A/N: Right, so ever since I figured that this song could be used for a fic I've been dying to write it and I finally started writing it 3 weeks ago and have only just finished it. It's based on this song: www. youtube watch?v=JLuP-5ZEhOE and it's really heartbreaking but I love it so much and really wanted to do something with it.
So this is a story told from Thomas Samuel Hummel-Anderson, the italics are memories and everything else is 15 year old Thomas.
Also my headcanon is that Blaine is Papa/Father and Kurt is Dad/Daddy and it was important that Blaine was father for this so I never reference Kurt as 'his father' it's always dad.
If anything's confusing or I've made a mistake just drop me a review and I'll fix it as quick as I can! If not, drop me a review anyway and let me know what you think!
*disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters shown here, they belong to FOX and Ryan Murphy*
Why do we ever have to grow up? When we grow up, bad things happen. When you're a child there's nothing but innocence and fun and you just live because well, you know no differently. The world is a forgiving place, you see nothing but the good in everyone and everything, and everything is just about life.
It's when we grow up that the real damage hits.
My name is Thomas. Well, my full name is Thomas Samuel Hummel-Anderson. I'm 15 years old and every day I wish that I could have the childhood innocence back. I wish that I could still be in that place where everything was fun and no bad things happen, I want a life with all the innocence left in it.
"Papa! Put me down!" Thomas giggled as his father lifted him up and threw him up in the air, only to catch him again and keep him held high above his head.
"Noooo, you're staying up there forever. Don't you like being taller than daddy?"
"With your height honey it won't be long until he is taller than you," Kurt teased as he made his way into the living room where his husband and son were playing.
"Daddy!" Thomas yelled as soon as Kurt entered the room and thrusted his arms out towards his dad. Kurt took their son from Blaine and placed him on his hip and quickly gave Blaine a sweet kiss. Blaine smiled as Kurt pulled away but then grabbed Kurt's hand interlocked their fingers and placed his arm across his husband's waist where Thomas was situated on his hip. He then began to sway slowly as if dancing to music.
Thomas rested his head on Kurt's shoulder and smiled, happy to be in between his parents. Blaine then leaned further into Kurt and rested his head on the other shoulder.
"Blaine," Kurt whispered quietly as he didn't want to disrupt the moment.
"Hmm?" Blaine answered back, still slightly swaying with his family.
"I don't mean to kill the moment, but why are we dancing in the middle of the living room, to no music?"
Blaine chuckled and then quickly replied, "Do I need a reason in wanting be close with my husband and son? Also I would have put music on but it was sort of a caught in the moment situation. You just looked so beautiful and I felt like dancing with you. We haven't had a lot of moments together in a while…"
Kurt quickly untangled his hand from Blaine's and pressed a soft fingertip to his husband's lips, "shh I know, and I'm sorry but I promise it'll all be back to normal soon." Blaine just smiled and then looked to their son who was still being held by Kurt. He was half asleep and leaning against his dad's shoulder.
Blaine took Kurt's hand again and continued to spin them around slowly, humming slightly under his breath so at least there was some music. He continued to spin his husband and son slowly around in circles, still with his head rested on Kurt's shoulder, until he heard Thomas' breaths become heavier and a small snore escape from his mouth. He picked Thomas from Kurt's arms, kissed his husband on the cheek and whispered that he was going to take Thomas to bed and he would be back down soon. Kurt nodded softly and smiled as his husband winked and left the room, carrying their son. He sat down on the couch, smile still etched on his face. The feeling of love that the scene his husband had just created was still lurking in the room.
Secretly, Kurt adored moments like that. He had known Blaine for 12 years and he still managed to constantly surprise him by creating moments just like these. He even remembered the time that he had gone to work but Blaine had stayed home with Thomas, then called Blaine and ranted to him for a good twenty to thirty minutes about how they're 'understaffed because everyone's sick, ha, they just all went out last night and are now dealing with hangovers, they all think I'm stupid well Kurt Hummel is not stupid!' and 'The people who are actually in work just can't even do their job right anyway! This basically means that I've got to do all of the work!' Blaine had listened intently, contributing an 'hmm', or an 'I know honey' and some 'well there's not long left till you can come home' and after getting off the phone had went and got Thomas to help him with his plan. When Kurt got home later that night, he was presented with a card that read 'WE LOVE YOU DADDY', clearly written in block letters by Blaine but 'coloured in' by Thomas. It was full of every colour imaginable and had way too much glitter. After he had thanked his son, he was lead into the living room by the small toddler where Blaine was standing and the Beauty and The Beast (otherwise known as Kurt's favourite Disney movie) title sequence was on the TV screen. Kurt looked at Blaine who had a bright smile on his face and was overcome with love for his husband. As he curled up on the couch with his family, he quickly forgot everything that happened that day.
