Disclaimer – I still own nothing. You still shouldn't sue me. Seriously.
Note – This actually contains no spoilers for Funeral. I actually explain why in the chapter. Instead, this is a gag chapter. Nothing in it is to be taken seriously. Seriously.
READ & REVIEW ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
The Raisin Girl and ElizaKat100 – Every chapter I have an absolute favorite review, and these two totally tied for it for 9, lol.
Nini the Electrocuted Sheep – I know, I spent the entire week torturing myself over whether Chapter 9 would be the chapter that broke canon or not, and I finally decided not because I wanted to see what would happen into the last couple of episodes. I at least wanted to get them started down the path, though, because not being able to do any Kurtofsky was driving me crazy.
M, jykellhj7, , RoseBelikov'at', LizzyPoodle, the pink post-it, johngirlwalton, Angie38, KurtofskyoverKlaine, jbfan1987, and nicolethecrazyone – Woo, I love you all, guys! I'm still blown away by how much love you show me! Keep reading and reviewing if you will please, it's a much needed stress reliever! Season 2 finale tonight, wooo!
Chapter 10
The crime scene was a bloody mess. People gathered around it, trying to peek past the police tape, leaning as far as they could without the gorgeous female officers guarding it beating them back with their batons. Dave and Santana stood on the edge, surveying the scene.
"Any thoughts?" Dave asked, glancing at the blood-soaked alley.
"Yeah. Whoever did this is one sick son of a bitch."
"Helpful."
"You asked."
They approached the scene, flashing their badges at the officers. They met up with the police woman in charge of the scene.
Dave once again flashed his badge at her. "I'm Agent David Karofsky and this is Agent Santana Lopez, FBI."
The blond shook their hands. "Detective Quinn Fabray. It wasn't easy to get Lieutenant Sylvester to admit we needed this help, but I'm glad we finally managed it. She hates to admit we're in over our heads, but…" she looked back at the scene, making a face.
"Let's take it a step at a time, Detective," Dave nodded. "Let's start with the murder itself."
They approached the body, or rather what was left of it. It had once been a young man, but was now in at least four pieces, face disfigured. The removal of limbs wasn't clean, as evidenced by the amount of blood splatter.
"It had to have happened late, when no one was around," Detective Fabray talked as they reviewed the scene. "No witnesses, at least none that have stepped forward. Blood splatter and lack of drag marks suggests he was killed here. The coroner reported that he was likely torn through with a power tool, probably something you could easily find in most kinds of workshops. Cause of death, loss of blood. Poor bastard was still alive when this happened."
"Personal. Someone really didn't like him," Santana commented, squatting next to the body. "Can't tell a thing about him. We have an ID?"
"Nothing. It's as if he were an insignificant throw-away character designed for no other purpose but to be a dead, faceless body in a dirty, blood-covered alley."
"So a plot device?"
"Good enough for me."
"Well, despite all that we do somehow have one connection," Detective Fabray pulled a notebook out of her back pocket. "We somehow know that he had some sort of relationship with another young man named Kurt Hummel. We haven't had a chance to interview him, so you can be our guests if you'd like."
"Thanks, Detective," Dave nodded, turning away from the scene. "Alright, I'll go question him. Santana, you look for more plot points. We've got exactly one chapter to get this parody done with."
"Why do I have to look for the plot points?"
"Because this is a Kurtofsky story. I'm kinda the –ofsky in that portmanteau."
"Fine. But I'm talking to my agent about this. I didn't sign up to be the insignificant partner character here."
()()()()()
Dave arrived at the residence of Kurt Hummel, a humble flat in an apartment building conveniently not far from the crime scene. It was cozy and warm looking. He knocked on the door.
The plate over the door's peephole pushed to the side and a voice emerged from the other side. "Yes?"
"Kurt Hummel? I'm Agent Karofsky of the FBI. I have some questions for you." Dave held up his badge to the peephole so it could be seen clearly.
After a moment the lock on the door scraped to the side and the door opened to the fashionable brunette. He stepped aside and allowed the agent inside. "Would you like something to drink?" he offered, leading them into the living area. Well, what Dave assumed was the living area. The entire place was basically one large room with a separate one he assumed was the bathroom, and a partitioned off area where he could see a large bed around the screen. One corner of the room had three manikins dressed in incomplete outfits and fabric strewn across every nook and cranny of it.
