Fic: Sheepish (3/4)
A/N: Hopefully I should be able to keep on schedule and post the fourth chapter tomorrow, but I'm honestly not sure. Website coding is getting in the way of me writing. Visual of Kurt can be found here and Blaine here.
Previous parts: 1 2
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Burt was a simple man. He had his house, his wife and his sheep. He was happy with this.
Every day he’d take the herd out to the fields, paying special attention to Kurt. Kurt had always been a favourite of his, ever since he’d been a lamb. He was social, and always enjoyed a pat or two.
He’d then return home, kiss his wife good morning and go about his day.
In the evening, he’d trek down to the fields again to get the sheep home for the night, the barn already stocked with feed and water.
It was routine, and it was a good routine. Simple, pleasant.
But this routine was broken one evening, when Kurt wasn’t waiting for him like he usually did. Burt didn’t find this in itself too alarming.
He was a simple man, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Kurt didn’t really get along with the rest of the herd, and he knew exactly where he preferred to spend his days instead. That old tree had been Kurt’s mother’s favourite tree as well. She’d been a gift to him, a dainty but regal Awassi sheep, and Kurt had obviously taken after her in both his looks and social habits.
What did alarm Burt that evening, however, was the large gray form curled up by Kurt’s side underneath the tree.
It almost looked like... a wolf. It woke and ran off before he had a chance to do anything, and Burt had never been so relieved to hear Kurt’s reproachful, indignant bleating before.
He convinced himself that what he’d seen was just a wayward dog from the village.
It wasn’t, of course.
The next week he got glimpses of the wolf - because that was what it was, for sure - and whenever he did, it was right next to Kurt.
The other sheep didn’t seem to be wary of it either, but even that didn’t stop him from worrying. If there was a wolf in the vicinity, why hadn’t it taken one of the sheep yet? Why not Kurt, since it had obviously gotten him alone, separated from the group?
He told his wife, Carole, and she was just as confused and worried as he.
Against his better judgement, he let it be. It didn’t seem to be interested in harming anything, and a part of him was curious. Kurt had seemed more keen on going to the fields, lately. Some days in the past the ram would simply sit down on his behind and refuse to go with the rest of the herd, staying on the farm with him and Carole. That hadn’t happened in over a month now.
Well, not voluntarily, at least.
It had started as any other day, and during most of it nothing out of the ordinary happened. Burt had simply noted that Kurt seemed more tired than usual when he brought the herd back home, and it wasn’t until he went to check on them later in the evening that he realized that something was wrong.
When he came into the barn some of the ewes seemed a bit restless, but what caught his attention was Kurt, who would usually greet him at the door, lying on his side, listlessly.
“Carole, call the vet!” Not waiting for a reply from his wife, he made his way over. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in this stuff, but it was obvious that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal for the ram. Kurt murmured miserably at him, head remaining on the ground.
“Oh buddy, what have you gone and gotten yourself into now?” He crouched, gently petting behind Kurt’s ear. If only the vet would hurry up and get there.
Eventually, he did.
“Looks like he ate something he wasn’t supposed to. It’s not lethal, though. I’m giving him some meds, but you should keep him on a liquid diet for a couple o’ days, and keep an eye on him.” Jim, the vet, clapped Burt’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine in a few days.” With that, he stood and made his way back to his truck.
“He’s coming back inside with us.” Carole’s voice startled him out of his stupor, and his shifting caused Kurt to snort softly.
Well, Kurt in the house wasn’t such an uncommon sight - it had happened often enough when he was a lamb and the habit kind of stuck, though the last few years Kurt usually kept to the porch.
“Right. Up you get, bud.” It took Burt and Carole’s combined effort to get Kurt into the house, but eventually he was resting on a large felt in their livingroom, Carole fussing over him until Burt made her go to bed.
After his wife had gone upstairs for the night, Burt looked at the now sleeping sheep and sighed, running a hand over his head. Kurt meant the world to him, and seeing him sick was just painful. He and Carole had never had any human children, but to him, to them, Kurt was basically it.