It was moments like that, and moments like this right now that helped Kurt remember what a wonderful human being Blaine Anderson (well, Hummel-Anderson) was and he couldn't have found anyone better.
After that, Blaine would frequently create moments like that; he found that he really loved dancing with his family. Whether it is softly and slowly with his husband to soft, romantic music, they even liked to dance to their wedding song (Wind beneath My Wings) occasionally. Or it is just jumping around the room with Thomas in his arms and a blinding smile drawn on his face.
The memories of those moments lasted forever.
It's just too bad he couldn't carry on creating them forever.
If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him.
Birthday candles. Shooting stars. 11:11.
All different ways of wishing for something.
But, are you always sure what you want to wish for?
I'm not saying that if you get your wish that it won't be what you expect, I'm saying, are you really sure that what you're wishing for is what you truly want?
I tried praying.
A little while after it happened, my friend Jess took me to her church with her family one Sunday morning and it really helped. I prayed every night after that. But I never got an answer.
I just wanted another chance; I was willing to do anything.
I just wanted another moment.
Another dance.
To a song that would never end.
"Thomas, bedtime."
"But I'm not sleepy."
"It doesn't matter if you're not sleepy, it's bedtime which means you need to put down your toys and go to bed."
Kurt stared down at his seven year old son who currently refusing to go to bed even though it was half an hour past his usual bedtime. He knew Thomas was tired, you could see it in his eyes and his voice was slowly drooping softer and softer.
"Please, Thomas. I let you stay up an extra half hour because you got scared by the film we watched earlier but son it really is time for you to go to bed, if don't then you're going to be tired tomorrow and you won't be able to play with Ethan."
"Ethan's coming?" The boy looked at his father with a mix of excitement, confusion and tiredness shown on his face.
"Yep, Uncle Finn's bringing him, so come on let's get you to bed."
As Kurt leaned down to pick him up and take him upstairs Thomas suddenly sprang to his feet yelling "No!" and ran from the playroom to the living room where Blaine was laying half-asleep on the couch, clearly exhausted as he had had an early start and a hard day at work. The small pitter-patter of feet wasn't enough to fully wake Blaine but what was enough was Thomas jumping onto his stomach and cuddling into his side, trying to take sympathy from his father.
"Papa, 'm not tired," Thomas said as he closed his eyes, focused his face away from Kurt and cuddled further into his father.
Blaine, who had no idea of his husband's battle with his son to go to bed and who was not even fully conscious yet was looking adorably confused as he brought up his fist to rub at his eye and mumble "Huh?" not even really knowing who he's speaking to.
"Thomas refuses to go to bed, even though his bedtime was nearly an hour ago and he has to be up and ready early tomorrow," Kurt said from the other end of the living room, having only just came in after chasing after his son.
Blaine, being more awake now, sat up (as best as he could do with a child half on top of him) and seemed to come to terms with the situation. He looked down at Thomas who was currently staring at him with his own huge hazel eyes and his wavy dark hair sticking out in every which way because it had only just been dried from being washed earlier that evening. Blaine felt his heart swell, how was he supposed to say no to that face?
"Why won't you go to bed, Thomas?" Blaine asked his son, he knew it was a waste of time just telling him to go to bed; he had to try a different approach.
"Scared." Kurt's eyebrows shot up when he heard his son mutter this because even though that film they watched was okay slightly scary for a boy of his age, he didn't think it was something he'd be worrying about when it came to bedtime.
Blaine picked Thomas up placed him on lap and looked straight into his eyes.
"You're scared, huh?" Thomas nodded feebly and pressed his head forward so he was leaning on Blaine's chest facing the end of the living room where Kurt was still standing. Seeing Kurt he turned his head so his face was now hiding in Blaine's chest and closed his eyes, gripping Blaine's shirt with his small chubby fist and gradually falling more and more sleepy.
Blaine placed a kiss on the top of Thomas' head and then leaned his cheek on it, wrapping his arms around the young boy's waist to keep him in place.
