Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Kurt frowned in concentration. "Come on, kiddo, it's almost our turn," Burt said. He tucked his hands under Kurt's armpits and swooped him up, holding him against his chest so he could see the menu board. "You know what you want?"

Kurt kept frowning. "I can't decide, Daddy," he said. "There's too many."

"Want me to pick one?" Burt asked.

"No!" Kurt protested. He squirmed in Burt's grasp to get a better look at the sign. "I want…I want the strawberry one!"

"You sure?" Burt warned. "Once I tell the man what you want, that's what you're gonna get."

"I'm sure," Kurt said, nodding enthusiastically. "I want the strawberry one."

"All right," Burt said. He slid Kurt to the ground and stepped up to the ice cream cart. "Yeah, I want one scoop of strawberry in a cone, and, uh, two scoops of cookies 'n' cream in a cup, please."

Kurt fidgeted anxiously, anticipating his ice cream. It was the first Saturday that his mother had deemed it warm enough to go to the park, and he was excited, especially since his dad closed up the garage and came with them. He just hoped that he could get on the swings soon; the park was full of other families and the good swings usually filled up fast.

Burt handed a couple of crumpled dollars to the man at the cart and picked up their ice cream. "Daddy, can I have mine now?" he pleaded.

"Not yet," Burt said, balancing the cup in one hand and the cone in the other. "Let me carry this over to your mom, okay? Then you can have it."

Kurt pouted, but he trotted eagerly beside his father on the way back to his mother. Mollie sat on their red picnic blanket, her shoes abandoned on the green grass and a book open on her lap. She looked up and smiled as they walked over to her. "What flavor did you get, KK?" she asked.

"Strawberry!" Kurt said, plopping down beside her.

Burt sat down carefully. "Got you your favorite," he said, handing Mollie the cup.

"Mm, I knew I kept you around for a reason," she teased.

Burt held out the ice cream cone to Kurt. "Don't drop it," he warned.

Kurt took the cone gingerly and lapped at the ice cream. "Is it good, baby?" Mollie asked.

"Mm-hm," he said.

"It's dripping on the other side," Mollie warned. She took the cone and licked around the opposite side before it could drip or fall over.

"Mommy! That's mine!" Kurt protested.

"Here, now we're even," Mollie offered, holding out a spoonful of her cookies 'n' cream. Kurt ate it obediently. "See? Isn't it yummy?"

"Not as good as mine," he said. He scooted forward on his knees. "Mommy, can I go wait for the swings?"

"What about your ice cream?" she asked.

"If I don't go and wait, I'll never get a swing," he pleaded.

Burt stretched out on the picnic blanket, tipping his baseball cap over his face. "Go on and play, kiddo," he said, his voice slightly muffled under his hat.

"Just don't spill your ice cream," Mollie said, tugging playfully on Kurt's suspenders. "Be good, okay? Don't wander too far away."

"Mmkay," Kurt said. He stood up, balancing the full cone carefully in both of his small hands, and headed towards the swings. Happily he hummed under his breath, occasionally pausing to lap at his ice cream.

"Hey, squirt, where're you going?"

He paused. A bigger kid in a football jacket glared down at him. "To the swings," Kurt said.

The big kid looked at his ice cream. "Are you a girl?" he sneered.

"No, I'm a little boy," Kurt said.

"You've got girly pink ice cream," the bigger kid retorted. "Gimme that."

He snatched the ice cream cone out of Kurt's hands. "Hey!" he protested. "That's mine! Give it back! That's not nice!"

The big kid took a long exaggerated lick from the scoop of ice cream. "Mm, it's mine now," he said, wiping a drip of strawberry off his mouth with his sleeve.

Kurt scowled and kicked the bigger boy in the shin; he hopped back, howling, but he didn't drop the ice cream. "That's mine!" he repeated.

The big kid planted his hand on his little chest and shoved him backwards. Kurt toppled over into the dirt with a startled cry, throwing his hands out to catch his fall. "Mine now," the bigger kid said. He slurped at the ice cream as he sauntered off.

Kurt watched him walk away, his chin beginning to tremble. He glanced around the park; no one had seen the big kid knock him down. His little hands were beginning to sting from the pebbles he had landed on. He wanted to get up and run to his parents, but he felt too shaky and startled to get up.

"Mommy," he quavered. "Daddy."

He could see his parents across the park, his father asleep and his mother sitting with her back to him, still reading her book. They couldn't see him, but he wanted desperately for his mom to cuddle him and his dad to go after the big kid. Maybe with the flamethrower.

Kurt huddled on the ground, his arms wrapped under in his legs and his forehead pressed against his knees, and started to cry softly. Maybe if he just sat there long enough they would come find him.


Kurt sniffled loudly and looked up. A boy about his age, maybe a little older, stood over him. He tilted his head to the side, the breeze ruffling his dark curls. "Did that big kid take your ice cream?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Kurt sniffled. "And he, he pushed me down."

The boy frowned sympathetically and sat down beside him on the edge of the playground. "Want some of my popsicle?" he offered, holding it out.

"Are you sure?" Kurt said shyly.

"Take it, it's yummy," the dark-haired boy said. Kurt took it and licked it tentatively. "It's a blue one. I like the blue ones best because they turn my tongue funny colors." He stuck his tongue out. "See?"

Kurt giggled. "That's funny," he said, tasting the popsicle again.

