Hello, people of earth. First Klaine fanfic, don't judge please, just review & give me tips! I hope you enjoy it, it's also my first tragedy fic.
Enjoy and happy reading!
Love, Panda.
Disclaimer: Do I LOOK like I own Glee? Hell no, people. I wish. Hey! I have an idea! Get the magical purple unicorns to give me Glee! I think not.
Kurt looked across the bleak landscape. Somewhere, somewhere out there, Blaine was perhaps peering at the same sun that now stared him in the face, nearly blinding him. He needed to find him. He couldn't remember life without him, not life without Blaine, his rock, his companion, his best friend.
He vividly remembered the day they lost sight of each other. It was the day after, the day after most people lost their lives, and most of the rest inhaled large doses of the poison.
People were fleeing. Their cars creaked against the road lined with rubble and soot, their bicycles clattered against the trash of people that had passed before them. Dead bodies, the bodies of people that just didn't make it, laid by the side of the road. Blaine and Kurt held tightly to each other, trying to navigate their way to the train station. They had gotten there and pushed their way to the crowd, past the mothers screaming for their children, past the people desperately trying to wave to people in the ever departing trains. "Kurt," Blaine stopped in the middle of the crowd. "Stay with me." Kurt remembered nodding, saying that he would never leave him, never in a hundred thousand years, never in a million years. Then he kissed him, hugging him as tight.
It would be their last kiss.
They then held hands and ran to catch the train, the one that they had tickets for, tickets that would be their way to safety. Kurt jumped onto the train a second earlier than Blaine, and clutched his hand to pull Blaine, too, into the train car. But an overeager, middle aged, balding man jumped into the train, wrenching Kurt's hand from Blaine's. Blaine was carried back by the crowd as the compartment closed. Kurt shrieked an earsplitting shriek that seemed to pierce the ears of anyone within earshot. I love him, he thought. I love him and I can't live without him. Then he frantically tried to stop the train, tried to get the conductor to stop. No one listened. No one cared. No one stopped the train.
Kurt numbly stepped out at the next stop and walked the twenty miles back to Westerville. He arrived at the train station only to find it empty, swept of every human existence. He later learned that a sniper had been there and shot madly around, scattering the crowd. No one had been killed, though many had been hurt.
Kurt made his way back to the modest home that he and Blaine shared. No one was there. It was completely still. He stumbled around, looking for any sign that Blaine had been there. On the kitchen table lay a letter, penned in that careful handwriting that was Blaine's. It read:
Kurt,
If you're reading this, then you must still be alive.I had to leave-too dangerous here, right by the bombs. Kurt, the troops are advancing. I would have died if I stayed here for much longer. I didn't try to abandon you. I hope you know that. I left for Washington D.C. They have an evacuation program there. I will find you. I promise I will. I will find you, find you or die. I love you. Remember that I love you, no matter how long we are separated, no matter how far you go or how far I drift.
Blaine.
Kurt didn't remember much after that, except stumbling into the street and sitting down and wailing as loud as he could. A young woman came out of a house and sat down next to Kurt. Kurt buried his head into her shoulder and sobbed loudly. The woman looked around for anyone else, for any lone soldiers, and rushed Kurt into her house.
Her name was Quinn Fabray and she was raising her young child by herself. She had a husband, Noah, and he was a marine, as she proudly declared. She showed him a picture of him, and brushed away a tear as she thought of him. She asked Kurt where he was going, why he was crying. He answered with only one word: Blaine. Blaine. Blaine. Blaine. Quinn asked who Blaine was. He answered he was his true love. Quinn smiled and seemed to understand.
Kurt was in denial for the first few days, never eating and sleeping very little. Beth, Quinn's young child, was sweet to him and seemed to want to cheer him up. Kurt couldn't be comforted, however, and insisted he needed Blaine.
Quinn announced one day, completely out of the blue, that she wanted to accompany Kurt on his way to Blaine. He inquired about Beth.
"Well," she responded thoughtfully. "I can just strap her onto my back or something. Didn't Sacajawea do that?" She laughed, though it was clear that she was exhausted. Kurt laughed as well, though his eyes had dark circles under them, his hair was long and tangled and his already lean frame seemed gaunt. It was time to leave.
They stole quietly out of the house, only pausing to feed Beth and for Quinn to look back at her once happy home. Then they climbed into Quinn's car, an old Toyota Minivan from the days before the war. Kurt stayed huddled in the back seat, praying to a God he didn't believe in that Blaine was still alive, that Kurt would find him, that they would be reunited.
It took long to drive. Mud had taken over the streets, and the roads were filled with people fleeing. Twenty miles took twelve hours, and it was decided to simply get out of the car and walk to their destination. It wasn't that far. Quinn took Beth on her back, and though she at first wailed, Beth soon got used to the hardships of the road and giggled happily as they staggered towards Washington D.C. with hundreds of thousands of other people beside them, each as hungry, exhausted and filthy as them.
Kurt dreamed again the second night they were on the road. His dreams were shady, but he was happy he had them again, for the lack of them had uneased him. He dreamed of dark deals, of runaway trains and of mutant songbirds, all trying to kill him. He dreamed of a dead Blaine, and dreams that had long sunk into oblivion. He woke the next morning with a startled stomach and wet eyes. He missed the boy with the heart eye patch, the boy that had stolen his hear, that boy that had patched it up after it being torn apart so many times. He missed the boy with the gelled back hair, although Blaine had taken to letting his hair flow his natural course in his later years, he missed him playing his guitar ever so softly as Kurt tried to sleep.
He missed his Blaine.
First installment of AFTER in place. Reviews are amazing! Reviews inspire me to upload faster….so R&R or alert!