"No, I'm fine," he declined, sitting down on the sofa. "This isn't a social call." He looked the young man up and down. He wouldn't mind making it a social call, the boy was gorgeous.
Kurt nodded, sitting next to him. "What do you need to know about?"
"I'm not sure if you're aware of the murder down the block yet."
"Of course. This isn't a large town, word gets around quickly," the fashionable young man nodded. He fiddled with the necklace he wore.
Dave swallowed, trying to ignore how tempting his nape looked. He shook it off and continued. "I hear you were acquainted with the victim."
He nodded again, looking at the floor. "He was helping me with one of my projects. He had an excellent eye for color."
"I'm afraid all he's seeing now is red. Was your relationship with him strictly professional?"
Kurt looked startled. "Of course! He wasn't, you know… just because he was a man in the fashion industry didn't make him gay."
"I'm just asking some routine questions, no need to get defensive," the agent reasoned, eyes traveling down to the legs trapped within his tight black jeans. After a moment he cleared his throat, returning his attention to the matter at hand. "The way he was murdered was quite bloody and seemed very personal. Is there anyone you know who would have a grudge against him?"
Kurt smiled dryly. If he noticed Dave's wandering eyes, he made no indication of it. "Fashion is a cut-throat industry, detective. Any number of fellow designers could have had it in for him."
"Including you?"
The young man jumped a bit, staring at Dave as if the thought had never occurred to him that he could have been a suspect. "Me? No, no, I couldn't hurt a fly." He sounded sincere enough.
"Well then, does anyone come to mind?"
Kurt thought about it for a while, but then shrugged. "No one in particular."
Dave nodded. "Well, that's the last of my questions, Mr. Hummel."
"Please, call me Kurt."
"Alright, Kurt."
There was a bit of a pause where Dave thought of his options. He then pulled Kurt into him, locking lips with him.
Kurt made a bit of a surprised sound, pulling back in shock. "What are you doing? We just met!" he yelped.
"Please, this is a crime drama. Asking a guy to call you by your first name is pretty much the universal sign of 'take me, I'm yours'."
Kurt opened his mouth, likely to object, but then closed it again. He then shrugged. "Fair enough," he reasoned. He reached up and pulled Dave back down into another passionate kiss, pulling him down so they were lying with Dave on top of him. Their tongues wrestled and they struggled to remove each other's shirts without unlocking their lips. Conveniently, they were both wearing dress shirts, so they unbuttoned easily.
Just as Dave was starting to unsnap his pants, his cellphone went off shrilly. He untangled himself from a groaning Kurt, glaring at his phone.
"Well, you asked me to find a plot point," Santana's voice came from the other end of the line. "I found one. Agent Pierce apparently got some leads from the local alley cats."
"…please tell me you're joking."
"This is Brittany. You're really surprised?"
"Right. I'll meet you there."
"I didn't even tell you where I am."
"I'm your partner. I always know where you are."
"That's creepy, dude."
As he hung up the phone, Kurt latched onto his arm, pouting. "You can't go now…"
"I have to. Convenient plot elements will always appear just in time to keep the show from getting taken off air for inappropriate content. Don't worry, crime dramas always have time for hot, off-screen sex. And being as we haven't had it yet, you're pretty safe from any minor-character related death clichés."
"Fine." The young man leaned back, sighing. "Can I come too?"
"You're a civilian."
"Yeah, but you said I'm important enough to not die. That means I should be able to help with your investigation."
"Fine…" Dave groaned, pulling his shirt back on. He really didn't want to argue about this right now. "First sign you're in the way, though, and I'm sending you back here."
"Yes, sir!" Kurt saluted, chuckling.
Dave stared at him a moment before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into another crushing kiss. "Keep that up," he growled, "and we may have to turn the rating up on this show…"
"Oooh, exciting."
"Don't even think about it. We have work to do."
"Aww…"
()()()()()
Santana was tapping her foot impatiently when they arrived.
"Well, it's about damn time. I was starting to think… wait, what's he doing here?"
