Title: Dad, Not Father

Author: Spider

Pairing, Character(s): Kurt and Burt. Minor appearances by Mercedes, Rachel, Finn, Carole, and Dr. and Mrs. Jones.

Rating: PG for daddy issues

Warnings: Hummel-angst. Boatloads of Hummel-angst. Mentioned rape of a minor character off-screen and years ago.

Spoilers: Through Dream On

Disclaimer: DEFINITELY not mine.

Summary: Rachel's trying to find her mother, and Kurt doesn't really remember much of his. She thinks it'll be a good idea to 'find' his mother in the things Burt packed away after her death—experience for when she finds her own mother—but no one is expecting the secret they really uncover.

Word Count: 5252

Notes: Set during the episode Dream On and written for this glee_fluff_meme prompt: h t t p : / / c o m m u n i t y . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / g l e e _ f l u f f _ m e m e / 3 7 4 . h t m l ? t h r e a d = 5 8 7 3 8 2 # t 5 8 7 3 8 2. Yes, I wrote angst for someone asking for fluff, but in my defense, there IS a happy ending!

Also, please blame Fox (FearfulLT) for what happened to Mama Hummel.

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DAD, NOT FATHER

.

"Bernadette Peters?" Kurt frowned over Rachel's shoulder at the microfilm she was studying. "In 1994?"

"Excuse me!" Rachel squeaked, trying to cover the screen with her hands. "Why are you spying on me?"

"Uh... we're not?" Mercedes was behind Rachel's other shoulder, grinning at the other girl. "You're sitting in the library. We saw you. Came up to say 'hi.' Well... that's my excuse."

"I'm spying," Kurt assured Rachel, patting her on the shoulder. "What was Bernadette Peters doing in 1994 and why is it important?"

"Not much," Rachel sighed, letting her hands drop. "I'm... it's stupid."

"Aww, c'mon girl. You can tell us. We won't mock you. Kurt might, but we two together won't."

"I won't mock," Kurt said with a sigh. "Unless it's really stupid."

"It's about my mom," Rachel said quietly, and Kurt's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Definitely won't mock. Moms are off-limits. But... Bernadette Peters?"

Rachel sighed, and it all came out, how Jesse was talking with her about dreams, how she had been thinking about her mom a lot lately, how she had no idea where to even begin looking...

"Why don't you just ask your dads?" Kurt asked. He and Mercedes had both taken the chairs on either side of Rachel as she talked, and he was actually looking at Rachel with some concern in his eyes. "They have to know who she is..."

"Because..." Rachel looked over warily at Kurt. "I mean no offense when I say this, Kurt, but my missing mom isn't like your missing mom. Your mom died. But she was alive. You knew her. And so she actually is a missing piece of your life. My mom... I have two parents. I've always had two parents. I didn't lose my mom. I never had her to begin with. And I don't want to insult my dads by asking about her now... I mean, I've been fine for sixteen years. I don't want them to think they've done something wrong..."

Kurt's mouth had tightened somewhat when Rachel spoke about his mother, but he made no disparaging comment and didn't seem to be offended. "That's understandable..."

"Tell your dads you love them, but a guy just can't grasp the concept of sex from a girl's point of view," Mercedes said. "Gay or not. They don't ever have to worry about pregnancy, and they can be the giver as well as the receiver. We girls are kinda stuck." She nodded, reaching over to pat Rachel's arm. "Just talk to them."

Rachel smiled weakly at Mercedes. "Thank you, Mercedes, but... but I don't know. What's it even like to have a mom?"

"It's..." Mercedes sighed and shrugged. "What's it like to have two dads? Or even just one dad? My mom's awesome. She sings in the church choir, is the source of my killer fashion sense—shut up, Kurt!—and makes the most delicious apple pie in the world."

"I do have to agree," Kurt said. "Your mom's apple pie is worth the calories..."

"It's just... it's nice," Mercedes said. "She's always there if I need to talk to someone. About girl things. Or boys. Or friends. And she always makes me feel better with a hug. She can fix a lot of stuff, and she's really fun to go shopping with."

"That... sounds really nice," Rachel said. "I mean, I do most of that with my dads anyway, but it would be nice to have an older woman to do it with."

"I wish I remembered more of my mom," Kurt said with a wistful sigh. "Though I did love shopping with her..."

"What do you remember?" Rachel asked. "How old were you?"

