Welcome to the Klainepocalypse
Summary: There's not much left of the world but each other anymore, but Blaine and Kurt are kind of hoping that's enough to survive on.
Warnings: Strong language, vague mentions of death (not shown) and a zombie fic that somehow does not feature actual zombies…hmmm…
A/N: I don't even know. I can't even explain…I've been reading A Zombie Survival Guide and watching Glee to survive the hiatus and then…this just happened. So…yeah…enjoy. Please R/R and tell me what you think.
Also, side note, Happy Klaineiversary!
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine or this hiatus would not exist!
Kurt has been awake nearly an hour when he feels Blaine's arms tightening around him, signaling his slow ascent into coherency. Kurt hasn't moved though, has barely dared to breath at all. These seconds are the only ones he gets where he can pretend like his life is normal, isn't some totally fucked up version of those horror movies he refused to watch when he was a kid.
Because he's eighteen and supposed to be stressing about college applications and senior finals and glee club solos and instead he's learning to survive. Instead he's put his considerable intelligence towards learning a myriad of weapons and he values canned food like he used to value clothing and the only thing—the only thing—this world hasn't taken from him yet is the boy wrapped tightly around him as they sleep folded together in the backseat of his Navigator.
Kurt knows Blaine is completely awake when the younger boy groans quietly against his neck and buries his face into Kurt's skin for a moment before sitting up. He is as adorable as he's ever been, his hair disheveled and his eyes soft and hooded with sleep. When everything fell apart Blaine had been in one of his capri-polo-bowtie ensembles but both he and Kurt had abandoned fashion in favor of function (if ever Kurt was looking for a sign of the apocalypse, he was certain he found it the day he shed his Marc Jacobs jacket by the highway). Now they both wear simple jeans—Kurt's a fair amount tighter than is necessarily practical but he refuses to look like a complete bum—and tees (Blaine's a graphic that he couldn't pass up, Kurt's a simple black v-neck.)
Blaine blinks in the light of the mid-morning sun and then looks down at Kurt with a gentle smile. "Hi, Beautiful," he whispers.
Even now, the words still bring Kurt back from a dark place and give him a shred of hope. "Good morning. Nice of you to join the living…and the undead," he adds sarcastically, cautiously glancing out the window to inspect their surroundings.
They'd stopped in a clearing off the highway last night when Blaine's eyes were so heavy he couldn't drive another mile. Surrounded by trees isn't necessarily any safer than parked on the side of the road as far as actual zombies are concerned, but it can protect you from other people, and these days it seems one is just as dangerous as the other. Lush greenery stretches around them on all sides, almost like this little part of Ohio hasn't been touched yet by the scourge beyond its border. Kurt isn't stupid enough to believe that is the case.
Blaine pulls him from his thoughts by literally pulling Kurt tight against his chest and pressing a kiss behind Kurt's ear. "Don't do that," he whispers gently.
"What?"
"Give up."
Kurt shakes his head. "Not yet."
"Good."
Without another word Blaine presses a kiss to Kurt's lips and climbs over the slim boy into the driver's seat. "Let's roll, baby," he says, glancing back at Kurt playfully.
Kurt allows himself a small smile. "You drove all day, yesterday. It's my turn."
"Not a chance. Come on, the world literally had to end for you to allow your boyfriend to drive your car. What makes you think I'll give the keys back," Blaine smirks.
Kurt isn't stupid. He knows Blaine is refusing to let Kurt drive because of what happened. Because he knows Kurt can't seem to sleep for more than an hour at a time without waking up to horrible nightmares. Because he—as always—is trying to protect Kurt from the world.
"Baby-"
"Nope," Blaine interrupts Kurt's half-hearted argument. "Lay down back there and get a little more sleep, Love. I promise I'll wake you in a few hours to switch driving shifts. We'll need food by then anyway."
"You say that like you plan to swing through a McDonald's Drive-Thru at the first exit," Kurt sighs.
Blaine moans loudly. "Why would you say that? Now I want a Big Mac. God, I miss fast food."
"Shockingly," Kurt snarks, "That is on the short list of good things the zombpocalypse has brought about."
"Because when people turn into flesh-eating monsters, we should all take a moment to worry about our cholesterol intake," Blaine chuckles. Kurt doesn't need to be facing him to see the eye-roll.
"Hey, chubby people with bad hearts do not fast runners make. And what do we call slow people in the zombie apocalypse?"
Blaine laughs and cranks up the SUV. "Lunch," he answers.
"Exactly," Kurt nods, obediently nuzzling back into the nest of his and Blaine's jackets on the bench seat and resigning himself to silently trying to fall asleep for the next hour at least. Blaine turns a CD on quietly and navigates his way back onto the main road without another word.
