Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the insanity in my head.
This is, I think, about as AU as I could possibly make it. So just to get some possible confusion out the way I'll start by clarifying a couple things. First, most of them didn't know each other before. (This also means that most of them aren't from Ohio.) Also I've played with ages. Sometimes quite a bit and in other cases only by a couple of years.
Enjoy.
There was nothing, as far as his eyes could see. No animals, no buildings, no people. No sign of life anywhere. Even the trees were mostly dead.
He wasn't surprised. It had been like that forever. A whole lot of nothing. But he made himself keep walking, feet dragging along. Once upon a time he had sung quietly to himself as he trudged but the sounds of endless solitude had long since pushed all the music from his head. Now he just kept waking.
Heading for the coast, hopefully New York. It was what all the people had done in the movies, headed to big urban centers in hopes that it would increase their chances of finding someone else.
Now he was wishing he had watched more of those movies and fewer romantic comedies. Maybe he wouldn't have stayed home for so long after the fact. He could have set out right away. He might be in New York by now if he had, even with his mountain detour.
It was pure luck he had made it as far as he had, certainly not skill. The first few weeks of his travels he had taken back roads, too afraid of what might be out there. But he had gotten hopelessly lost and it was sheer chance that eventually brought him to an interstate, just outside of St. Louis and headed in completely the wrong direction. Briefly he thought about changing his destination and heading for Chicago instead but something in his heart had cried out for New York. So he turned himself around and followed the interstate, making his way through Illinois, Indiana, back through Ohio (here he had allowed himself another detour because he couldn't bear to see Columbus again).
That decision had sent him on an unexpected hike through West Virginia and, most importantly, away from his food source (whatever he could find in rest stops along the highway). He had stocked up as much as possible before he changed course, filling his surprisingly sturdy backpack up with water, Gatorade, and jerky. But that supply, like everything else, was long gone.
To make matters worse the country was in drought. In all his time wandering he could count on two hands the number of times it had rained. Riverbeds were dry, vegetation was nonexistent.
If he didn't find water soon he knew he was going to die of dehydration. But he had finally found the interstate again, was following the signs that pointed him northeast and hoping to find something soon.
He could make it one more day, he reckoned as he passed an exit. (He had learned a long time ago not to pin hope on towns. When everything was happening people panicked, rushed to their local stores and stocked up. But no one had fled, had opted instead to stay home because it was clear that no where would be safe. At least that's what happened in Ohio. He had heard rumors that out here in the east the police had blocked the roads.) After that he didn't want to think about it.
Hours later- he thought it was hours. Time didn't mean the same thing to him anymore. But he still wore a watch and checked it occasionally- he was stumbling, feet getting tangled as he tried to put one in front of the other. His throat hurt and his lips were cracked and he was sure he had never been this thirsty in his entire life.
The music was back though. Although he could only faintly make it out. His heart beat in time to it. A waltz maybe? A last piece, something they'd play at the end of the night as a fond farewell. Sweet and low and nice and slow. One last twirl as he sunk to the ground. Overhead, the stars spun with him.
When he came to again it was to an angel and a devil staring down at him.
"Thank fuck," the devil said. "One less body to bury." Before pushing himself to his feet, dislodging his aching head from its position in his lap. "Make sure he gets some water," he snapped at the angel.
"Can you sit up?" The angel asked, voice light and beautiful. Like a butterfly in the summer breeze. He shuffled around behind him and pulled him up before pressing a bottle of water to his lips.
He wanted to gulp it all down but knew that he couldn't. The angel knew too and kept pulling the bottle away, making him way for eons before he could have another sip. At last he took it away entirely and recapped it, chuckling softly at the protesting whine.
"Sleep for a bit," whispered the angel. "We'll be here when you wake up."
It was the chirping of birds that woke him up. No, that wasn't right. There were no birds, not around here, not anymore. Someone whistling in the mockery of a bird call.
"Welcome to the land of the living," the angel said, smiling down at him. "We were afraid we might lose you for a bit."
"We?" He asked because he still wasn't convinced this all wasn't a hallucination.
The angel helped him sit up and waved his hand over his shoulder were a small group of people were gathered. Most looked like they were sleeping and the rest were sitting quietly. He could count nine others, although the devil seemed to be missing. eleven, in total, then. Eleven people besides himself who were still alive. If this all was a dream he hoped he'd never wake up.
"Have you seen anyone else?" He asked tentatively, afraid to know the answer.
"Not too many others. A few people travelling solo. We try to take in anyone we can. We ran into a big group a couple weeks ago. That's when we picked up those three," he pointed out three girls who were curled up together all dressed in similar red and white outfits. "They were the last we saw, though. What about you?"
"No one," the words nearly stuck in his throat and he wasn't sure if it was dehydration or despair that caused it.
"At all?"
He couldn't make himself reply so he just shook his head.
"But it's been almost a year."
