Blaine could remember laughing. It seemed the Andersons were always trying to find something to smile at, no matter how little they had to be happy about these days. Germany was hell on earth. The only place anyone would rent to them at a semi-reasonable price was a shoddy one-bedroom apartment in the Jewish ghetto. “Where people like you belong,” was always the excuse. None of them could walk outside without being spat on. Yelled at. Beaten, on occasion.

But they were together. A family. And that was enough. The Andersons had spent the evening nibbling on the small smorgasbord of cheese and bread that Blaine and his siblings had spent weeks collecting the money for. Lively dinner table conversation slowed to a contented lull after the last morsel of food had disappeared into someone’s stomach.

Leaning back in his chair, Blaine closed his eyes and started to hum a soft tune into the peaceful silence. Inspired by his youngest son’s fine choice of music, Arthur Anderson got up out of his chair and held his open hand out to his wife, a playful smirk crossing his lips. Louise arched her dark eyebrow, cocking her head in confusion as he proceeded to gesture across the empty space of the shabby apartment with a sweep of his hand. The elegant woman gave her husband a dazzling smile and shook her head in disbelief as she uncrossed her legs, stood up, and grasped ahold of his hand. The portly mechanic led his wife into the middle of the room before they wrapped themselves up in each other, lightly swaying back and forth to their son’s version of “Moonlight Serenade”.

“Thirty years later… and he still can’t dance,” Louise complained teasingly to her grown children as she and her husband continued to dance, then turned�back to look into her husband’s crinkled eyes. Arthur scoffed. “I beg to differ,” he countered, bringing their steps to a quick spin, then slowing back down to rest their foreheads together.

“Looks like we have a Jewish Fred Astaire on our hands,” she amended. The graying couple continued to sway, each lost in the other’s company.

Blaine beamed at the two and glanced over at his little sister. She was barely 16, a slight girl with round chocolate eyes and smooth black pin-curled hair. Elisabeth caught his gaze, and her smile turned to a full grin as she saw his similar expression. Blaine raised his eyebrows and nodded his head toward the impromptu dance floor, silently asking his sister to dance. She giggled softly and quickly shook her head, still smiling as she teased her beloved brother. But Blaine wouldn’t take no for an answer. He snatched his sister up in his arms and spun her around, listening to her squeal in delight and his loud laughter interrupting his song.

When his arms got tired, Blaine put Lissa down and they danced, his cheek resting on the top of her curls, a smile still plastered on both their faces as he gracefully led his sister around the room. Their older brother Jeremiah remained at the table, sitting stiffly but a rare smile gracing his usually stern features as he watched his parents and younger siblings flit around the room.

Happiness.

But we tend to forget that happiness doesn’t last forever.

Sharp yells broke through Blaine’s song. They could hear the sound of objects being smashed against walls, furniture being turned over, and screams mixed with impending footsteps.

Louise instinctively reached out for her daughter and Arthur shielded the both of them with his body, as Jeremiah and Blaine both started toward the door.

It burst open before the two could reach it.

“Blaine, NO-“

Before he could process what was happening, Blaine’s fist collided into the face of the first Nazi that crossed the threshold into their house. Into their space. Their home. “Get back, Blaine,” his father half-pleaded, half-demanded.

But he stood his ground, channeling every ounce of the hatred coursing through his veins into boring his hazel eyes up into the harsh, blue ones before him. The man wasn’t fazed at all. His cold eyes flickered to the Star of David emblazoned on the arm of Blaine’s shirt, sighing and shaking his head with a false sorrow.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.” The last thing Blaine saw was the man’s arm rising up high above him, a club grasped in his hand.

Crack!

Flash.

“NO!”

LISSA!

Darkness.

---------------------------------------------------------------

No one had believed it was true. Not really. On the street, you would hear the stories about how thousands were being sent off to camps and worked to death, stories of misery and loss and shattered lives. But not of truth.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t happen to your family. Not your sister, brother, mother, father. This would all end soon, right? The Allies would break the front lines any day now, and then everyone would be returned, safe and sound. The way it was supposed to be.

Sometimes reality is your biggest nightmare.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Running. Blaine was running. Eyes wide, scanning through the whiteout around him, panic pulsing through his head. Elisabeth, he thought. I have to reach Lissa. But where was she?

