Author's Note: Just a firggin' roll. I feel sorry for any of my hardcore fans.

Sumamry: Only one thing sticks to Claire's mind when Steve dies

Rating: Kplus. Kinda nasty


Sticky

By: Mazzie May

Sticky.

That's the first thing that came to mind as her hands reached his shoulders, trying to shake him. Some sort of slime was leaking out of his pores like sweat. It made him look a little yellow. But it was thick and warm and made a small pop noise when her hands came down on it. It oozed its way in between her fingers, dribbling over her gloves, slowing as it traveled down her arms, clinging to fine hairs, thick globes rolling off at her elbow. The drops made loud smacks as it hit the moldy cement flooring.

Her knees hurt, the chunks of rubble digging against her jeans. A piece of the broken iron bar fence that Steve had destroyed was lying heavily on her lower leg, making her lose feeling. But all she could think was Sticky.

She shook him a little at first, breathing his name. His head bobbled, that was all. She shook him harder, his shoulders so slick her hands slid a little. The only response she got was a wet, peeling noise, like when you spend a few hours on a plastic covered couch or chair in hot weather and shorts, then standing. His back being pulled away from the wall. She said his name harsher, desperately, spit and mucus, hacked up just moments before when she tried to catch her breath, flinging from her lips, slapping his collar bone.

Nothing. Steve was doing nothing. Nothing by being sticky. The realization was stuck in her throat, something she couldn't bear to swallow. When it broke through the knot there, it spread down her front, like someone had slashed her neck and the blood was just running. It was hot, searing and she couldn't swallow, couldn't breath. She lost the ability to sit up right, and fell, forward, his body being pushed back up against the wall, stationary slime drops suddenly set in to motion, traveling down his face, torso and arms.

Her body stopped falling when her forehead connected with the nape of his neck, putting her in an awkward angle that ceased her movements. It was in her hair now, whatever it was, she could feel it against her scalp and hair line, matting her bangs to his skin and hers. Welding her to a dead boy.

He was cold under the lukewarm film that covered his naked body. It was spreading from her hairline down her cheek, near her nose, over her lips, down her chin. She needed to breathe. But she didn't know how, the lump in her throat was tight lodged deep. It hurt and black was dotting at the edges of her vision. She needed to breathe. Claire did the only thing she could think to break the hold on her throat.

She cried.

It stung at first, the prickling behind her eyes, and she was a little worried that whatever was on her face would get into her mouth, but the frigged, mildew filled lung full of air seemed to be worth the risk. Her tears didn't mix with the unknown substance that his corpse was protruding, but instead just rolled off it, like drops of water on liquid-proof clothing. Her tears didn't make it far down her face; the cold freezing them before they even passed her lips.

Her face and lungs and chest and head burned. Her back and arms and legs were sore. Her hands and feet were numbing.

But Steve was just sticky.


Author's Note: Man, that was kinda nasty, wasn't it? Yeesh. Honestly, though, I like this kind of detail.

R&R Please.