed, now that the kid had worked out with the cheerios and football team. Probably wouldn’t hurt the dancing that his son loved so much, either. “This isn’t about curfew, son.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, please...” Kurt trailed off, eyes filled with tears, staring pleadingly at his father. All the man did was raise an expectant eyebrow. “I lied. I’m sorry, dad, I should have...” he swallowed hard. “I should have told you what the assignment was, and where we were going.”
“And?”
“And that I was partnered with Santana?” The last one was a question, not exactly an answer.
“Yes. I understand that your teachers assign group work, and that you can’t always help who you might be partnered with. God knows I got stuck with enough of the physics nerds, teachers trying to get me interested in math. But they weren’t conniving sneaks. From here on out, I get told what the assignments are, who you’re partnered with, and what your plans for the assignments are. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Kurt said, eyes downcast.
“Good,” Burt said softly. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, and gently unbuttoned Kurt’s loose jeans, sliding them down to his son’s knees. He ignored the tears that started as he guided Kurt over his knee, sliding back on the couch so that his boy wouldn’t have to dangle uncomfortably, but be able to rest his torso and head on the soft couch. He also ignored the flinching as he bared his son’s bottom. Burt’s left hand smoothed the boy’s tense back. “You do not, under any circumstances, lie to me. And while we’re at it,” he suggested, right hand patting the pale surface he was about to swat into brilliance, “The definition of lying includes the little white ones, and ‘forgetting’ to say anything at all too, which is why you’re here right now.”
“Yessir,” came the muffled reply, Kurt’s face buried in his arms.
“Good boy,” he said quietly, and lifted his hard hand to swat firmly down on Kurt’s backside. Each fall of his palm left a brilliant streak on the pale surface, and he steeled himself to not hold back. It wasn’t just a lie, this time, it was deliberate disobedience thrown into the mix, Kurt had been told that he wasn’t to go anywhere with Santana, unless Finn or Puckerman were with him.
He appreciated the fact that Kurt was trying to be stoic about the punishment, though he didn’t expect it of his sensitive son. Burt wasn’t exactly holding back with the firm swats, smacking the boy’s bottom into fantastic brilliance. Except he wasn’t fooled by the quick and vivid coloring. Any mark showed on Kurt pale ’s skin, and he continued with the deliberate, measured spanking, his left hand resting gently on Kurt’s back, ready to catch-
There it was, the hand tossed back as the boy began to lose control. He gently pressed his left palm into Kurt’s upturned hand, securing it on his son’s lower back, not wanting to cause any further discomfort. Another few swats netted him the stage of uncontrolled squirming, and he braced himself. He hadn’t been expecting his son to give in gently to the punishment, it wasn’t in Kurt’s nature, and it was a fine line to walk, not being harsh, yet delivering a distinct message.
And this apparently was going to be one of the times where that line was pretty fucking thin, he thought, and focused his eyes on Kurt’s brightening backside, listening keenly for the snuffles and sniffs that would tell him when the boy gave up his pride, feeling the childish punishment keenly.
Fortunately for Burt, the two coincided tonight, the first sob came just at the point where he hesitated to spank further. He didn’t believe in bruises lingering from a punishment like this, though he certainly wanted Kurt to have trouble sitting today, as he worked through his homework - and Burt intended to review every inch of his son’s work, too.
He let his hot hand rest on Kurt’s back for a few moments, while the sobbing intensified, and when it trailed off shortly, he replaced the soft cotton boxers that Kurt had worn under the loose jeans. The jeans had been kicked off mid-way through the spanking.
“Shhh,” he said. “We’re ok, Kurt. Come here.” The old request had his son leaning up on his arms, looking at Burt, and made it easy for Burt to gather the boy into a firm hug. At the first wince, where Kurt’s heated backside met a surface, he rearranged the boy on his lap, so that the stinging bottom wasn’t resting directly on anything. “That’s good, buddy. No more lying, right?”
“No,” came the sob. “Dad...”
“You’re all right. You’re forgiven, and I expect that you won’t make the mistake again, right?”
“Nosir.” Kurt gulped, and took a deep, shaky breath, clinging to his father. He’d been horrified at the concept of skipping classes, so that he could... well, get... get a spanking, but he was now glad that his father had handled it this way, because... “Dad,” he said hoarsely.
