Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: End of the World scenario

Note: So I joined a Glee RP based on the concept of a zombie apocalypse. It is ridiculously fun. To get in character I've been writing drabbles for my character, Jeff. (I adore the Warblers.) I haven't posted any of these to the group proper, since it's really just me trying to get a bead on Jeff's back story. It's all at least somewhat RP-canon, as a lot of what I've written about I've touched on in the group, and the group itself is canon to the end of season 4. I also draw doodles and write a diary. I'm having a blast :)

This first chapter was actually my application, which is why it's pretty expository. The following chapters will flow more like real vignettes.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

The house was quiet.

Jeff thought he should be used to the peacefulness by now, but this morning the silence felt like it was wrapping around his body, squeezing him tighter and tighter. Sitting on the edge of his bed, phone dangling limply in his hand, he couldn't help the way his legs began to shake. Optimism and hope were fighting a losing battle against panic in his heart. He brought his hands up and shoved the flats of his palms against his eyes as though he could hold the tears inside.

It had been over a day since he had heard from either of his parents. Normally, this wasn't much of an issue. His father was a lobbyist, so he was often away for days at a time in Columbus. His mom was a talented and respected paediatric oncologist whose love and dedication to other kids sometimes cost her quality time with her own son. Jeff wasn't resentful of this last fact, he knew that he was lucky. His mother had made it to almost every little league game, dance recital and choir performance he'd ever been in. She'd even attended his disastrous run with the orchestra and defended his tuba playing as 'a colourful interpretation of the notes on the page.'. She hadn't exactly protested when he'd quit though. Most of the poor kids under her care would never get to play in a baseball game, or tap their way across a stage, and so Jeff could never hold it against them for needing so much of his mother's time.

He pulled himself up from the seductive softness of his bed, stumbling slighty on his shaky legs as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Wallowing would hardly do any good right now, neither would self pity. His parents were both trapped apart from him, and he owed it to them to do his best to take care of himself so that they could be together again when things returned to normal. Not that he knew when that would be, or even what was really going on. The news reports streaming in were all frantic and disjointed. The last thing he'd watched had informed him that all hospitals in the Columbus area were on lockdown, and he held on to the glimmer of hope that his Mom was alright. The thought that she might not be was unbearable. He wished that this was all some sort of bad dream, but he hadn't been able to relax enough to sleep for awhile now. Fanciful dark visions from the television coverage danced in the blackness beneath his lids whenever he closed his eyes, and so he'd just resorted to keeping them open as long as he could. He absently glanced at the phone on the wall as he grabbed an apple from the countertop bowl and took a large bite. Still no new callers or messages. He sighed and gripped the apple with his teeth as he lifted his mobile to check it as well. Nothing.

Jeff wasn't exactly good at being isolated or alone. He'd been a fairly popular boy his entire life, owing to a sunny disposition and slight naïveté. Life was too short to waste being angry or arguing, so he'd always strived to get along and accept everyone. It had served him pretty well, and he was fortunate enough to have a large circle of friends, and a few especially close ones. Close friends that he couldn't for the life of him reach at the moment.

The first thing he'd done after trying to reach his parents' cells and workplaces had been to message Nick Duval. The two had become fast friends at Dalton, forging a particularly close bond even while being among each other's direct competition for solos. Not that they ever won, Dalton never seemed to want for talented lead soloists, but it was fun to push each other to be better, to try harder. Perhaps they were both destined to always be backups, but at Dalton it didn't matter, the Warblers were all brothers. Well, perhaps Clairington wasn't, he thought unkindly. The past year had certainly been filled with its ups and downs thanks to Hunter, but Jeff didn't really want to waste his time hating the other young man. It would be hard to rationalize having a petty grudge against another human when the dead seemed to be rising from their graves. He thumbed anxiously through his contacts but Nick still hadn't replied yet. Taking another bite of his apple, Jeff slumped against the wall, sliding down until his legs were stretched out in front of him on the cold hard wood floor.

He would give anything for a new text right about now. Of course he wanted to hear back from his parents the most, but just about anyone at all would satisfy him at the moment. He just needed someone to tell him what he should be doing. He felt a shameful blush creep into his cheeks, but couldn't help it. He had never been much of a planner, he was a doer. Even when working on choreography he'd rather just jump into a routine and let it flow naturally than sit back and think it out step by step. It probably frustrated the other Warblers somewhat, although Nick told him that the enthusiasm he showed was one of his best qualities. He suspected Sebastian might not agree with that statement, since the two of them were usually the ones who had to work out the group's dance routines together. He just functioned better when he knew someone had a plan, someone he could count on to have thought out all the problems and the pitfalls that, left alone to his own devices, he would've stumbled into. Nick, Blaine, Sebastian, heck, even Hunter right now would fit the bill.

Finishing off the last bite of his apple, he stared at the phone in his lap. "Someone...just tell me that my parents are okay, then tell me what I'm supposed to do next. Deal?" he pled of the empty room, head slumping forward until his chin touched his chest. Moments later his breathing evened out and for the first time in over twenty four hours Jeff Sterling slept. His dreams were not peaceful.