~K~B~
The quarantine was the scariest thing Kurt had ever experienced and that was coming from a kid whose life had been threatened last year up against a high school locker by a closeted homophobe who stole his first kiss.
Nobody, least of all Kurt and Blaine could've predicted when Kurt agreed to spend the weekend meeting Blaine's family that there would be an emergency lock down of Lima and its surrounding cities or that they'd cut the phone lines or that Kurt would never make it home.
It had all started as an innocuous visit. There were awkward dinner conversations and smirks as they were sent to separate rooms and after an exhausting weekend with the Andersons, Kurt and Blaine felt closer than ever.
But then Blaine was driving Kurt back home and after sitting in a line of cars for nearly an hour outside the city limits, they reached a blockade where they were informed that Lima was temporarily on lockdown and they needed to return home.
"My home is Lima," Kurt had insisted.
"Sorry kid," the officer had said with a shrug. "Looks like you're out for another night."
"Kurt. Kurt, Baby? Sweetheart, wake up. It's okay."
Kurt doesn't realize that the whimpering he's hearing belongs to him until his face presses into Blaine's neck and the sound goes muffled.
"I've got you, Love. It's okay. It's okay. I'm still here," Blaine assures him, rocking Kurt gently and running skillful fingers along Kurt's scalp.
Another nightmare then.
Kurt doesn't ever remember them when he wakes up, but Blaine always pulls him out of his panic, rocks him gently and soothes the wrinkles in his forehead as Kurt cries silent tears.
"Come stop your crying it'll be alright," Blaine sings gently against the shell of Kurt's ear and, just like every other time, Blaine's beautiful voice slows Kurt's racing heart. "My arms with hold you, keep you safe and warm. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry."
By the end of the first verse, Kurt's stopped trembling and he pulls back a little in the embrace to scrub at his tear-stained cheeks.
"Sorry," he mutters softly.
Blaine shakes his head. "Don't apologize, Love."
"How long was I asleep?"
Blaine shrugs. "Maybe an hour? I'm not sure how long you'd been dreaming though. I only heard you about ten minutes ago."
Kurt nods and allows Blaine to pull him into another hug. "Thanks for pulling me back," Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear.
"Every time, Kurt, I promise."
~K~B~
They stop for food another hour later when Kurt becomes so restless laying in the back seat pretending to sleep that he gets snarky. Blaine waits until he sees a solitary gas station and then signals left out of habit, not necessity. There aren't any other cars on the road to give a shit if he makes an illegal left turn.
"You're such a goody-goody," Kurt teases.
Blaine sticks his tongue out playfully. "You used to call that 'dapper' and swoon."
Kurt throws his head back in a genuine, rare laugh. "It's hard to think of you as dapper when you've got a little 'fro going on, Baby."
Blaine frowns and brushes his fingers through his too-long hair. When he keeps it short it curls pleasantly (when it isn't being suffocated into submission with his hair gel) but almost two months without a haircut have made his locks curly in the most unmanageable way.
Perhaps sensing his thought process or perhaps just looking for a project to temporarily distract himself with, Kurt offers to grab a pair of scissors in the convenience store while Blaine grabs food. "I'll give you at least a half-way decent haircut anyway," he smirks.
"Babe, you could shave me bald and it'd be an improvement," Blaine says as he eyes himself in the rearview mirror.
Kurt shakes his head. "While I have no doubt that you could rock any look, let's not get drastic."
Without another word, without missing a beat in their banter, Kurt reaches into the third seat of his Navigator and brings back a crossbow and a baseball bat, handing the sporting equipment off to Blaine (Blaine thinks ironically that if his dad could see him braining zombies with a baseball bat he'd stop thinking of Blaine as too girly expect, of course, that his father isn't alive to see the changes in Blaine now). It should be weird that this is their life now. Weapons distribution over witty banter and a promise of an apocalypse-chic haircut after a mad scrounge for sustenance. It's ridiculously fucked up, but Blaine figures at least they have each other.
As always, Kurt steps out first, sighting through his crossbow for any long range threats.
There is nothing for miles but wind whispering through the high grass surrounding the abandoned gas station they've found. He signals for Blaine who steps out of the driver's side and swings his bat over his shoulder in preparation.
Blaine doesn't need to speak as he pushes open the glass door, Kurt tensed beside him and watching their back as they enter. The sound of a door chime makes them both jump and they hold their breaths and count to ten, waiting for a zombie to lurch forward at the call of the dinner bell.
Nothing moves.
Blaine turns to Kurt over his shoulder and shrugs.
~K~B~
"Try to find something with the least amount of preservatives," he requests as Blaine makes his way over to the food section, turning up his lip at the rotting food in the long-dead freezer cases.
Kurt turns away to find scissors in the section where he also pockets some Tylenol and, after a moment's hesitation, a sleep aid. It sounds risky, but maybe while Blaine is driving it won't be too dangerous. Kurt misses sleep. Like misses it.