“I know, buddy. Don’t do it again, and I won’t have to spank your butt like this, ok?”
Kurt laughed a little, despite himself, and felt the warm kiss on the top of his head, finally able to relax into his father’s arms. “I’m still grounded?”
“Still grounded,” Burt confirmed. “Six months. Maybe time off for good behaviour, we’ll see, ok?”
“Yeah.” Burt held his boy until Kurt’s breathing had calmed. “I want you lying down here on the couch until I say otherwise, Kurt.”
“Yessir,” came the obedient answer.
“Good boy,” he said, pressing in another kiss to Kurt’s soft hair. He sat for a moment, then slid out from under the kid, laying him down on the couch, and draping an afghan over the slight form. “I’ll bring a glass of water out, but you’re stuck there for a while, ok?”
“Yeah,” Kurt replied sleepily.
Burt repressed the smile until his back was turned. Predictable. His son always needed a nap after a punishment, and sixteen was no different than six had been. He picked up the pair of rumpled jeans from the floor, folded them neatly, and placed them on the table. Kurt’s eyes were closed by the time he left the room.
He headed into the kitchen, where he leaned against the counter for a long moment, collecting himself. There was no way of knowing how long Kurt would sleep for, but he could get a few things done around the house while the kid slept. He collected his toolbox from the garage, and set it on the kitchen table, eyeing the house list. Half of it was here in the kitchen, which suited him just fine, and wouldn’t take too terribly long, and he’d let most of it go for too long already. It wasn’t easy to find time in the kitchen where Carole or one of the boys wasn’t thoroughly inhabiting.
He puttered through part of his list, glancing in at his son here and there, touching up trim, replacing a few loose tiles on the backsplash, replacing washers in the sink. The first rumble of hunger made him pause and contemplate for a few minutes. The kid damn well needed to eat something decent for once, and he smirked to himself. Grilled cheese and tomato soup, he thought. Easy in, and healthy enough - damn, he thought, when did I get so focused on the healthy thing? He set the supplies out on the counter next to the stove, figuring he’d hear the kid head into the bathroom and have time to get it started.
A couple more things were crossed off the list, the light bulb in the refrigerator, re-gluing the seal on the freezer, and he was half under the kitchen sink contemplating the leak when he heard the sound of his son’s footsteps on the stairs. Well, that was good timing, saved him from the plumbing at least.
He had the soup heating, and the sandwiches toasting in the toaster oven by the time Kurt came down, and had emptied the spice rack, which had been propped up by a half empty spice jar.
“Dad?”
“Lunch in a minute, buddy. Can you grab my small level out of the toolbox?”
He heard the sounds of gentle rummaging, and a moment later Kurt brushed up against him, reaching to place the level on the shelf.
“That’ll make Carole happy. Puck, too - it always falls down on him.”
“Well, if he wouldn’t use that coriander stuff, it would be fine.”
“He’s picky.”
Burt chuckled. “At least in the kitchen. Did I wake you?”
“I don’t think so,” came the quiet reply.
“Keep an eye on the soup, ok? I’ll put the toolbox up.”
He was treated to another pitiful look, pleading doe-eyes as he set the plates and bowls on the table. “Sit,” he told his kid. “You earned some time on a sore backside.”
“Yes, Dad,” came the docile reply, just as Kurt bagged the one padded chair at the table. Burt tried not to laugh and let it pass. The kid still looked tired, and Burt debated. Maybe he’d keep the kid home tomorrow, too. The garage office had a comfy couch, and his hours would let Kurt sleep in again. He grunted to himself, and resolved to call the school to request that tomorrow’s homework be added to the pile they’d pick up when they went to the school later.
Glee, football, and cheerleading all let out at five o’clock, and Burt had always suspected it was a concession to working parents, a way to have their kids occupied directly after school. Keeping Kurt home tomorrow with both days homework would probably keep the kid from stressing about missed work. His son was always responsible about studying and homework.
“Yum,” came the comment from his kid, who was perched awkwardly on the chair. Burt had made two of the sandwiches with the fancy cheese, and apparently it had gone over well. It sure seemed to make the multi-grain bread stuff taste better. He watched with satisfaction as Kurt consumed a proper meal, including the milk he’d set on the table, along with the water goblet.