"Seven," Kurt said. "And I remember... snapshots, mostly. She was beautiful. So beautiful. She sang like an angel. My voice has nothing on hers. We'd... she taught me how to apply makeup properly, instead of just painting it on my face. How to dance. She always made costumes for those stupid plays in elementary school..."

"I've never seen a picture of your mom," Mercedes said. "Why haven't you shown me?"

Kurt shrugged. "I've got the one by my bed... but Dad boxed away almost everything after she died and put it in the attic. Said it was too painful."

"That's so sad," Rachel said softly, before she reached out to press her hand to Kurt's. "I know! We can go find your mom in your attic! I mean, we have no idea where to even begin looking for my mom, so if we start small, start with your mom, then that'll give me the experience for looking for mine! And some sort of experience on how to deal with finding my mom!"

Kurt looked over Rachel at Mercedes, who simply shrugged. "I'd like to see your mom's picture, Kurt. She's got to be something fabulous to explain you. I mean, we've all seen your dad..."

Kurt rolled his eyes, scrunching up his nose at Mercedes. "Oh, fine. Dad won't be home until late anyway. We're going out to dinner with the Hudsons."

"How... how is that working out?" Rachel asked as the three got to their feet, helping her gather up her research.

Kurt shrugged. "My dad and Finn are really hitting it off, and he and Carole are so ridiculously smitten with each other. It's actually quite sweet, in a Disney happy-ending sort of way. I didn't think they'd have that much chemistry when I introduced them... but as long as I never walk in on them, things should be fine. And we've asked Carole to move in with us. She's trying to break the idea to Finn slowly. He's resistant to change, but..." Kurt gave another shrug, looking at Rachel defiantly. "We'll probably be sharing a room by the end of the month."

"He'll be your brother," Rachel pointed out.

"Stepbrother," Kurt corrected. "No relation."

"He's gonna break your heart," Mercedes muttered, but Kurt just elbowed her as they headed out to the parking lot.

.

.

Kurt blew the dust off a picture frame, coughing a little and waving the billows away from his face. "Ugh, we really need to pay more attention to this place... here. That's her." He turned to show the picture to Mercedes and Rachel, both of whom had started digging through boxes with enthusiasm.

"Oh, she's gorgeous!" Rachel breathed, her fingers hovering over the face of the glamorous woman in the picture. She was on the arm of a man who was obviously Burt Hummel, even if he had more hair, and was supporting a toddler on her hip. Kurt's eyes were unmistakable as he stared out of the picture, two fingers in his mouth, a look of adorable curiosity on his face as he scrutinized the photographer.

"She looks just like you!" Mercedes exclaimed, taking the picture from Kurt to hold it up next to him. Kurt struck a pose just like his mother, and both girls laughed. "Well... she has longer hair."

"And breasts," Rachel said enviously, glancing down at her own less-than-impressive chest. "But the resemblance is definitely there."

"I was... two, I think, for that picture," Kurt said, taking the frame back from Mercedes to look at his mother again. "Yes, two." He sighed, his eyes distant. "She looked so happy..."

"I'm sure she was," Mercedes said, squeezing Kurt's arm. "She had you and your dad. What more could a girl ask for, hmm?"

Rachel looked up at the two, at the deep affection in their shared glance, and she frowned a little, digging into her box with gusto. "Ooooh, Christmas letters!"

"What?" Kurt set the picture aside as he and Mercedes moved to flank Rachel. "Show!"

"This one's from 1994! Was that when you were born?" Rachel unfolded the old paper, looking at the perfectly-formed cursive. "Even her handwriting was gorgeous... okay, let's see. She has to mention you... here!" Rachel cleared her throat before beginning to read. "We're so overjoyed to have Kurt home from the hospital," she paused to glance at Kurt, and he shrugged a little.

"I was a month premature. Just enough to give everyone a scare, not enough to actually be all that dangerous. Still, I was kept in the hospital for that month, just to be safe."

"Everyone who's met him marvels at how happy he is. He just loves people! But let me assure you, when it's just the three of us, Kurt can be unhappy. I've never heard such lungs on a baby!" Mercedes laughed as Kurt puffed out his chest with pride. Rachel gave him an understanding nod—impressive baby lungs was a trait she apparently had in common with the male diva. "Kurt's presence is a much-needed ray of light after this dark year. I just have to look into his innocent eyes to know everything will get better."