The dark-haired boy grinned and settled down cross-legged. "What's your favorite kind of popsicle?" he asked.

Kurt tilted the popsicle, trying to get at it before it melted, but the syrup dripped down his fingers anyway. "I like the fourth of July ones," he said.

"Oh, yeah, bomb pops!" the boy said, brightening. "I like those too."

Kurt slurped the icy treat. "I like your tee shirt," he said.

The boy tugged on the hem, pulling the shirt out and squinting at the logo. "My daddy got it for me for my birthday," he said proudly. "I like Harry Potter."

"My mommy reads me those books before I go to sleep," Kurt said.

The dark-haired boy beamed. "I like you," he announced. He scooted closer. "Do you want to be friends?"

Kurt nodded enthusiastically. "I don't have a lot of friends," he confided.

"Well, now you have me!" the dark-haired boy exclaimed. "We can play Harry Potter. I'll be Harry, 'cause I have dark hair. And you can be Ron, 'cause that's Harry's best friend."

Kurt finished off the popsicle and brandished the stick. "This is my wand!" he said.

"I'll find a stick!" the boy said, scrambling to his feet.

A girl in an orange plaid dress ran over to them. "Babbie, Mom says it's time to go," she announced.

He pouted. "I don't want to go," he said, his voice drawing into a whine. "We were going to play Harry Potter!"

The girl grabbed his hand. "We gotta go, Babbie," she said. "You can play Harry Potter later."

"If we let you be Hermione, can you stay?" the little boy pleaded.

The girl paused, as if debating, then tugged impatiently on his hand. "No!" she said. "Mom says we have to go, so come. Bye, Babbie's friend."

Kurt handed the popsicle stick to the dark haired boy. "Here, you can have the wand," he said. "Thank you for the popsicle."

The boy's hazel eyes lit up. "You're welcome!" he said.

"You gave him your popsicle?" the girl asked, making a face.

"Uh-huh, why?"

"Ew, you're sharing little boy germs," she said. "Let's go before Mom freaks out."

The girl dragged him away and he waved at him over his shoulder. "Bye!"

Kurt waved back. "Bye," he said.

He sighed heavily as the boy's sister walked away across the park and glanced at the swings. They were all full, and besides, his hands were all sticky. So he stood up and walked back towards his parents.

"Mommy, I'm sticky," he announced.

Mollie glanced up from her book and laughed. "Baby, you look like a Smurf," she said, setting the book aside and reaching for her bag.

"Like a what?" he said, wrinkling his nose.

"You've turned blue," she explained. She pulled out a wet wipe and beckoned him over. He sat down on her lap as she washed the blue sticky smears away from his mouth and chin. "Why are you covered in popsicle juice?"

"There was a nice boy who gave me his popsicle," he said, squinching up his face as she scrubbed his cheeks. "We were going to play Harry Potter, but he had to go home."

"Well, that's nice," Mollie smiled. She took his little hands in hers and rubbed the wet wipe over his fingers. "But oh, goodness, you're going to have a sugar rush if you had a popsicle and an ice cream cone today. It's a good thing you can run around and get it out of your system before we go home." She crumpled up the wet wipe and put it in the outside pocket of her bag. "Go play some more, sweetheart. We'll go home in an hour or two and I'll make baked potatoes for dinner. Does that sound good?"

"Uh-huh, but can I stay with you and Daddy?" he asked. He didn't want that stupid big kid coming back and pushing off the swings or something.

Mollie smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "Sure, sweetheart," she said. He snuggled against his mother's side as she picked up her book again, one arm winding around his waist. She smelled nice, like strawberries and caramel popcorn, and he toyed with her pretty wedding rings.

He saw the big kid walk by with a big pink splotch on his jacket. His mother held his hand and she didn't look happy. Her other hand pushed a double stroller with a little girl and a little boy in it, and another, bigger, boy followed them. "Davey, I'm going to have to do an extra load of laundry to get that stain out of your clothes," the mother scolded. "I don't even know where you got that ice cream, anyway. I told you, no sweets before dinner."

Kurt giggled from his safe place in the crook of his mother's arm. She brushed her lips absent-mindedly against the top of his head. "What's so funny, KK?" she said.

"Nothing," he said. He yawned. "Mommy, I'm sleepy."

"You and Daddy both," she said. "Let me finish this chapter and then we can go home, okay?"

"Okay," he said, wriggling from her arm. He crawled over to his dad and rested his head against his broad chest.

Burt grunted and patted him on the back. "You tired, scooter?" he said.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said.

Burt ruffled his hair. Kurt cuddled close to him, listening to his mother hum absently to herself, and he slowly fell asleep in the late afternoon sunshine, thinking about nice brown-eyed boys with blue popsicles.

Author's Notes:


The amazing Muchacha10 posted an adorable comic in her Deviantart gallery. Simultaneously, my ovaries exploded.

I just had to write this. They're just so effing cute.

And there's actually a specific reason why Blaine's big sister Francey calls him Babbie. It's going to be explained in further detail in "Knife Going In," but the short version is that as a little girl she had a speech impediment and was trying to call him "baby" but it came out "babbie" instead. CUUUTE.

So yes. Please enjoy gratuitous baby fluff, and for maximum cuteness, go see the picture this was based on. I guarantee your ovaries will explode. Even you gentlemen. Because the combined cuteness will be so powerful that your body will create ovaries. And then they will explode.