Taking the herd to the fields the next day was stranger than usual. The herd went as always, but it felt weird leaving Kurt at home - not because he didn’t want to go, but because he couldn’t. The ram still wasn’t standing up, but the vet had assured them that was normal. If he wasn’t up in the next few days they could start to worry.
He pushed through his routines, only checking up on Kurt occasionally since he knew he was in good hands with Carole inside. Only after he’d gotten the sheep safely into the barn did he go sit with him. (Not counting the few hours during lunch, but that was lunch. Burt was allowed to picnic in the living room if he wanted to.)
Carole joined him in the sitting area after dinner, so Burt didn’t move from his position on the floor next to Kurt until much later, when a scratching sound coming from the door roused him into standing.
Carole heard it as well. “What on earth is that?”
“Dunno.”
She gave him a pointed look over her knitting, and he huffed out a laugh. “Fine, I’m going.” He stretched, groaning at the stiffness in his legs, before going into the hallway. The scratching sounded again, and Burt frowned. It sounded like... but that was impossible. There was no way that a wolf had...
But going by the mass of grey fur bounding past him into the living room when he opened the door, it had.
At Carole’s shriek, he slammed the door and followed it, snatching up his shotgun from the shelf over the coatrack as he went.
Carole was behind the sofa, knitting abandoned, staring in horror at the new arrival.
Burt would have cocked the gun, should have, but the scene unfolding in front of his eyes kept him from it.
The wolf had all but bounded up to Kurt - who lifted his head from the felt and bleated weakly - whining and licking at the ram’s head; tail and ears kept low. Burt watched in amazement as Kurt licked feebly at the thing’s nose, and kept watching as the wolf ducked down and nestled up close, joining Kurt and putting its’ head on his neck.
Burt put the gun down on a side table as Kurt laid his head down against the wolf’s side, rumbling - rumbling, christ - softly.
“Good lord.” Carole still looked frightened, and Burt felt wary, of course, there was a wolf in their home, but with the way Kurt had greeted it...
The wolf looked at him warily from where it lay, head not moving an inch from it’s place on top of Kurt. It didn’t growl, just looked.
“Christ.” He ran a hand over his head - he seemed to be doing that a lot lately - and took a few steps further into the room. When the wolf remained where it was, he sighed and looked at his wife.
Who was watching the unlikely duo with a startled, but soft expression. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She whispered. “You really weren’t lying.” At his affronted expression, she smiled and shook her head. “Don’t give me that look, it sounds impossible, a gentle wolf.”
He had to admit, it kind of did.
Carole went back to her seat on the couch, keeping an eye on the wolf as she did. But it stayed beside Kurt, eyes now half-closed, seemingly content right where it was. A thought struck him. “I can’t believe it came here, though. Must have followed when I got the herd back to the barn.”
He sighed again and joined her on the couch, no longer worried about any sudden moves from the wolf.
“He must have worried when Kurt wasn’t with the herd today.” Carole’s voice was soft, no trace of fear left. He nodded.
“Probably.” He gave a little shake of his head, smiling. “If he cares enough to come up to our door for him, I reckon he’s a pretty good friend for Kurt.”
Carole laughed, and the wolf’s head turned to her for a second, before returning to Kurt, licking at his nose and whining softly. “Going by that and that rumble earlier, I’d say he’s a bit more than a friend.”
As on cue, Kurt let out another low rumble, nose nudging at his companion's muzzle before nuzzling into his neck.
There was a moment of stillness, before Burt groaned. “Why do I suddenly feel like an overprotective dad, wanting to lock his kid up to avoid this.” Carole just laughed and patted his arm.
“That’s because you basically are an overprotective dad, sweetie.” She smiled at him. “And in that sense, your kid just got his first boyfriend.”
Burt only groaned again in response.
Eventually, Carole went back to her knitting and Burt settled down with a paper, casting glances at the pair on the felt every so often.
He was suddenly startled out of his reading by a loud, jarring noise, which, well, could only be defined as passing gas, closely followed by a startled little yelp from the wolf and a long, highly affronted bleat from Kurt.
“Oh Kurt.” Carole promptly laughed, and Burt was quick to follow once he saw the sullen, almost embarrassed expression on the ram’s face, as well as the wolf’s startled, curious one.