"Aww, your mom was such a sap for you," Mercedes said, reaching over to rub Kurt's shoulder as he took the letter from Rachel to continue reading it silently.

"I always knew she loved me," Kurt answered, distracted by his mother's words.

Mercedes reached into Rachel's box to find another letter. "Oooh, this must be a wedding picture..."

"My dad had hair," Kurt marveled, glancing over.

"They're such a cute couple," Rachel sighed. "What does it say, Mercedes?"

"Ahem!" Mercedes cleared her throat dramatically and started reading from the middle of the letter. "Of course, it stands to figure that we can do nothing without dramatics. Not even a month home from our honeymoon, and Burt had an accident at the shop. Now, I've heard the rumors you've been spreading around, so let me put the record straight. He did not die. He will recover without even a limp. Unfortunately, the baby rumors are true. Our dreams of having our own children have been permanently ended by this poorly-located injury..." Mercedes' smile was fading as she kept reading, "but we aren't overly distraught. Adoption is still an option. Maybe in a few years..."

"Wait, what!" Kurt reached over, snatching the letter out of Mercedes' hand. "1990... how can that be? He's sterile! Then how did I...?"

"A-adoption was still an option..." Rachel pointed out, suddenly feeling awkward in the cramped attic. "Or possibly a surrogate father? Sperm donor? There's nothing wrong with a surrogate parent, Kurt. I mean, I miss my mother, but-"

"But they told you," Kurt said, looking up at Rachel with barely-disguised horror on his face. "You knew! I..."

"Kurt..." Mercedes was reaching out for Kurt, but he was shaking his head, staring down at the letter again.

"I... can you go? Both of you... please. Just go. I need... some space..."

Mercedes nodded, getting to her feet and tugging at Rachel's arm. "Of course, sweetie. But you call if you need anything."

Kurt nodded, not even looking their way as the two fled the attic. If his dad had been sterile since 1990... there was no way he could be Kurt's father. There had to be some mistake. Had to be...

.

.

By the time Burt came home, Kurt had torn the attic apart as well as dipped into his father's files. He had found more evidence of the accident his mom had obliquely hinted at, googling some of the trickier medical terms. But everything Kurt found had pointed to one simple fact.

His father had been shooting blanks since 1990. Kurt wasn't even conceived until the end of 1993. Kurt was not his father's son.

Kurt had spent half an hour just sitting in the attic, staring ahead at the dust that flickered and danced in the light of the bare bulbs, trying to wrap his mind around that thought. The man he had lived with for the past seventeen years, the man he had adored with all his heart, was not even remotely related to him.

It had taken a text from Mercedes (Plz say ur out of the attic) to get him moving again (Of course I am). Kurt had risen to his feet and dusted off his clothes the best he could before descending to his basement room, changing into something appropriate for dinner. He shoved his old clothes to the bottom of his hamper and vacuumed the house, removing all traces of attic dust from the floors. When Burt came home, Kurt was sitting in the living room, the Christmas letter folded neatly in his pocket, waiting silently. Burt's actions were predictable—first to the bathroom, to wash his face and hands, and then to his closet to get something clean and presentable for dinner. Kurt closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Burt moving around, but otherwise didn't even so much as twitch.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Burt asked, coming into the living room, looking mildly presentable in a button-down shirt and khakis, all the grease washed from his skin. Kurt gave a mechanical nod, rising to his feet and trailing silently after him to the car.

Kurt hardly spoke at all during dinner. He pointed mutely at his choice for the meal (without even looking at the menu), and answered all of Carole's questions with noncommittal sounds, refusing to look at any of them as he picked at his food. It didn't take long for Burt to start frowning at him, with Carole quickly picking up the expression as well.

"Kurt?"

"Huh?" Kurt looked up sharply at his name, then gave a nod, dropping his eyes back to his plate. "Oh, yes, that sounds fine..."

"You didn't hear a word I just said," Burt accused Kurt.

"Of course I did," Kurt replied, bristling.

"So you do want to go play softball for the church team?" Finn asked, from Kurt's left.

"Wait, what? No! I... no. Sorry. I thought you said..." Kurt shook his head, poking at his fish. He didn't even know what he had ordered. "Never mind. No thank you."

"All right, what's gotten into you?" Burt set his utensils down and looked squarely at the younger Hummel. "You've been zombie-like ever since I got home."