"Thomas, in life you're going to get scared sometimes, you're going to want to do things that you don't want to do, but you know what you'll never have to do?"
With this Thomas lifted his face from Blaine's chest and looked at his face instead, his young eyes full of interest and exhaustion.
"Mmmmh what?"
"You'll never have to go through any of it alone."
A sleepy grin was plastered to Thomas' face then and Blaine tapped him on the nose which made him smile even more.
"So now, your daddy and I are going to take you upstairs and we're going to stay with you until you go asleep. Or I will, and daddy will go into his room and start his silly moisturising routine. Then when you wake up tomorrow, we'll still be there. Your daddy will be awake and I will probably be dead to the world till midday but we'll still be there, always."
Thomas smiled fondly at his dad and then cuddled into his embrace, eyes dropping even more now as he became increasingly tired. Yeah, sleep sounded good to him now. "Carry upstairs?" was mumbled into Blaine's shoulder and the man was more than happy to oblige. He stood up, still cradling his son in his arms and walked over to Kurt, placing a kiss on his cheek and then tilted his head to signal he should follow him upstairs.
Once the family had made it into Thomas' room, the room's occupier was still leaning on his Papa's shoulder and his face was now showing nothing but exhaustion and contentment. Blaine laid him down onto his bed draped his blankets over him and smiled fondly. He then felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and a gentle kiss placed at the back of his neck.
"Mmmm, you did well," was mumbled into his shoulder by an angelic, soft voice.
"Yeah?" Blaine said, turning his head to look at his husband and then looking back to gaze at his son again.
"I suppose I didn't do too badly," he said with a wink.
Thomas wrapped his little arm around his teddy bear and slowly squinted one of his eyes open to stare at his parents.
"Hmmm, it's okay daddy, you can go start your moisture-musteri-mu-um, face routine, I'm gon' asleep now."
Kurt giggled at his son and then quietly said "if you're sure" and placed a quick kiss to his son's forehead, pushing his soft, dark hair back as he did so. Blaine smiled lovingly at the scene and then did the same as his husband had when Kurt pulled away from their son. Once he had, he wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist and headed out the door and to bed, closing his son's door over but leaving it open so it would be easy to hear if anything happened.
Kurt did go and do his 'face routine' and after finishing and changing into a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, he climbed into bed with Blaine and wrapped his arm around the younger man's waist, bringing him closer.
"I love you, Blaine, so much."
Blaine, who was already mostly asleep by now, but still awake enough to hear his husband's whispered words, moved back further into Kurt's embrace.
"Mmmh loves and kisses."
Kurt giggled and softly fell asleep with a smile fixed on his face.
It's funny, the things we remember, and the things we don't.
I remember all my dreams, all of them. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I do know that I can recall every single dream I've ever had.
One that really stuck out for me was one I had that night, the night when I was 7 years old and refused to go to bed, the night when my papa tol-promised me that I'd never be alone, the night when I believed him.
I remember dreaming of my family, all of us, together.
My parents and I were on our way to Grandpa Burt and Grandma Carole's for dinner, we'd been up early because it takes us so long to get there so we were all a little sleepy.
It happened so fast.
I was just staring at the trees and the cars and well, the road. There wasn't much else to look at, I remember being bored and just wishing something would happen to make the trip a little bit fun. What happened next is not what I wished for.
There was suddenly screaming and blood and everything was fuzzy and there was Papa's voice calling me and calling daddy, it made me feel better, just by hearing his voice. But I couldn't hear daddy's voice, I couldn't even see him, there was just glass and bits of metal and then the road and blood, oh there was so much blood. There was more screaming and then suddenly there was a hand in mine. Papa's. He kept whispering, 'you're gonna be alright, just stay with me, Thomas stay with me' but his eyes were pained. He was worried. He started getting more frantic as my eyes kept drooping closed and he'd squeeze my hand even harder but it wasn't enough.
I woke with a scream and the next minute I was in my daddy's arms, it was okay, he was there. I wasn't alone, he was there.
He kept rocking me and whispering its okay, it was just a dream, and you're okay, stroking my back as I clung to his, sobs wracking my body.
As my sobs softened, he tried to gently lay me back down onto the bed but I clung to him, refusing to let go. When it became clear that it was going to be impossible for me to be able to calm down and go back asleep without him there, he carried me into his and Papa's room and settled me in the middle of the two of them, I cuddled up to my daddy, knowing that it was okay, they were there.
