Title: dreamed you into life
Inspiration: This is something my daddy did with me and I can just so see Blaine doing it with Kale. :]
Anything you recognize isn't mine.
Part of the Follow You Down 'verse. :]

Blaine still sort of can't believe it. Can't believe that he was a father, that he and Kurt are fathers. He and Kurt have this beautiful boy and he's all theirs. They get to raise this little thing and make him part of their family. It was two weeks, but Blaine is still wrapping his head around the fact. So here he is, laying awake in the hushed dark of their bedroom, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about all the things he wants to teach their son, all the things he wants to share with him. With their Kale.

That's what he did the first night they brought him home, just said his name over and over. Kale. Kale, Kale, Kale. Kale Hummel-Anderson. Kale Hummel-Anderson.

Blaine leans over the rail of the crib, gazing down at the little boy inside; at his son inside and he may be getting repetitive with that but… It's not something he's ever been able to say before. His son. He has a son. He has a son with Kurt. A soft, disbelieving sort of laugh breaks from his lips and he leans down further, resting his chin on his arms. "Kale," he murmurs, just audible. The baby stretches a little, a squeak of a yawn sounding. Blaine is beaming and reaches one hand out tentatively. He touches his son's chest gingerly and the twitchy movements still.

"Oh," he breathes out. "Oh, hey there Kale." The night is silent around them, Kurt sleeping peacefully across the room, and Blaine hums contentedly. "Kale, this is your daddy." He gives a pause. "Well, no. Kurt's always wanted someone to call him Daddy. It probably doesn't matter much, but let's have him be Daddy, okay? We can figure something else out for me." He grins a little, thinking of his own father, calling him Pops. He could be a "Pops" he thinks. It's almost got something like a hip edge to it. "But hey, kid, either way, whatever you call us… We are gonna love you so much." A finger trails down Kale's cheek, but that's not right. That's not what he means to say, not quite. And it doesn't matter because it's not like Kale can actually understand what he's saying but…

Blaine blows out a sigh and shakes his head. "I told Daddy once, long time ago, that I'm not very good with words. I do better with song. Let's see what I can do for you, huh?" He runs through all the lullabies he knows, stopping to hum a few bars from Billy Joel's. Kale gives a kick and a whine though, leaving Blaine to laugh. "Not a Billy fan?" he questions, rubbing his hand over the boy's front. "But you're right, that one's all wrong…" Billy Joel was singing of regret and lost chances and apologies. He hopes he never has to sing that song to his son.

He licks his lips and wonders if it was ever this hard picking out songs for anyone else in his life. Just nothing seems right. He sings a few lines from Lennon's "Beautiful Boy" under his breath but Kale tosses his head a little and Blaine agrees. Still not right. It's just not enough and not on the track of Blaine's word-lacking thoughts.

There always just seemed to be the perfect song, smack, right there, just when he needed it. With everyone else. The lyrics all fit and it was just perfect. But now… How could there possibly be a song to perfectly express how he feels for this little bundle of a human? He has absolutely no clue what he wants to say to this wriggling little thing that is under his care except that… Except that he already loves him. That he loved him before he even knew him for a second and…

And then a melody swirls through him and he nearly groans because it's painfully likely-to-heard-in-an-elevator "muzak."

"You'll have to excuse the nineties," Blaine murmurs, grinning down at his son because all of a sudden he knows and he's bursting with it. "I guess I've got a soft spot for the decade of my birth, as far as music goes…" And he starts to sing, soft and gentle as if it was originally meant to be a lullaby and not some late nineties, soft-rock, chart-topping sap-fest. He's singing straight to his son and doesn't hear the shift from the bed, doesn't see Kurt glance over, slide to sit on the edge of the bed and watch his husband sing to their son. He's too busy tracing the cheeks, the lips, the chin, the vellum-thin eyelids, the minuscule joints on the fingers, the soft creases of the palms, the curve of his tummy, the wisps of spun-caramel curls dipping onto the forehead. The little boy is cooing comfortably under the song and Blaine's touch.

He's marveling and somehow there are tears caught in his eyes because this thing is a human and it's his. He understands every over-protective bone in Burt Hummel's body. He understands the rigid line of his own Pops' lips gradually softening to a smile. He understands acceptance and unconditional love.

"I knew I loved you before I met you. I think I dreamed you into life. I knew I loved you before I met you. I have been waiting all my life…"

There's a voice of a higher register joining in as he trills the last refrain of the chorus and Blaine looks over his shoulder to meet it. Kurt has risen and is now only a few paces from him, butterfly-soft smile on his lips. "Hey," he murmurs, warm and familiar.

"Hey," Blaine returns, unashamed of the shine in his eyes and the sparkle caught in his lashes. "Did I wake you? Sorry."

"Don't be," Kurt replies immediately. He moves to press his front flush to Blaine's back. "That was beautiful." He leans down a little, lips dusting over Blaine's neck and the joint to his shoulder.

"He's beautiful," Blaine replies in an awed little whisper, eyes back on their little Kale.

Kurt's arms are around Blaine's waist, pulling him up to nestle them together tight. "He's incredible," he agrees, watching their son with Blaine. "Still sort of a shock, huh? He's ours."

Blaine nods, turning to catch Kurt's mouth against his, and thinks that Kale might be theirs but they are also irrevocably and entirely his.

AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know, please. ^^