The only pair of scissors he sees are the tiny ones that come with a pocket sewing kit and the child-proof kind that sound like they would pull hair like a bitch. He figures behind the counter is his next best bet.
Kurt figures this place is just off the beaten path enough to have been spared a lot of looting because, other then the smell of rotting food and the dinge of two months neglect, the store is remarkably clean. No food on the floor, no obvious signs of attack or death. No illness hanging in the air. It's almost peaceful and he thinks he can hear Blaine humming or muttering to himself at the other end of the room as he picks through worthy food items.
And then, of course, he rounds the corner of the cash counter and something that had been crouched down on the floor is lunging at him with a shriek.
~K~B~
Blaine has simultaneously never moved so fast and is still not moving fast enough as he hears a chorus of high-pitched shrieks followed by scuffling and thudding and, oh dear God, his heart has just stopped beating when it grows quiet.
He rounds an aisle of flashlights and feels everything inside him plummet as he finds a girl crouched over Kurt's body, pinning him to the floor. He doesn't see blood, prays he's not too late and lifts his bat to beat the bitch to a pulp when Kurt's voice stops him.
"Blaine, don't," he calls quietly but firmly, his eyes not leaving his assailants.
Blaine pauses incredulously.
"She's not armed," Kurt whispers, carefully moving his arms and gripping the girl's shoulders.
"Don't touch me, don't touch me," the girl shrieks, wild and spitting like a feral cat. It's an effective move though because she is crawling backwards off of Kurt in a crazy, scrambling hurry, tucking herself into a tight corner behind the cash counter and glaring at the men before her.
"Okay, what the hell?" Blaine feels compelled to ask.
Kurt shoots him a look and sits up slowly, turning back to the girl.
She is smaller than Blaine had realized at first glance (probably because she was crouched threateningly over the love of his life) and has straggly brown hair and wide, frightened blue eyes. He can see now that she's trembling, her body screaming 'defensive' but her face saying 'terrified' and 'alone.'
"It's okay," Kurt whispers and the words are almost a coo. "It's alright, honey, we're not infected, okay? You're safe."
The child shakes her head sharply. "Don't have to be sick to be dangerous," She tells Kurt angrily.
Kurt nods his understanding. "Did someone come here and hurt you?"
She hesitates before pulling down the neckline of her shirt to reveal a purple and green bruise in the shape of a hand, wrapping around her neck and collarbone. Kurt gasps.
"Oh honey."
In that moment, Blaine knows they've picked up a stray.
It's actually a really terrible idea. More people means more back up, but this kid can't be more than eleven, probably can't (and definitely shouldn't) wield a weapon. She's another mouth to feed, another person to worry about. But Kurt is looking like himself for the first time in weeks, a small (so small it makes Blaine's chest ache) glimmer of hope in his words. The world may have come crashing to a halt, but his sweet, wonderful, compassionate Kurt is still in there somewhere.
That's reason enough for Blaine.
~K~B~
Her name is Elizabeth (and yes, Kurt's heart does actually stutter a bit at the whispered revelation that she shares his mother's name).
Kurt can't explain it to Blaine anymore than he can explain it to himself, but he knows they have to take her on. Have to keep her safe. He doesn't know why. He does know that he falls (if possible) even more in love with Blaine when the boy doesn't ask questions, goes along with it like they'd intended to pick up a pre-teen from the gas station along with dinner.
For the first hour of driving Elizabeth is tensed in the backseat (Kurt had taken shotgun to afford her some space) pressed against the window and door as if she's waiting for the right moment to open it and leap out. Eventually her shoulders relax a bit and by the time night has fallen, she's curled into a tight ball and fast asleep.
Blaine turns to him only then with a slight question in his eyes. "You okay?"
Kurt nods then shrugs. "I guess. This is stupid isn't it?"
Blaine smiles. "Probably," he agrees. "But that last time a pretty blue-eyed brunette forced their way into my life it worked out well for me."
Kurt can't help but smile at that and reaches across the center console for Blaine's hand. Once upon a time, Blaine had saved him on a staircase. Is it too much pressure on a child to say that Elizabeth has saved him again? It's not that he doesn't love Blaine, wouldn't spend the rest of his life (however short it may be) enjoying every last second of the time they have together with the boy beside him. But Elizabeth is like a ray of life shooting into what had been so dark for so long. She is young and miraculously still alive and she will heal. Maybe she can help heal him too. Maybe with her and Blaine, Kurt can embrace what is left of the world and stop thinking of it as over.
"I love you, Kurt. We're going to be okay. All three of us," Blaine promises.
Kurt sighs, "I love you too. So much." And for the first time in months, Kurt let's himself believe Blaine's words.