"I haven't really been keeping track."
"It's important to keep track of time. To do anything, really, like we used to do. So we don't forget who we are," the angel recited like it was scripture. Clearly it was not his concept, but one he had heard over and over and had taken to heart.
"Says who?"
"He does." He gestured over the where the devil had rematerialized, this time carrying bags laden with food.
"Is he your leader?" It felt like a weird question to ask. He could remember (no matter how faintly) a time when people didn't need leaders, not ones they knew personally at least.
The angel shrugged and looked equally uncomfortable with the notion. "Yeah. He used to be in the army or work for the CIA or something. When we started out there was just five of us, three of us were from New York and the other two came down from New England. A man named Finn kind of lead us then. But he got really sick. After," the angel bit his lip, suppressing the memories of whoever this Finn person was. "It was just the four of us and we were struggling pretty bad. Then we ran into him," he jerked his head back to the group where the devil was distributing his loot. "He knows how to survive, that's for sure. And he takes care of us. Even if some of his methods are a little unorthodox."
He had so much more to ask but he wasn't sure it mattered. Not in light of the fact that New York was a wasteland too. It had been his one hope. A foolish one, he knew. There was nothing that made New York special, not any more.
"I'm Kurt Hummel, by the way," the angel said, placing an indicative hand on his chest and holding the other one out.
Tears clouded his eyes as he held out a trembling hand and grasped Kurt's hand. A shred of humanity he never thought he'd see again. "Blaine." He licked at his chapped lips. "Blaine Anderson." He smiled. He had a name again.
"Well, Blaine Anderson. Would you like to meet the rest of the group?" Kurt helped him to his feet and let him loop his arms over his shoulder because he was still unsteady on his feet.
Everyone was overly invested in what they were doing, over concentrating on their food or stretching out their muscles after a night of sleeping on the hard ground. It was like they were trying too hard to pretend as if they were uninterested in Blaine. Except for one little girl of about who actually did seem to be more interested in unsticking her Gushers.
"Everybody, this is Blaine Anderson. Blaine, this is everybody." Everybody looked up from their tasks and offered him varying degrees of a acknowledgment. Although they were all sitting close together there were very distinct groups. Kurt pointed out the first one. It was made up of three guys, two of whom were older than Blaine and one a couple of years younger. "Over here we have our second in command, Wes. Jon, our pack mule. And Puck. He's in charge of the business side of things."
"Business?" Puck didn't look very much like a businessman to Blaine, with his weird Mohawk like haircut and work boots. Not to mention the fact that, he was hardly the definition of a man. Probably 15 at the oldest.
"Lock picking and looting, mostly. And the other unsavory tasks the bossman doesn't want to deal with," Puck spoke up bearing his teeth in what might have been a smile. "I always knew being the ultimate badass would pay off."
"He's as harmless as a puppy, really," Kurt assured him, gently tugging his arm and leading to the next group.
"Yeah. One of those Dobermans that could kill you in your sleep," Puck called after them. Kurt rolled his eyes and shook his head in amused tolerance.
"And over here were have the Unholy Trinity." He waved his arm with a flourish like some kind of tour guide. "Quinn, who seems to think she's our mother."
"Keep up with that attitude and you won't be getting any supper, young man," she admonished playfully. "If you ever need anything just ask me," she said turning to Blaine. "You're way too skinny."
Blaine blushed and shuffled his feet. He hadn't had a need to care about his appearance for so long, had barely noticed when his pants started slipping down his hips, he had just cinched his belt tighter and carried on. And it wasn't like he had the ability to eat a full meal, or really anything with nutritional value.
"And this is Santana," Kurt interrupted his thoughts. "She's our Minister of Defense. And Britt."
"Hello," Blaine muttered at the sweet looking blonde.
Kurt leaned closer to him and, under his breath, said "She doesn't talk."
"Oh."
His response seemed to immediately offend the Latina. "That a problem, twinkletoes?" She had sat up straighter and her back was tense like she was just waiting to launch herself at Blaine and claw his face off with her surprisingly long fingernails.
"No problem. I just didn't know." Without thinking he looked over to Kurt for reassurance. And, once again, Kurt was rolling his eyes.
"Want to show Blaine your job, Britt?" He asked kindly. It wasn't quite condescending but that, combined with Santana's lack of response made Blaine wonder if she wasn't a bit simple in addition to being mute.
Eagerly Brittney was digging through the red backpack at her feet and eventually emerged with one of those day-by-day tear away calendars clutched in her hands. Proudly she tore away the top page and carefully placed it back in the bag before holding it out to Blaine for inspection. On the left was a picture of a cat tangled up in yarn and the right proclaimed it to be the 18th of October.
"We think that's the right date, give or take a week or two," Kurt explained, noticing how Blaine's eyes lingered over the number at the top of the page. "We had to do a bit of guess work. In the first couple weeks it didn't seem that important to keep track. And it seems to match up with the weather. Although who knows how accurate that is anymore."