"I'm fine."

"Kurt. We talked about this. You're not allowed to say you're fine unless you actually genuinely are fine."

Kurt rolled his eyes dully. "I'm okay, then."

"Kurt..."

"I don't want to talk about it. It's personal."

"Have those idiots started picking on you again?" Burt demanded. "Because if they think they can get away with that, they've got another thing coming."

Kurt shook his head, pushing his fish to the edge of his plate and back with his fork. "No, they haven't started picking on me again." They've never stopped. But the bullies weren't what he was upset over.

"Kurt, sweetheart, you can confide in us. If we're going to be a family..."

"I don't want to talk about it," Kurt repeated, pressing the flat of his fork tines against his fish, watching it flake perfectly. His compliments to the chef.

"If you're being bullied, me and Puck can maybe try to get them to back down a little..." Even Finn was looking at him with those big concerned eyes now. Kurt slid his eyes toward the object of his crush (Finn was so close their legs were practically touching, but for once, Kurt's mind wasn't distracted by thoughts of jumping his bones).

"It's not bullies."

"Then what is it?" Burt again, calm, cool, in-charge, demanding an answer from his son. Son. Kurt's mouth twisted a little as he tossed his fork to his plate and reached into his pocket, pulling out the Christmas letter and flinging it at Burt.

"Third paragraph. Is it true?"

Burt unfolded the letter, his eyes flickering over the words. "Where did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"The attic. Is it true?" And now Kurt was looking at Burt, staring at him, refusing to even let himself blink, because to blink would be to give in, and to give in would be to let the tears come.

"Yeah," Burt said, glancing up at Kurt, his own pale eyes wary. "Yeah, I had an accident in the shop that year. Your mom freaked out."

"So I'm not your son." Kurt wasn't about to let Burt derail the conversation. From the corner of his eye, Kurt could see Finn's fork drop from his mouth, but he wasn't about to look at his... who knew what Finn was to him now. He didn't even know if he had a father, at this point.

Burt took a deep, slow breath, refolding the letter. "You know, you're right. This isn't something we should talk about here."

"Oh no," Kurt said, just barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. "You insisted we talk about it. So talk. Just answer the question. Are you my father?"

"Kurt..."

"Answer the question!" Kurt's voice did tremble that time, but it was a tremble of rage and not tears. Why couldn't Burt just be honest with him? Perhaps honesty wasn't easy, after lying about being Kurt's father for almost seventeen years...

Burt closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. I'm not."

"Kurt, sweetie," Carole was speaking up again, one hand on Burt's arm as she looked toward Kurt with genuine concern in her eyes. "Just because he's not your biological father doesn't mean he's not your dad..."

Kurt felt his heart drop into his stomach as he stared at Carole, then at Burt. "You told her. You told her, but you never told me! Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I..." Burt seemed to be struggling for words.

Yes, Kurt thought. You're supposed to say yes. Of course. But no... no, you told her, and not me... Kurt shoved himself to his feet, tossing his napkin on the table, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you for finally being honest," he snapped, praying the wobble of his lip was all in his head, before he turned and bolted through the restaurant. He could hear Burt call his name from the table, heard the scuffle as Carole tried to get up to let Burt out of the booth, but he didn't look back. Outside, around the corner, and he could duck down by the dumpster to hide as he dug out his phone to send a text to Mercedes.

I need a ride. And someplace to stay tonight. Hes not my dad.

Mercedes' reply came a moment later. Where r u?

Olive garden

B rite there

Kurt dropped his forehead to his knees, hugging his legs against his chest and trying to hold back the tears. It was all fake. All of it. Was it? No... no, Kurt couldn't deny that Burt had to care about him, at least a little. He'd be worried for real, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to go back inside. He did the next best thing, fumbling with his phone until he found Finn's number, sending another text.

Im staying with Mercedes tonight. He hesitated a moment before adding: Let him know. Im not running away. Just need some space.

.

.

Mercedes and her dad showed up within a few minutes, and Mercedes seemed to know to go straight to the dumpsters. She didn't say anything, just hopped out of the car and strode up to Kurt, giving him a tight hug. Kurt held her back, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a wavering breath, and Mercedes drew him toward the car. Dr. Jones didn't say anything either as Mercedes held Kurt all the way back to her home, and neither parent protested as she took him into her room and closed the door. They both knew they had nothing to fear from this particular teenage boy with their teenage daughter.

