Title: [Untitled As Of Yet] Prologue
Author: telepathichawk
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Puck/Kurt (eventually), Will/Emma, Finn/Rachel, Burt/Carole, Ensemble
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Xover
Warnings: Almost completely AU. Past attempted suicide.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I make no profit from this.
Author Notes: I know I already have two other works in progress and this has probably already been done a hundred times, but it just wouldn't leave me alone. Let me know if you think it's worth continuing or not. Thanks and happy reading! T.H. P.S. If anyone can think of a title or a better summary I'd very much appreciate it! I can't think of a thing!
Summary: "What if I told you, Burt, that I don't think your son is insane at all? What if I told you that I think he is very special?" Crossover with X-Men.
Word Count: ~1,000

"Mr. Burtram Hummel?"

Burt Hummel, owner and operator of Hummel's Tires and Lube, froze over the engine he was working on and didn't even resist the urge to growl, low and menacing, from the back of his throat when he heard the voice. No one had called him Burtram since his wife had died and before her the only person who had ever used his full name was his mother and she had only used it then when she was angry with him. The fact that a voice belonging to someone he didn't know had even known it put him on the defensive to begin with. But what really got to him was the tone the voice had taken. It was cool and calm, more collected than anyone had a right to sound. It was the same tone of voice that the doctors had used when they had still been trying new things to "help" his son. Things like electroshock therapy and ice baths that they didn't tell him about until they had already failed. It was the same voice the doctors had used the day they told Burt that his little boy, the light of his life and his only reason for living, would have to be drugged into a stupor and kept in a padded room and straight jacket for the rest of his natural life or he would most certainly try to kill himself. Again. To get the voices to stop. Yes, he knew that tone of voice. He knew it and he hated it with every fiber of his being. He growled again and picked up the largest wrench he had in the tool box next to him before he turned around and slammed it threateningly into his palm.

The man in front of him wasn't what he had been expecting. He had been expecting someone in a suit, trying desperately to stay young with hair dye and botox, a superior smirk on his face, his arms crossed as he looked down his nose at Burt and at the shop. That's what all of the doctors always seemed to look like. Instead what he got was a man in well-worn slacks and a turtle neck sweater, both in black, with a black blazer, also well-worn, tossed over the ensemble like an afterthought. He was bald and probably ten years Burt's senior and not trying to hide his age at all. Instead he seemed at peace with the lines around his eyes and his mouth that let everyone know he laughed and smiled a lot. And he wasn't looking down his nose at anything. Instead he had a small smile on his face and seemed a little impressed, even, at what was going on around him. Burt looked at his hands. Lily-white and smooth. He probably hadn't done a days hard labor in his life. But, his eyes said that he knew it and had nothing but respect for those who did. And he was in a wheel chair. Burt nearly dropped his wrench. You couldn't exactly threaten a guy in a wheelchair. There were just certain things that weren't done.

"Carlos! Steve! Shut it up!" He shouted. The war that went on every day on separate sides of the shop between Carlos' Spanish pop and Steve's classic rock was normally a source of amusement for all of them, seeing who could get it the loudest that day, who would give it up first, but right then he could hardly hear himself think.

"Something up, boss?" Steve's head poked around a car, even as his music was shut off.

"Can you all give me a minute?" Burt asked. The man in front of him had eyes that meant business and something in him said that it was something that he was going to want to hear.

"Yeah…Sure…" Steve looked wary but he, and Mitch and Byron, headed toward the break room without another protest.

"Burt…you okay?" Carlos called. Burt gave a quick nod to his best friend and then jerked his head toward the break room.

"Just need a minute, okay, Carlos?"

"You call if you need anything."

"Got it." Burt waited until the door and shut and leaned against the car he'd been working on, "No one calls me Burtram or Mr. Call me Burt or call me Hummel. Now, who are you and what do you want?"

"Certainly, Burt," The man wheeled himself slightly closer and Burt realized when he held out his hand to shake and the shake was firm and even that his tone wasn't from condescension like the doctors, but refinement. It made Burt feel uncomfortable in his own shop and he didn't like the feeling, "I'm sorry to have come during your work day. I would have much rather come to you at home, but this couldn't wait a moment longer. I wanted to speak to you about your son, Burt. I wanted to speak to you about Kurt."

"My son…" Burt pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned and felt the anger rise in his chest again, "Let me tell you about my son. Three years ago my son took razors to his wrists to try to get the voices in his head to shut the fuck up and now he lives up at the sanatorium so that I don't come home to find a cold body one day instead of my little boy. He spends his days in a padded room drooling and wetting himself and doesn't even know me when I visit. The doctors can't do shit for him. No one can. And it hurts like hell that I can't. So, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to get the fuck out of my shop and stop reminding me of all of that. I'll give you ten seconds."

"Please," The man held up a hand in a calming gesture, "Give me one minute first."

"You have thirty seconds."

"What if I told you, Burt, that I don't think your son is insane at all? What if I told you that I think he is very special and with the proper care he could learn to control what he hears and live a full, happy, productive life? What if I told you that I could help him?"

Burt had straightened as the man spoke and his eyebrow rose so high it was almost hidden by his hat. He tried to keep the hope he felt rising in his chest down because he knew from the past that all it did was hurt when it was crushed again, but someone this felt different. This man felt different. There was something about him that…Burt looked him right in the eye and saw only honesty when he asked, "Who are you?"

The man smiled slightly again, "Burt, my name is Professor Charles Xavier and I run a school for a group of very gifted young people in Westchester, New York. I believe Kurt is one of those special children. If we could just speak a little longer I'll tell you why and how I know."

Burt nodded and motioned toward his office.