Okay, I'm not too fond of this one because I wrote it in about twenty minutes. However, it's Father's Day, and it was impossible for me to not write a story about my favorite father-son pair.

I don't own Glee, and if I did, we'd have a touching Kurt-Burt scene every episode.

Burt woke up to the scent of fresh coffee every day. It wasn't that often, though, that bacon and eggs accompanied it.

Of the two Hummels, only Kurt could cook anything more complicated than a microwaveable dinner. Burt depended on his son for when they decided that take-out wasn't going to cut it that night. Normally, though, their breakfasts consisted of cereal or toast, which were both well within Burt's skill range. Anything more than that was for holidays. He tried to remember if there was anything special going on that day, but all he could come up with was that it was much too warm out to be Christmas.

There was a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs and a full mug of black coffee at Burt's place in the kitchen. Everything looked like it had been painstakingly organized, like that Asian decorating thing Kurt was always going on about- feng something. Confusion only growing, Burt stepped out into the garage.

He'd been working almost nonstop recently. Car troubles seemed to pop up more often in the summer, whether air conditioning needed to be fixed or teenagers with nothing to do had decided to entertain themselves with vandalism. There were close to a dozen cars that he needed to finish. When he entered the garage, Burt saw that only three of them still required repairs. Beneath one of the cars, he could see skinny, overall-covered legs. "Kurt?"

His son rolled out from under it. The boy's face and clothes were smudged with oil, something that usually had him stopping ever few minutes to remedy, but he was smiling like a kid in a candy store. "Happy Father's Day, Dad."

Father's Day- that was today? The pair of them had always had trouble with Father's Day. The last one they'd done anything for was after his wife had died. Little Kurt had come back from school with a paper covered with glitter and noodles glued to it. Burt had thanked him, but cried when his son had left. It seemed like Kurt had heard him, because he later said, "We shouldn't do Father's Day because it isn't fair to Mommy." He had just accepted it because it was the first thing Kurt had said to him in the whole month after Katherine's funeral.

Burt wanted to question his son about it. Instead, he was grateful that the two of them were, slowly but surely, growing up. "How long have you been working?"

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but paused. "What time is it?"

"Nine."

"Five hours, then."

"Five- you've been up since four?"

Kurt stood up and began to wipe his hands off on a cloth. "Well, no. I started breakfast at three and finished cooking it…maybe half an hour ago? It should still be warm. I hope."

There were bags under his eyes and he tried to cover a yawn. Burt sighed. "Go back to bed, Kurt."

He shook his head. "But it's Father's Day, and we haven't had one since Mom-" He stopped short and carefully fixed his hair. "I want it to be special."

"Trust me, kid, you've made it special enough already. Get some sleep."

Kurt looked like he was going to argue, but then he nodded. "Okay. But I feel you should know that if there's some kind of sports game on today, I'm going to watch it with you."

"Okay, Kurt."

"And then I'm making lunch. And dinner, unless you'd rather go out for something-"

"Bed."

"Fine, fine."