Handing back the calendar, he smiled at her again and this time she returned it. She had a very nice smile, he decided, like she wanted to be friends with everyone. Certainly much more welcoming than Santana's.
"Pleasure to meet you ladies," Blaine said, bowing his head to them.
They looked at each other for a minute before breaking out into a burst of giggles as Quinn cooed, "Such a gentleman, this one."
Before Blaine had time to come up with a reply he was being directed past a sleeping man towards the little girl he had noticed earlier and a young woman. "Who's that?" He asked, pointing at the man.
"Mike. He's the resident doctor. He had the night shift last night."
"Night shift?"
"Guard duty. Not really necessary, but you never know. We would've never run into Quinn's group without it. They were about a mile away and Puck saw the beams of their flashlights. Once, very early on, we got attacked by wild dogs. Last time we had fresh meat." Kurt sighed longingly.
Blaine couldn't even remember the last time he had real meat. Right after, probably, before the electricity went out, while he was still at home waiting.
"Who's this?" The little girl asked. "He's a cutie, but his eyebrows are too big."
His hand immediately shot to his forehead in a pointless attempt to try and hide his, apparently, offensive eyebrows.
"Sorry about that," the young woman said. "Sugar's normally a sweetheart but she can be a little crass. Bas encourages it, of course. I'm Rachel by the way," she held out her hand for him to shake.
"Blaine."
"Nice to meet you, Blaine." Her smile looked like it wanted to be genuine, but she couldn't quite muster the strength to get it there.
"Rach, believe it or not, was my babysitter when I was little. Then-"
"I was engaged to his half-brother, Finn" she said quietly. It explained the tightness behind her eyes. They had all lost someone, if not everyone. But she and Finn beyond all odds had made it out together and to lose him after all that must have been devastating.
"I'm sorry." It was such a feeble thing to say, went nowhere near far enough to encapsulate the magnitude of everything.
Rachel it seemed appreciated it nevertheless. "Thank you."
"Rachel's job is to keep us culturally educated."
"And Sugar, does she have a job?" Blaine asked.
Sugar pouted and tossed her hair back. "Of course I do. Everyone has a job."
Kurt crouched down to her level and poked her stomach playfully. "And what's your job, sweetie?"
"To stay young forever!" She proclaimed throwing her hands in the air and spinning around so her skirt ballooned out around her.
"Quite right, pumpkin. And you're doing a great job of it."
"She seems… vibrant" commented Blaine as they walked away.
Kurt laughed, a little tinkle of a sound that made Blaine's heart feel lighter. "She grows on you. Bas spoils her rotten. He found her outside of Baltimore, curled up between her mother and father and really sick. Have her tell you the story some time. It will melt your heart. He had to raid a hospital and he didn't leave her side even for a minute."
"Don't feed into her silly delusions," a voice drawled from behind them. Blaine whirled around to find himself, once again, face to face with the devil. "She was unconscious the whole time. For all she knows Santa Claus saved her."
"Bas, this is Blaine," Kurt said his easy going demeanor immediately changing to something more wary and formal. Blaine half expected him to snap to attention.
"It certainly is a pleasure," The devil all but purred. "I'm Sebastian Smythe."
"B-blaine Anderson," he managed to stutter out because Sebastian's smile was stunning and directed right at him. Awkwardly he offered out his hand and tried not to shiver when Sebastian's thumb gently caressed the back of it.
"Good to see you made it through the night. You are way too sexy to be a corpse." He winked and it was over the top and should have been ridiculous but it still had Blaine blushing like a school boy.
By no stretch of the imagination was he sexy. He might've been, once. The girls at Crawford certainly seemed to think he was, even if half of them were taller than him. But now? He was emaciated, dirty, and hadn't slept properly in months.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Kurt asked tersely. Although there seemed to be a level of begrudging respect between the two men a lot of hostility seemed to exist there as well. After nearly a year of no human contact such animosity seemed pointless to Blaine. But maybe that was part of their campaign to stay human. Not only did they assign pretty pointless jobs to each other, they feel obliged to like each other just because they were one of the handful of people left on the godforsaken earth.
"Funnily enough, I do. And I never would have remembered without your help, princess. Thank god you're in my life." He readjusted the straps of the backpack slung across his shoulders. How Blaine hadn't noticed it before he didn't know. Unless he was very much mistaken it was Lisa Frank and about 5 sizes too small for him. "We're having a meeting after Sugar's lesson. Try not to get too involved in the meantime. Plenty of time for that afterwards."
As Sebastian walked away, smirking and whistling an obnoxiously jaunty tune, Blaine concluded he was very right in thinking he was the devil.
So yeah. There's that.
Not sure what the updating will be on this. SMH is my baby and gets first priority, but this story is eating away at my brain sooo you never know.
Reviews are lovely and so is your face. :-)