That night I dreamed that daddy was gone, and I was about to go with him.
I wasn't going to be alone, because wherever I was going, daddy was.
But Papa wasn't coming.
I didn't dream that Papa was going to be gone.
So I never thought it would happen.
I'd play a song that would never, ever end.
I was 15 when it happened; it was just a normal day, a normal Wednesday.
I was in French class, it was the last lesson of the day and I had been dying to go home since first period. I was with my friend Jess and we were practicing spoken conversations for our speaking exam next week, she was telling me all about what she was planning to do at the weekend (In French, of course) and I was smiling fondly back at her, waiting for her to finish her speech so I could start on mine.
As she finished and I opened my mouth to start talking, the school guidance councillor bursts into the room with a frantic look on her face. Her eyes scanned the room looking for someone until they landed on me.
My mouth was left open because I was thoroughly confused as to what was going on. She quickly spoke to the teacher and I was told to collect my things and follow Ms Mirrow, the guidance councillor, to the front office. I nodded, still confused as ever, and grabbed my bag as I followed her out of the room.
The next few hours passed in a blur, I remember making it to the school entrance and finding my dad there, his blue eyes pained and clouded with tears waiting to fall. He looked so frightened and small. My dad never looked small. He was naturally quite tall anyway, taller than Papa anyway, but it wasn't just about literal height. He always carried himself with a sense of superiority, not over me or Papa but over most people. As if no one could ever break him and as if no one will ever see him broken down. But right now, no matter how hard he was trying to keep it together, all of that was gone.
His shoulders were hunched, his head slightly bowed, his right hand furiously rubbing up from his left hand to his elbow and back down again because he didn't know what else to do. It was eerily like he was looking for something, someone to hold onto. As I walked into the foyer and his eyes fell on me, I was suddenly being enveloped by my dad's strong arms and my dark, wavy short hair was being peppered with short kisses by him.
I hugged him back and his hands were suddenly rubbing hastily up and down my back as he squeezed even tighter, as if he was trying to make sure every part of me was still here.
I finally found my voice and nervously asked what had happened; I needed to know what had made him act like this but at the same time I didn't want to make him even more upset, "Da-Dad? What's going on?"
He just shook his head and buried it in the crook of my shoulder, much like he did to Papa when he found out that Grandpa had had another heart attack. Realisation dawned on me then. No. No. Grandpa's fine, he can't have had another heart attack, we-we're going down to see him and Grandma Carole this weekend!
"Dad, it's, it's not Grandpa is it? It can't, he-"
"No. It's not Grandpa. God I should call him, I, I need to call him, yes I'll call him and then-"
What was going on? One minute he was clinging to me as if I was going to float away and then the next he's telling me that he's going to ring my grandpa? As if it was something like sorry but the car has broken down and we won't be able to make it this weekend. What was going on?
"Dad!" I raised my voice a little to stop my dad's excessive rambling because I really needed to know what was going on and now knowing was becoming increasingly infuriating. It was unnerving how one second he was clinging to me like he thought I was dead and couldn't believe I was alive and the next he seemed completely fine, a little on edge, but for some unknown reason, telling me that he needed to call his father? I was scared and confused and wait- where was Papa? It's Wednesday-Papa's day off from work, and, wait, Dad doesn't normally finish work till 6pm. If he's this upset why didn't he go home to Papa first? Wait, why is he here? Why haven't I found out what's going on yet?
He stopped talking and snapped his head to face me and his blue eyes were now shining into my deep hazel ones.
"Dad. Please calm down, you're really scaring me. Wh-what's going on? Where's Papa?"
He had started pacing as soon as I told him to calm down but as soon as I mentioned Papa he stopped and stared ahead, completely still. His eyes didn't blink; his chest didn't rise with his breathing, it was like all the air and life had been taken from him in just that one sentence.
I could tell that he now remembered why he was here. Why he was standing in the entrance of my school with just me and the Ms Mirrow who was now quite concerned accompanying him.
He looked at me and as I looked at his eyes I grew increasingly worried, even more so than before. A growing ball of worry had formed in my stomach and there was a lump in my throat.
Its Papa isn't it? What's happened to Papa?
I couldn't ask him. He just stared into my eyes, the eyes that were so much like my Papa's and that were it. He broke. He crumbled to the floor and heart-wrenching sobs escaped his throat and he cried.
I cautiously kneeled down in front of him, took his shaking hands that were currently tangled in his hair in mine and whispered, "Daddy, I-where's Papa? What happened to Papa?"