Kurt was going to be just fine, and then hopefully he’d stop with the glares and the put out bleats.
---
On to part four
Previous parts: 1 2
- - - - - - - -
Burt was a simple man. He had his house, his wife and his sheep. He was happy with this.
Every day he’d take the herd out to the fields, paying special attention to Kurt. Kurt had always been a favourite of his, ever since he’d been a lamb. He was social, and always enjoyed a pat or two.
He’d then return home, kiss his wife good morning and go about his day.
In the evening, he’d trek down to the fields again to get the sheep home for the night, the barn already stocked with feed and water.
It was routine, and it was a good routine. Simple, pleasant.
But this routine was broken one evening, when Kurt wasn’t waiting for him like he usually did. Burt didn’t find this in itself too alarming.
He was a simple man, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Kurt didn’t really get along with the rest of the herd, and he knew exactly where he preferred to spend his days instead. That old tree had been Kurt’s mother’s favourite tree as well. She’d been a gift to him, a dainty but regal Awassi sheep, and Kurt had obviously taken after her in both his looks and social habits.
What did alarm Burt that evening, however, was the large gray form curled up by Kurt’s side underneath the tree.
It almost looked like... a wolf. It woke and ran off before he had a chance to do anything, and Burt had never been so relieved to hear Kurt’s reproachful, indignant bleating before.
He convinced himself that what he’d seen was just a wayward dog from the village.
It wasn’t, of course.
The next week he got glimpses of the wolf - because that was what it was, for sure - and whenever he did, it was right next to Kurt.
The other sheep didn’t seem to be wary of it either, but even that didn’t stop him from worrying. If there was a wolf in the vicinity, why hadn’t it taken one of the sheep yet? Why not Kurt, since it had obviously gotten him alone, separated from the group?
He told his wife, Carole, and she was just as confused and worried as he.
Against his better judgement, he let it be. It didn’t seem to be interested in harming anything, and a part of him was curious. Kurt had seemed more keen on going to the fields, lately. Some days in the past the ram would simply sit down on his behind and refuse to go with the rest of the herd, staying on the farm with him and Carole. That hadn’t happened in over a month now.
Well, not voluntarily, at least.
It had started as any other day, and during most of it nothing out of the ordinary happened. Burt had simply noted that Kurt seemed more tired than usual when he brought the herd back home, and it wasn’t until he went to check on them later in the evening that he realized that something was wrong.
When he came into the barn some of the ewes seemed a bit restless, but what caught his attention was Kurt, who would usually greet him at the door, lying on his side, listlessly.
“Carole, call the vet!” Not waiting for a reply from his wife, he made his way over. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in this stuff, but it was obvious that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal for the ram. Kurt murmured miserably at him, head remaining on the ground.
“Oh buddy, what have you gone and gotten yourself into now?” He crouched, gently petting behind Kurt’s ear. If only the vet would hurry up and get there.
Eventually, he did.
“Looks like he ate something he wasn’t supposed to. It’s not lethal, though. I’m giving him some meds, but you should keep him on a liquid diet for a couple o’ days, and keep an eye on him.” Jim, the vet, clapped Burt’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine in a few days.” With that, he stood and made his way back to his truck.
“He’s coming back inside with us.” Carole’s voice startled him out of his stupor, and his shifting caused Kurt to snort softly.
Well, Kurt in the house wasn’t such an uncommon sight - it had happened often enough when he was a lamb and the habit kind of stuck, though the last few years Kurt usually kept to the porch.
“Right. Up you get, bud.” It took Burt and Carole’s combined effort to get Kurt into the house, but eventually he was resting on a large felt in their livingroom, Carole fussing over him until Burt made her go to bed.
After his wife had gone upstairs for the night, Burt looked at the now sleeping sheep and sighed, running a hand over his head. Kurt meant the world to him, and seeing him sick was just painful. He and Carole had never had any human children, but to him, to them, Kurt was basically it.
Taking the herd to the fields the next day was stranger than usual. The herd went as always, but it felt weird leaving Kurt at home - not because he didn’t want to go, but because he couldn’t. The ram still wasn’t standing up, but the vet had assured them that was normal. If he wasn’t up in the next few days they could start to worry.