He kept up his frantic pace, but Blaine was making no progress. There was no progress to be made. No place to run to. Endless. Everything was white. Was he trapped? Was he in purgatory? Where was his sister?

Blaine slowed his jog to a stop and threw his arms behind his head, face contorted with frustration. He interlocked his hands behind his neck and crouched low to the ground, bringing his face to his knees.

It’s all over. There’s nothing to do. I can’t save her. Forgive me.

A deafening scream broke Blaine’s silence. He never wanted to hear that sound coming from his sister’s mouth. But Blaine immediately snapped his neck around to see his lifeless sister, blood pooling on the white ground beneath her. “LISSA!” he yelled as he jumped up sprinted towards the body. “LISSA!” But as Blaine got closer to her form, she began to fade away into the vast expanse of nothing.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Blaine finally reached the splash of blood and moved to wrap his arms around the last few traces of his sister. But she had vanished. His arms clung to the empty air for a few long seconds, then lowered and wrapped around his middle. Blaine folded in on himself, sobs wracking his body as he dropped on his side in the puddle of his sister’s blood. Gone. She was gone. Everything was empty. Meaningless.

Blaine heard the faint click of a gun cocking behind him. He turned his tearstained face towards the sound, ending up face to face with the barrel of a pistol. His eyes followed up the arm of the shooter, over his red armband and to his face. Blaine recognized this Nazi. He was the one who lead the raid on his family’s apartment.

The man grinned.

Bang.

---------------------------------------------------------------

BANG.

The freight car jumped as the train ran over a particularly bumpy segment of track, jostling its hundred or so inhabitants and waking Blaine with a startle. Breathing heavily and adrenaline still pumping through him from his nightmare, Blaine’s eyes frantically scanned the car, quickly taking in the foreign surroundings.

He found himself in the car of a train, one that looked and smelled as if it was used to transport cattle or some other kind of farm animal. A thin layer of hay lined the floor, brushed away in patches to reveal the worn wooden floor beneath. Darkness seeped through the gaps in the walls of the car, and there was a constant freezing draft swishing through the crowd of sorrowed people. All of them husbands. Wives. Brothers. Mothers. Aunts. Uncles. Children. And all of them heading away from everything they had ever known and into the darkness.

He had been leaning against his mother’s shoulder in the back corner of the car before he jumped awake in a panic. Lissa slept soundly, her head resting on her mother’s lap. The events from earlier that evening gradually came back to him, and Blaine became fully aware of the painful throbbing in the back of his head. He reached back to caress the sensitive area and felt a crunch in his hair, his hand returning with dried blood flaked across his fingertips. “What happened?” he asked his mother, his voice husky from sleep. “I mean, after…”

“After you foolishly went and got yourself conked out by a Nazi?” she quietly retorted, her tone disapproving. Blaine blushed and nodded, suddenly entranced by his twiddling thumbs.

She began slowly, “After you were knocked down, they all came flooding in. It-… it all just happened so fast,” she paused to swallow, trying to push away the emotions that were rushing back to her. “They all were beginning to completely tear apart the entire apartment, but before I could do anything, they grabbed us all and locked us up in the back of one of their autos.” Louise looked off into the distance. “Like I could have done anything,” she shook her head and sighed. “Then the cars started moving. The last thing I can remember was taking one last look at the trees before we were loaded onto the train.” As she recounted the story, his mother’s body language became smaller and less, well, just less. She reached for her son’s strong hand and held on tight. “We’re just lucky that they let your father and your brother carry you along with us.” Blaine could hear the tears welling up in his mother’s eyes through the breaks in her voice. She looked down at her son, gently placing a soft hand onto his scruffy cheek. “I was so worried when you didn’t wake up. I was so-“

“Shh,” Blaine brought his mother’s head to rest down on his shoulder. He ran his hands though her hair, reminding her that he was alive and well.

“That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, Blaine Anderson,” she chided through her tears. “Brave, yes. But stupid.” She pretended to smack his arm. Blaine chuckled softly at her half-hearted attempts at chastising him.

But Blaine’s mind was still trying to process something his mother had said. His eyes searched the car until they found his older brother leaning up against the far wall, eyes closed tight and his head thrown back in sleep. Jeremiah had helped carry him? No, it surely meant nothing. Jeremiah had to help. The entire family was right there. If it had been purely Jeremiah’s choice, Blaine was positive that his brother would have left him to die.

