This isn't my usual thing but I just had the urge to write this.

THis is based SLIGHTLY off of my own poppa, who died on the Fourth of July. I didn't sing the song, but I did want it played at his funeral (It wasn't cuz my family thought it might make people think he was a drunkard) and the things Kendall 'remembers' are actually things that has actual happened. Except the coming out thing and playing hockey/performing. But being told not to hit girls was something my poppa did tell my brother and cousins.

I know it prolly isn't good or has plot holes, but I just felt like I needed to do this, ya know? Please be gentle.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Big Time Rush, or One Wing in the Fire. Nick and Trent Simpson(I think) does. I just own the life this is based off.

'He's gone...' I couldn't help thinking, staring at the once lively face of one of the few people I was sure loved me. His bald head, which once was a full head of brown/gray hair before the chemo, will never turn never turn to me again. His blue eyes will never look at me with love and pride through thick glasses. I never hear his gravel, from years of smoking, country voice tell me about his life as a truck driver or the adventures he had as a young boy in rural Greenville, South Carolina or call me 'turd-boy'. I never hear him laugh again, never see him chain smoking as he worked on something or other at his desk. I'll never get to see that smile that made me feel safe when I was little. I'll never hug my poppa again, never get to smell his heavy Old Spice and tobacco scent. It feels like I lost my father, cause that was what he was to me, ever since my dead beat father left my mom to raise two children by herself. No, that man laying before me isn't a father to me, he's better than that. He's a poppa, which SO much better than a father.

I felt a heavy hand land on my shoulder, causing me to glance up to the man I considered my brother even though he was my uncle. Uncle Keith stood there, his eyes glassy with tears he will never shed, at least not in front of mema and the family. "You okay, Kenny?" he asked, giving my shoulder a squeeze. I nodded, clutching my mother and little sister closer to me, my heart breaking more at the sounds of their pain. 'Why did you have to go, Poppa?' I thought, blinking my own tears away. I have to be strong, for my family, my friends, and myself. I couldn't cry when my mom and mema needed me the most to be strong. "Liar" Uncle Keith said, a grim expression on his face, "You know you don't have to be strong for us, Kenny, you're still just a kid, you need to grieve." "I'm 15, I'm no child." I said roughly. "You know it's just like dad to leave us on the Fourth, America's birthday" he muttered, voiced choked with emotions, I just nodded my head.

The next week was a blur of lights, voices, and sounds. Next thing I knew I was sitting in a church, watching a preacher speak of what a great man my grandfather was, and listened to some of his co-workers and friends say the same thing. "Now the grandson of Keith Sr. would like to sing a song about his 'poppa'." I stood and walked behind the chestnut casket that held my hero. I cleared my throat, and looked up at the room filled with family, and friends.

"I know this song is about a drunkard, but I think it sorta fits the life of a truck driver, if you ignored the Saturday night stuff." I said, picking up my guitar, tuning it slightly.

Daddy's been a back-row Baptist
With his share of front-row sin
His Saturday night still on his breathe
Every Sunday when he'd walk in
He's never led the Benediction
He's never sang in the choir
But he's an angel with no halo
An' one wing in the fire

I saw my mema look up, and give me a sharp look, before my uncle calmed her, probably telling her to listen before she acted, a habit she never learned.

Mamma lives by the Bible
The Bible lives by the bed
An' she's lied alone so many nights
With scriptures in her head.
Prayin', Good Lord, just be with him
I know his Faith is tired
But he's an angel with no halo
An' one wing in the fire

I remember back when I was just three, listening to my mema and mom pray for poppa, who was trucking through Alaska during a harsh storm. I remember later that night listen to my strong grandmother crying, worried sick that the love of her life wouldn't make it home. I remember the look of joy and love on her face when he showed up a week later, looking a worn out, but perfectly fine. "I'm fine, babe, a little water and ice isn't gonna kill me."

An' I know he lives a little left of livin' right
An he's come close to goin' way to far a few times
But I'd trade a thousand prayers
If just one prayer would come true
Lord, please believe in him, like I believe in you

I winced slightly here, remembering the time when my mom's bi-polar wasn't controlled right, and she was nuts. I remember her pushing him over, and the look of anger on his face, his fist coming up slightly like he was gonna hit her, before he calmed. That was one of the scariest times of my life. I really thought he was gonna hit her, something he told me from the time I was little boy never to do. 'Never hit a girl, Kendall Adrian, even if she hits you first, even if you're playing. Never hit a girl, it's not gentlemen like, got it?'

Daddy's always been there for me
From T-Ball to touchdowns
Fixed my car an' fixed my heart
When they've been broken down
I know he calls for more forgiveness
Than most folks do require
But he's an angel with no halo
An' one wing in the fire

At this part my voice broke slightly, and I tasted the salty tears running down my cheeks. My head going to all the times that I've looked into the stands at my hockey games and saw him sitting there, cheering me on, and then to him back stage as me and my friends sang our hearts out to our fans, a proud smile resting on his aging face. Back to when I came out to him and my mom, fearing that with his southern upbringing he'll turn his back on me, but he didn't. He even help me build courage to finally ask out Logan. 'Come on, boy. You can stand up to a team of guys twice your size with a smirk but can't ask out ONE single boy?'

An' I know he lives a little left of livin' right
An he's come close to goin' way to far a few times
But I'd trade a thousand prayers
If just one prayer would come true
Lord, please believe in him, like I believe in you

I remember listening to a story about him and my great uncle Garrett getting arrested in Mexico, for trying to bring Mexican beer over the border. 'Let me tell ya, boy, when your mema got wind of that, lets just say I should be glad I was only kicked out of our bedroom for a week.'

Well, I just can't imagine
What Heaven might be like
If me an' Mamma make it
Without Daddy by our side
Lord, could you please remember
When it's time to call us higher
That he's an angel with no halo
An' one wing in the fire
Ooooh

I slowly walked back to my seat, letting tears fall. A slightly calloused hand grabbed mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze, looking over I saw it was Logan, a small smile on his tear streaked face. I squeezed his hand back, pulling him over into my lap, my face finding a home in the curve of his neck. I felt two hands lay on my shoulders, knowing they lead back to my best friends. "I miss him so much Logie" I mumbled, letting choked sobs out. "I know I know, but he's not in pain now. He's with the girls now, watching them run around in a field, sitting next to his momma and daddy." My boyfriend said, rubbing his hands gently through my dirty blond hair. I sighed, nodding, squeezing him closer, trying to shield myself from the real world for a little while.

Later that night, when everyone else was sleeping, I sat in Poppa's office, looking at all the things he's collected or kept over the years. From pictures I drew for him in Kindergarten to awards for driving safely, from the picture of my mema when she was younger to a painting of Robert E. Lee signing the Peace Treaty for the Civil War. "I love you, poppa. Hopefully, when it's my time to go, you'll be there to show me the way" I whispered into the empty room, before going to lay down in my uncle's old room. Just when sleep claimed me I heard, "I love you, too, turd-boy...'

So, how was it? Good, bad, depressing? Tell me what you think!

Also, the exchange between Logan and Kendall is sorta based on a convo between me and Kat...Just so you know..

xoxo,

Vampy