It was a quiet meal, but then again, with just the two of them, meals were often silently companionable. Kurt would often push over a paper for him to look over, especially one that had been graded lower than usual, as if he was hoping that Burt would fuss. He wasn’t much of a literary critic, but he could relate the commentary to the writing just fine, and the harridan that was teaching Kurt’s English class this year was some bitch. He’d often point out whatever he could see himself, enjoying watching Kurt’s frown as the kid contemplated it, and far more often, he’d rag on the woman, and ask Kurt’s permission to have Carole look the essay over. Carole never had anything but censure for the woman, and it was sort of fascinating to watch Carole point out areas where Kurt could improve things - areas that the teacher hadn’t even damn well touched.
Carole always smiled at him when they went to bed on those nights, telling him what an amazing mind his boy had. In his turn, Burt never missed a damn football game, and if Finn was looking particularly out of sorts, he’d offer to toss a ball around with Carole’s son, which never failed to brighten the young man up.
“Are you done with the list,” Kurt asked, eyes roaming around the kitchen, noting all the little things Burt had gotten after.
Burt sighed. “There’s the damn sink, yet.”
“Maybe I can do the dishes, and you could do the thing with the soapy water on the pipes.”
“That’s a good idea,” he conceded. “You up for that, and for handing me tools? I always hit my head on that damn cupboard frame when I reach for something.”
Kurt laughed, the first sign of life returning to those blue eyes. “Sure, Dad.”
He kept Kurt with him for the remainder of the afternoon, until it got towards five o’clock. Then he changed his shirt under Kurt’s curious eyes, and ignored the dread in his son’s as he handed Kurt an outfit he’d seen the kid wear to school frequently, a pair of reasonably fitted jeans, a black t-shirt, and a blazer that was faintly militant. No need to have the boy embarrassed.
“Let’s go.”
He paused, then buckled his kid into the passenger side of his truck, ignoring the light protest and the squirming.
“You used to fidget like that when you were a little sprout,” he told Kurt, knowing the effect it would have. The kid blushed, and sat still, aside from the slight shift here and there. When they hit the teacher’s parking lot at McKinley, Kurt’s head thunked against the headrest. Burt just shook his head, and rounded the cab to open the door.
“Go ahead and spring your belt, Kurt. Your seat belt,” he amended, as Kurt’s eyes opened in sheer horror. He gripped Kurt’s arm lightly as the boy hopped out.
“Dad,” Kurt offered tentatively.
“It won’t hurt anyone who sees you to think you’re in deep shit, kiddo.”
Kurt sighed. “You’re probably right. Er, why are we here?”
“Parent-Teacher conference,” Burt said shortly. He didn’t let loose of his kid, which came in handy, as anticipated, when Kurt attempted to bolt, seeing both Mr. Schue, Coach Sylvester, Coach Beiste, and Principal Figgins in the office.
Carole hurried in a few moments later, and Kurt slumped in his seat, which effectively took the pressure off his sore backside.
“Thank you all for meeting,” Principal Figgins began.
“Hell with that,” Burt interrupted. “I want to know why my kid got an assignment to find a song that addressed “base instincts” and why his instructor knew NOTHING of what he and his so-called assigned partner planned to do to fulfill it.”
“I still don’t understand why I’m here with such... lesser... paeons,” Sue sneered.
“Because one of YOUR brats was partnered with Kurt,” Carole snapped. Burt rested a calming hand on her knee, and ignored the dramatic arm Kurt had thrown over his eyes.
“What?”
“Schuester paired Kurt with Santana,” Burt said grimly. “Which Kurt knew was against my wishes, but accepted anyways-”
“Ah...” faltered Will. “I’m afraid...”
“You made him take her as a partner anyways?” Burt’s eyes pierced the Glee teacher. “Jesus Christ.”
“So what’s the problem? My girls are held to the highest of academic standards, even if these... canaries... aren’t.”
“The problem,” Burt said, rising, to tower over Sylvester, who wasn’t quite able to conquer his dominance with her own arrogance, “is that your highest academic standard brat dragged my kid down to Painted Pro’s on Redlight Row, and left him there alone.”
Even Sue Sylvester was shocked.
“I do not care,” Burt said forcefully, “what the outcome is here, aside from one thing. When my kid voices an objection? If you don’t feel like accommodating it, you’d better damn well be on the phone to me in your next breath to... talk... things over. Is that understood?”