When Mrs. Anderson’s tears subsided, she followed her son’s line of vision. She lifted her head. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you that caused you to act like this, but you need to resolve it now. While you still have time.” Her voice was firm, and the words struck him. While you still have the chance to.

Blaine rubbed small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “Mama, don’t talk like that.”

She sighed, removing her hand from Blaine’s and holding her head. “It’s just,” she started, “you two used to be so close when you were younger. Playing ball in the street together every afternoon without fail. You used to worship your older brother. But now,” she looked back and forth between her two sons, “now you two can barely look at each other.”

“Mom-“

“You can tell me what happened, Blaine. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. It’s your choice. But you need to fix this.” Mrs. Anderson looked into her son’s eyes seriously. “When you look back on this, you’ll find yourself very foolish if you let your relationship with your brother fall to pieces.”

Disgust filled Jeremiah’s eyes. “You’re a sinner. You’re nothing to me.”

“Jay, please…” Blaine pleaded, grabbing at his brother’s coat jacket, desperate to hold on to some piece of… of anything.

“DON’T. Touch me.” He hissed, jerking his arm away. As if Blaine had some kind of contagious disease. As if Blaine was the disease.

“It’s not mine to fix.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

The train continued to chug forward through the night and all through the next day. Boredom set in soon enough, but it wasn’t the kind of boredom you wanted to end, no. For the end of this journey came with no new beginnings.

The conditions were horrible. There were so many people were crammed into this little car, the lack of space was almost unbearable. There was barely enough room for people to sit down. A couple of buckets sat in the corner for people to relieve themselves in, and the smell only added to the general stench of farm animal that permeated everything. There was no water, and the only food that the Andersons had was the spare half loaf of bread that Mrs. Anderson had snatched and hidden when they were being dragged from the house. Every once in a while, she would tear pieces off of the loaf to give to the family members, and they would eat in secret for fear that they may be targeted by the other inmates. Because that’s what they were. Prisoners.

Every time this ‘meal time’ occurred, Blaine would find some way of either giving his bread to his sister, whom he could see was weakening greatly, or if she refused, then he would sneak most of his portion to the handful of children that sat about the car. Blaine and Lissa found ways to ward off the impending boredom by entertaining the kids with stories and songs and games. He loved being able to put their hunger and sadness and worry aside, even if just for a little bit. The parents around the room looked so grateful as they watched Blaine sing songs and act out various stories. They laughed along with their kids, mainly because Blaine looked just as entertained as they were.

Around the time when the sun went down and the children were all asleep, Blaine stood up and maneuvered over to where his father sat, leaning his back on the opposite side of the train car. Blaine slowly slid down the wall of the car, eventually landing so that he could easily lean his elbows on his bent knees while he sat, his upper body resting forward, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. Mr. Anderson glanced over at his son, smiling gently. His son looked just like him, minus the worry wrinkles and laughter lines and the grey hair. And minus a few pounds. And his son’s unruly black mop needed a haircut. Badly. He turned away and continued staring ahead, both caught up in their own thoughts.

The long pause held between the two of them as Blaine eventually worked up the courage to break the silence that seemed so final. “Dad,” he said as he shifted to look his dad in the face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Blaine,” Mr. Anderson stopped his son immediately. “You don’t have to-“

“No,” Blaine objected firmly. “Let me finish.” His father lifted his hands up, palms forward and visible in a clear sign of resignation.

You can do this. Blaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he started once again. “I’m sorry I didn’t take over the auto shop.” He looked into his dad’s patient eyes. “I know it meant a lot to you, to see both your sons carry on the family business together, but… I couldn’t. It’s not that I didn’t want to, because I-I-…” Blaine stammered. He closed his eyes and turned away from the sorrow that was so clearly present in his father’s face. Shameful. That’s what Blaine was. His father was ashamed to have a son like him, one who couldn’t even carry on the family tradition. Blaine clenched his jaw and exhaled sharply before continuing. “Because more than anything, dad, I want to make you proud. But I couldn’t give up my music. I just can’t.” He was rushing his words now, finally expressing all that had been bottled up inside of him for years. “And I’m sorry, dad.” Blaine rubbed his hands together, looking down at the hay that lined the floor of the freight car. “I’m sorry I can’t be everything you want me to be,” he finished, his voice breaking with emotion on the last few words.