"He's gone."
I just felt empty.
One half of my whole world was just gone.
The other half was trying so hard to be strong and he couldn't do it.
My dad was full of empty smiles that didn't meet his eyes and lifeless eyes because before me, Papa was my dad's whole world. Papa was Dad's first and only love. Nobody seemed to realise that.
All I heard was oh that poor boy lost his father when he was just 15 and gosh, life must be so hard on him now only having one parent all I ever heard was sympathy for me. Why did everyone forget that Kurt Hummel, yes my one remaining parent, lost his husband. Hell, he couldn't even concentrate on morning over the loss of Papa because he was trying to be strong for me. But he needed to mourn, and he did.
He didn't go back to work for a while and I didn't go back to school, it was just hard to concentrate on anything because he was just, gone. My Papa had literally gone. The person who I always ran to when I needed help, the person who would just pick me up and spin me around and I'd feel better, the person who promised me I'd never be alone was gone.
And my daddy had gone too. His life was never going to be the same, not without Papa. He was gone too. All the life had just been drained. Since I saw the life leave his eyes on that day when our lives changed forever, it never came back.
Some nights at 1, 2, 3 in the morning when I just couldn't sleep because memories of the funeral plagued my mind such as; seeing the beautiful oak casket being lowered into the ground, seeing my daddy place a bouquet of red and yellow roses on the top of it. I suggested that white may have been a good choice of colour but every time I brought it up he would shake his head and say no, if he has red and yellow flowers then he'll remember me, even though he's gone to which I replied daddy, if there's one person he'll never forget in his life, it's you.
I would creep along the hallway towards the stairs to go and make myself a mug of warm milk and I would pass the bathroom door, then the guest room door, then I would come to their room.
Something would always stop me.
I would always hear my daddy crying.
Every single night.
He would wake up the next morning with a fake smile and pretend like he'd slept all night but I doubt if he even got 2 hours of sleep. He would cry all night. Sometimes I'd just sit leaning against the door and listen to my daddy crying for him. Listen to him crying for Papa to come back. It wasn't just a little round of tears; it was heart-wrenching sobs every single night.
He cried for his first love. He cried for the man that saved him all those years ago, to come back. One night I went in to the room, the first time I ever did since it happened. I saw my dad lying on the bed, on top of the quilt, cradling their wedding picture and I saw a large puddle of tears all over the photo frame and the quilt. My dad looked quite startled and tried quickly to wipe the redness from his eyes and the tears from his cheeks away but he couldn't. And he didn't need to. Because I knew and I understood.
I climbed into bed with him, the picture in the middle of us and looked straight into my daddy's eyes. He was still sobbing, his whole body shaking, his right hand clenched and pressed against his mouth, the left one stroking my dark hair from my face.
We didn't need to say anything because we understood. We were the only people who did understand.
I hugged my daddy close and I know that that night, he got some sleep.
On every other night I would go and get a glass of warm milk, sometimes Dad would hear me coming up the stairs and know I was outside the door so he would try and muffle the sobs as best he could, but I still knew he was crying.
I'd make my way to my room, place the warm milk on the dresser next to my bed, kneel on the floor, place my elbows on the bed and join my hands together.
And I would pray.
I wasn't Catholic, I did go to Church with my friend Jess every Sunday, mainly because she begged me to go and she thought it would be somewhere where I could think of Papa and be surrounded by people who could understand.
As I wasn't Catholic, I didn't really know any prayers but I would say the same one every night I heard my daddy's cries. I would pray for him even more than me, he needed it more. My parents always used to tell me stories about their teenage days when they first met each other, how they saved each other, how for a while all they had was each other. I'd say this prayer every night;
I know I'm praying for much too much,
But could you send back,
The only man he loved.
I know you don't do it usually,
But dear lord he's dying,
To dance with my father again.
I'd finish, I'd look down at the quilt where there would always be a puddle of tears, I'd grab my warm milk (which would always by now be lukewarm), I'd finish it, and I'd go asleep.
Every night I'd go to sleep and I'd always have the same dream and I'd always remember it.
Me, Papa and Daddy in that moment in our living room over 10 years ago.
Dancing.
It was a perfect moment.
I relived that moment every single night.
But there was one difference between my dream, and the actual moment.
There was a song playing in my dream.
And it never, ever ended.
How I'd love, love, love, to dance with my father again.