Kurt’s eyes were wide, and more than a little impressed. Both coaches, Mr. Schue, and Prinicpal Figgins were all speechless, and nodding in acquiescence.
“Furthermore, Kurt will be working with an officer from the Lima PD, taking some self-defense classes. And trust me, if that officer catches any wind of any bullying that Kurt’s been catching in the school hallways...” Burt glanced at his kid, who had managed to sit straight up, hands primly folded in his lap, but at attention, eyes fixed on the coaches and Schuester.
“This is a very reasonable request,” Principal Figgins interjected, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled. “Will?”
“I’ll be sure to call, Mr. Hummel. And... Kurt, I’m... I’m sorry I didn’t listen more closely to you, when you asked to speak to me.”
“Thank you,” Kurt said haughtily, and both Carole and Burt inadvertently moved reassuring hands to his rigid frame.
“Porcelain, if you get crap from Cheerios like that, I expect to see you in my office, even if it’s after hours,” Sue said abruptly. Santana’s prank was way too fucking much like one someone had played on her baby sister, years ago.
“I’m not sure why I’m here,” Beiste began, “But Kurt knows I don’t put up with baloney like that on the field, or in the locker room. He’s a good little kicker.”
Burt didn’t do anything further than nod, and the room was suddenly clamoring with the teachers offerings. Sylvester would handle Santana, Schuester would defer to Burt, Beiste was supportive, and Figgins was sitting back looking satisfied.
“Mr. Hummel,” Figgins said. “This is the homework you requested. Both today’s and tomorrow’s.”
“DAD-”
“Enough,” he said quietly, even as Carole laid a soft hand on Kurt’s shoulder.
“We will look forward to seeing Kurt back in classes on Wednesday morning, yes?”
“Yes,” growled Burt.
“Coach Beiste, thank you for your time, and if Will and Sue would remain in my office?”
Burt stood up, helping his wife to rise, then ushering his family out of the office. Finn and Puck were slumped outside the office door.
“Boys,” Burt said neutrally. “Let’s go.”
Finn rose without a word, exchanging a long look with his mom, who gave him a tired smile. He gave Puck a hand up, and they trailed their parental units out of the building. Finn barged into Kurt a little bit, shoulder knocking into Kurt, though not hard. Kurt gave him a glance and a wavering sort of smile, and Finn returned a wry sort of grin, and slapped Puck upside the head.
“Dude, you reek,” he said companionably, and observed Burt turn slightly, and the repressed smile on his step-father’s face.
“Puckzilla doesn’t smell, Hudson. Puckzilla has PHEREMONES.”
Finn laughed out loud. “Where did you learn a word like that? Dude,” he kidded.
Puck rolled his eyes. “Biology, dumba-- fart-face,” he amended, with a glance at Burt.
“Daaad,” came the question from Kurt. “I know I said I WANTED brothers, but can I give them back? I didn’t mean Neanderthals...”
Carole laughed, which made all four of her boys smile. “Puck, Finn, come on with me in the station wagon. I want to stop at the deli and get supper - we’re too late here to start anything cooking.”
“The deli,” Puck said doubtfully. “It wouldn’t take me long to-”
“Noah, you’re not cooking. I know you’ve got a ton of homework - AND a Spanish test tomorrow. Both you and Finn. You can come with me and approve or disapprove, and you two,” she said pointing at Burt and his son, “will set the table, properly.”
“Yes ma’am,” Burt said, doffing his baseball cap. “You heard the lady, boys. Hustle.” He laughed a little with Kurt as Finn and Puck raced to the station wagon to claim shotgun, and Carole gave them a little smile as she fished her keys out of her purse and headed over.
Kurt paused by the door, shyly looking to his father. “Get a move on, Kurt. Maybe you can get out that china she likes.”
His son perked up, opening the door, and Burt could tell he was gauging his reaction. “Really?”
“Sure, kid. We don’t get dinner out very often, at least not more than pizza.”
“I can do that,” his son said with confidence, accompanied by an uncomfortable squirm. “...you’re not mad?”
“Not at you, kiddo. All you need to do is spend another day with me, work on your homework, and then not buck that grounding.”
“Got it, Dad,” his son said, with new confidence, and Burt knew that his family was all set, whole, healthy, and tight. Just the way he liked it.