Kurt told Mercedes everything he had found after throwing her and Rachel out, and how disastrously the dinner had gone. Mercedes had held him as he cried—she was the only one he really let himself cry around. Eventually, though, she had untangled him and told him she would bring him some water.

Kurt sat at the edge of Mercedes' bed, wiping his face dry as best he could with her tissues. A few minutes later, a glass of water was offered to him, and he reached out to take it with a quiet "Thank you."

The other hand on the glass, though, was light-skinned and male. Kurt froze, looking at Burt's hand, then up at Burt's face, then he whipped around quickly to glare at Mercedes in the doorway.

"He came over," Mercedes said, holding up her hands. "He's your dad, Kurt. You need to talk to him."

"Well, maybe I don't want to talk to him," Kurt snapped, trying to ignore Burt's presence.

"Well, tough," was Mercedes' retort. "Because you're holed up in my room, and I'm allowed to have whatever guests I want before nine. I let him in, and now I'm going to leave you two alone." She backed out of the room, closing her door firmly.

Kurt released the glass of water and turned his back on Burt, very pointedly staring at the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He was not going to give that man the satisfaction of seeing him cry. I thought I was your son...

Burt heaved a sigh and set the glass down on the floor before sitting beside Kurt, the mattress dipping under his weight. "You are your mother's son, Kurt. And you've been my kid for almost seventeen years. Far as I'm concerned, that makes you my son too."

"But you didn't tell me," Kurt whispered. "You told Carole before you told me... I thought, all this time, I thought you were my dad. But we're not even related..."

"I told Carole because we had talked about having more kids," Burt said matter-of-factly. "She deserved to know that I couldn't."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Kurt gripped his elbows tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Ever?"

"No," Burt answered, continuing before Kurt could respond to that. "Your mom didn't want you to know. She never wanted you to doubt that you were our kid. She even named you Kurt, a mix of our names, Kate and Burt, so you would always feel included in our family."

"But... but why didn't she want to tell me?" Kurt whispered. "Who is my father, then? A... a sperm donor, or..." Or did his mother cheat on Burt? Kurt couldn't imagine his kind mother doing that... but his memories of her were so time-worn and patchy. Maybe she had. Kurt wouldn't have known.

Burt took a deep breath, placing his hand gently on Kurt's back. Kurt tensed under the touch but didn't pull away. "She didn't want you to know, but now that you've found out this much... if you want to know the whole story, I'll tell you. The whole truth—nothing changed to spare your feelings. But only if you really want to know. It's your call."

Kurt bowed his head, rubbing his arms. "Tell me?"

"Christmas," Burt said, after a minute of silence. "1993. Just after Christmas. Your mom went to visit her mom—your grandmama—in New York. She was mugged." Burt hesitated a moment before adding, "Raped."

Kurt's eyes flew open, and he stared at Mercedes' wall in shock. Raped. His mother had been raped. And he...

"About a month later, she realized she was pregnant. With you."

He was the child of a rapist. His father, his real father, had raped his mother, and Burt... Burt had accepted him anyway, called him his son for all these years. Kurt raised his hands to his mouth, startled to find them shaking.

"The bastard—sorry, the man who did it was never found. We have no way of knowing who your father was."

A whimper escaped Kurt's throat unintentionally, and he hunched forward. Oh god. Bad enough his father wasn't his father, but his mother hadn't even wanted...

Burt's arms were wrapping around Kurt, though, and Kurt let the older man pull him back into a hug, curling against the familiar side. Burt wasn't his father, but he had never failed to comfort Kurt over the past few years. All of these new discoveries couldn't wipe out the sense of safety Kurt felt when in Burt's arms. "Your mother loved you, Kurt," Burt whispered fiercely against Kurt's hair. "I love you. You had nothing to do with that attack. And you are so much your mother. As far as we cared, the only thing you got from that guy was a Y chromosome."

"How," Kurt whispered, "how could she have loved me, after..."

Burt sighed, his hands smoothing over Kurt's back. "No lies," he murmured. "There were some rough times. Abortion was never an option—she refused to even consider it. But... but adoption was. Sometimes... sometimes she'd talk about how you were a blessing, the child we never thought we could have. Sometimes she raged at the unfairness of it all. But she never... it was never you she was angry with. And then she went into labor."