He pushed through his routines, only checking up on Kurt occasionally since he knew he was in good hands with Carole inside. Only after he’d gotten the sheep safely into the barn did he go sit with him. (Not counting the few hours during lunch, but that was lunch. Burt was allowed to picnic in the living room if he wanted to.)
Carole joined him in the sitting area after dinner, so Burt didn’t move from his position on the floor next to Kurt until much later, when a scratching sound coming from the door roused him into standing.
Carole heard it as well. “What on earth is that?”
“Dunno.”
She gave him a pointed look over her knitting, and he huffed out a laugh. “Fine, I’m going.” He stretched, groaning at the stiffness in his legs, before going into the hallway. The scratching sounded again, and Burt frowned. It sounded like... but that was impossible. There was no way that a wolf had...
But going by the mass of grey fur bounding past him into the living room when he opened the door, it had.
At Carole’s shriek, he slammed the door and followed it, snatching up his shotgun from the shelf over the coatrack as he went.
Carole was behind the sofa, knitting abandoned, staring in horror at the new arrival.
Burt would have cocked the gun, should have, but the scene unfolding in front of his eyes kept him from it.
The wolf had all but bounded up to Kurt - who lifted his head from the felt and bleated weakly - whining and licking at the ram’s head; tail and ears kept low. Burt watched in amazement as Kurt licked feebly at the thing’s nose, and kept watching as the wolf ducked down and nestled up close, joining Kurt and putting its’ head on his neck.
Burt put the gun down on a side table as Kurt laid his head down against the wolf’s side, rumbling - rumbling, christ - softly.
“Good lord.” Carole still looked frightened, and Burt felt wary, of course, there was a wolf in their home, but with the way Kurt had greeted it...
The wolf looked at him warily from where it lay, head not moving an inch from it’s place on top of Kurt. It didn’t growl, just looked.
“Christ.” He ran a hand over his head - he seemed to be doing that a lot lately - and took a few steps further into the room. When the wolf remained where it was, he sighed and looked at his wife.
Who was watching the unlikely duo with a startled, but soft expression. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She whispered. “You really weren’t lying.” At his affronted expression, she smiled and shook her head. “Don’t give me that look, it sounds impossible, a gentle wolf.”
He had to admit, it kind of did.
Carole went back to her seat on the couch, keeping an eye on the wolf as she did. But it stayed beside Kurt, eyes now half-closed, seemingly content right where it was. A thought struck him. “I can’t believe it came here, though. Must have followed when I got the herd back to the barn.”
He sighed again and joined her on the couch, no longer worried about any sudden moves from the wolf.
“He must have worried when Kurt wasn’t with the herd today.” Carole’s voice was soft, no trace of fear left. He nodded.
“Probably.” He gave a little shake of his head, smiling. “If he cares enough to come up to our door for him, I reckon he’s a pretty good friend for Kurt.”
Carole laughed, and the wolf’s head turned to her for a second, before returning to Kurt, licking at his nose and whining softly. “Going by that and that rumble earlier, I’d say he’s a bit more than a friend.”
As on cue, Kurt let out another low rumble, nose nudging at his companion's muzzle before nuzzling into his neck.
There was a moment of stillness, before Burt groaned. “Why do I suddenly feel like an overprotective dad, wanting to lock his kid up to avoid this.” Carole just laughed and patted his arm.
“That’s because you basically are an overprotective dad, sweetie.” She smiled at him. “And in that sense, your kid just got his first boyfriend.”
Burt only groaned again in response.
Eventually, Carole went back to her knitting and Burt settled down with a paper, casting glances at the pair on the felt every so often.
He was suddenly startled out of his reading by a loud, jarring noise, which, well, could only be defined as passing gas, closely followed by a startled little yelp from the wolf and a long, highly affronted bleat from Kurt.
“Oh Kurt.” Carole promptly laughed, and Burt was quick to follow once he saw the sullen, almost embarrassed expression on the ram’s face, as well as the wolf’s startled, curious one.
Kurt was going to be just fine, and then hopefully he’d stop with the glares and the put out bleats.
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On to part four