I’m so sorry, dad.

I’m sorry I’m gay.

I’m sorry I can’t tell you.

But I just don’t know if you’d love me anymore.

Silence hung in the air between the two men as both processed feelings that had finally been brought out into the open. Blaine’s shoulders shook with emotion, but the bounce of the train masked his movements. It was his face that told of the hurt that only seemed to grow as the silence lingered on. Don’t you dare cry, you sissy, his mind hissed at him. You’ll disgrace the family even more.

You’re nothing but a failure.

Hebe.

Faggot.

“Blaine,” his father started off cautiously, startling Blaine out of his internal dialogue, “I’m not angry anymore.” He stopped to look at Blaine who quickly turned away, head hung low and body caved in with guilt. “Hey,” Mr. Anderson said softly. He reached over and used his fingers to gently nudge Blaine’s chin up so they could talk face-to-face. “I admit that I was very hurt and disappointed when you first told me. And I was sore at you for a long while after that. But that’s only because I was selfish, Blaine.” His brows furrowed, and regret covered the older man’s usually cheerful expression. Blaine stared in wonder. He’d never seen his father this open, this vulnerable before. “I’m just a human. I make mistakes. Yes, it was always my dream to see you and Jay run the ol’ shop together.” Blaine winced at the mention of his brother. “But when the Nazis went around and destroyed everything, as I was watching my life’s work go up in flames,” he paused, “I realized that it doesn’t matter what my dream is. That as long as my family is happy, I will be too.”

Blaine’s father reached over and clasped his hand around Blaine’s forearm, the caring and reassurance of the gesture reaching his eyes as he smiled over at his son. Relief washed over Blaine, the buzz of happiness in his head edged out slowly by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

I’m sorry I’m a disappointment.

I’m sorry, dad.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The next day and night passed in a blur of light chatting, the first pangs of hunger, and dead eyes. His stomach growling and his strength fading, Blaine�tried�his best to occupy the children and adults of the car by singing various songs. He was finally able to get most of the group to sing during a few of them, which�made�Blaine grin from ear to ear.

Elsa, a particularly spunky little girl of about 5 with big brown eyes, became attached to his hip, following him around and copying every move he made throughout the day. Most wouldn’t have blamed him if he found her aggravating and had tried to get rid of her. But the freight car’s occupants watched in wonder at the young man; he thought her actions were adorable. When evening fell, Blaine pulled her onto his knee and animatedly told her stories until she fell asleep on his chest. He handed Elsa off to her mother, tenderly kissing the girl’s forehead goodnight.

He carefully tiptoed through the sleeping figures covering the floor of the car to get to the corner where the rest of the Andersons lay. His parents sat up against one wall. Lissa was attempting to sleep in the corner. Jeremiah was lying on the opposite side of their parents, his strong back turned to the rest of the world.

Blaine sat down beside Lissa, who was trying unsuccessfully to lean against a wall for head support as she slept. As soon as he stretched out his legs, his little sister leaned over and rested her head on his lap, fingers curled together in front of her face. Blaine softly brushed Lissa’s raven hair from her forehead. He had always been there for her, protecting her. Trying to accomplish what Jeremiah had failed in doing for him. Lissa was his best friend, the only person who truly accepted Blaine for everything that he was. But how could he save her now?

Blaine crossed his arms, his fingers brushing over the Star of David stitched into his shirtsleeve. How could you let this happen? Blaine prayed silently. It had been a while, and his words were unsteady. But he was praying. He prayed for forgiveness, for love, for protection, for his family, for his people. Blaine had to believe that God could hear him. He had to.

But was a God who would let all these atrocities happen really one that Blaine wanted to believe in?

Right before he�succumbed�to sleep’s grasp, Blaine�happened�to glance over at his parents;�their fingers�were�intertwined and�their eyes connected steadily, conveying�what could not�be said:�I’m sorry I�wasn’t able to�grow old with you.

The last thing Blaine thought before he fell asleep was, I’m sorry too.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The entirety of the freight car jolted awake the next morning with the shrill blast of the train’s whistle. The train was slowing.

The wheels rolled to a stop as sounds of angry yelling filled the air.

The door of the freight car slammed open.