"A month early," Kurt murmured.

"A month early," Burt repeated. "You were born, and I got to hold you, just for a minute, before they took you away to that incubator thingy. You were so tiny, Kurt. I could hold you with one hand. And you wrapped your little hand around my finger, and you looked over at your mom... you looked at her, and she looked at you, and you held on to me, and I held on to you, and... and we didn't have to say anything. You needed us, Kurt, and we needed you, and you were ours, and adoption never once ever crossed our minds after that." Kurt could feel Burt's smile against the top of his head. "It was stupid and sappy and a thousand other s-words that I'm sure you know but I can't think of at the moment, but... after you were born, Kurt, your mom came back. The woman before the attack came back. She just lit up around you. You healed her heart. So don't you ever think she didn't love you."

"What about you?" Kurt asked. "I... when I was figuring out what it meant to be me... to be gay... when I was figuring out just how bad it was, how much people hated it... people like you..." He shook his head sharply when he felt Burt open his mouth to talk. "I was scared. So scared. All the time. I'd get sick, I was scared so much—remember all those times in middle school when you'd catch me throwing up? I thought... I thought you'd hate me if I ever came out. But... but I'd tell myself that you were my father, and I was your son, and even if you didn't much like me after you found out the truth, you would always love me, because I was your son and nothing could change that. And sometimes... sometimes that was the only thing that would get me through the day. But I'm not your son. I've never been your son..."

"Kurt, there isn't a damn thing on this planet that will ever make me call you anything other than my son," Burt said fiercely. "Or ever make me stop loving you. Not your genetics, not Finn, not your sexuality... nothing. As long as you don't go around destroying classic cars, I will always be proud to call you my son."

Kurt managed a weak laugh against his father's chest, arms tightening around Burt's body. "Destroying classics would just be criminal," he whispered.

"Damn straight. I raised you better'n that." Burt drew back from Kurt enough to look down at his face, wiping a calloused thumb over Kurt's damp cheek. "Whaddya say we go home, grab some of that cheesecake you hate to love, and put in a movie for the rest of the night, okay? Something we both like... Blues Brothers?"

Kurt gave a little smile and a nod, reaching up to wipe his own tears away. "There's... there's no other world-changing things you're hiding from me, is there?"

"If there is, they're hiding from me too," Burt said, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. "And we can discover them together. Nothing you're hiding from me, right? No secret boyfriends or anything like that?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, nothing. Not yet, at least..."

"Well... let me know when you do," Burt said, getting to his feet. "Now, I think that girl of yours was worried about you..."

Mercedes' worried frown turned into a huge grin as Kurt stepped out of her bedroom with Burt's arm around his shoulders. She quickly leapt to her feet, moving away from the tv to give him a hug. "You gonna be okay?" she asked, studying his face intently.

Kurt smiled tiredly and nodded, squeezing Mercedes' hand. "I'll be fine. Thank you for letting me commandeer your room."

"Any time," Mercedes assured him, "as long as I can do the same to yours."

"Any time." Kurt glanced over at Mercedes' parents. "Thank you..."

"You're always welcome here, Kurt," Mrs. Jones said. "I'm glad you got things straightened out."

Kurt smiled and nodded and let Burt lead him out of the house, thanking the Joneses himself.

To Kurt's surprise, it was Finn who cornered him at school the next day, an unusual look of worry on his face. "Are you okay?" Finn asked. "I mean... what was last night all about?"

"I'm sorry for making a scene," Kurt said, looking up at the taller boy with a familiar flutter in his chest again. "I just... found out that I had a surrogate father yesterday." Finn looked slightly confused, so Kurt elaborated, "A bit like how Rachel's dads used a surrogate mother? My mom used a sperm donor—my dad can't have kids. But that just means we don't have to worry about our parents popping out more babies at their age."

"So... things are okay? You're cool now?"

"Of course." Kurt smiled at Finn, trying not to make it too flirtatious, and patted Finn's arm. "My dad will always be my dad, even though he's not actually my dad."

"Um..."

Kurt smiled at Finn's confusion as Mercedes came up beside him, linking their arms together. "I'll see you at class, Finn!" he cooed with a wiggle of his fingers before strutting off down the hall. He had his best girl on his arm, his most amazing father working at the garage, and the hottest boy at school moving in to his room soon. What more could a boy ask for?