Dave looked at Kurt, who made a face at her. "He wanted to help. Don't worry, he has plot-armor."
"Fine. He better not get in the way."
"We've already been over this."
"Okay, look, we're gonna hafta speed this up. The writer's getting real tired, so she's gonna be hanging up her hat before this stupid parody's done if we don't resolve this quick. So Brittany's sources…"
"You mean the cats."
"…yes, the cats. They said it's Blaine Anderson."
"Oh, that's typical. Who wrote this crap?" Kurt muttered.
"I dunno. I think it makes perfect sense. That, and I can't wait to be able to arrest him. Or tackle him. Or shoot him. You know, depending on the level of resistance I get from him."
"You're such a jock!"
"Guys!" Santana snapped. "I'm sick of being a background character here, so let's just get this over with so I can, you know, get on with my damned life! And if you're so mad at each other over this, stop humping each other with your eyes already, it's freaking creepy!"
"Fine, you know where to find him?" Dave asked.
"No, but we'll probably know as soon as the scene changes."
"Sweet." There was a pause. "So… wanna get a coffee while the scene's transitioning?"
"Ooh, I'd love a coffee!"
"Sure, why not?"
()()()()()
"…but she said it wasn't very original, and I had to slap her. I mean, it was justified, right?"
"Totally justified, there was no need for…"
"Uh, guys? They faded back in too early."
"Great, the writer has a sense of humor."
"I think she's just trying to get our asses in gear. It's 3am and she wants to go to bed."
"This was a stupid idea anyway. Is anyone still reading this drivel?"
"It was this or risk making someone mad by handling Funeral wrong."
"What a puss."
"Yeah, you can say that, Dave, you weren't in that episode. I'm pretty sure it's the one episode that calls for mass lynching if it's done wrong in a fanfic."
"Dude, you're not supposed to say the 'f' word here!"
"Stop calling me dude, and what, you think the internet will explode if I break the fourth wall or something? This is a throwaway chapter anyway."
"We're so fired…"
()()()()()
The trio stood in front of Blaine's apartment, preparing themselves to finally confront the chainsaw wielding psycho.
"Well, this is it," Santana reached into her hair and pulled out a pistol. "You guys ready?"
"Really? She's gonna fall back on a gag used, like, four episodes ago?"
"Will you stop breaking the wall already?"
Dave pulled out his pistol as well. "If he sees us standing here, he might attack. Kurt, you knock on the door."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine."
"You notice we've said 'fine' a lot this chapter?"
"Shush!"
After a few knocks Blaine finally cracked the door open, blinking drowsily out. "…Kurt? It's three in the morning…" he muttered, rubbing a hand across his tired face. He looked at the pistol-packing duo with Kurt. "…is there something going on I should know about?"
"Blaine Anderson, you're under arrest for the murder of a throw-away character," Santana announced. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…"
"Wait, what?" he shook his head, looking confused. "What's this about murder?"
"Let me guess," Kurt sighed. "You haven't heard of the murder or own a chainsaw?"
"Chainsaw? Do I look like I spend a lot of time cutting down trees?"
"Or dismembering bodies? No, but they seem pretty convinced you did it."
A look of realization suddenly dawned on Blaine's face. "Oooh, I get it. We're doing a crime drama parody, right? Wait, I'm the killer? Who the hell wrote this?"
"Who do you think? Look, can you just let them arrest you so we can get this over with and Dave and I can have off-screen sex already?"
"Yeah, sure. The sooner we get this over with the sooner I can go back to bed. Just let me get my ja… wait, you and Dave?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, you knew this was a Kurtofsky fanfic from day one. It's just a matter of time. This is just to satisfy her need until she can make it fanfic-official."
"But we still have time until then!"
"Don't make this harder than it already is."
"But-!"
"Blaine, I will let Dave tackle you if you don't get your damned jacket and come on. This thing's already longer than I think she really thought it'd be."
Blaine looked at him, hurt. He then slumped in defeat. "Fine…" He grabbed his jacket and started to leave with them. However, when Santana went to handcuff him, he suddenly knocked her to the side and grabbed Kurt, dragging him off. "Not! See ya, suckers!"
"Dammit! He's getting away with my love interest!" Dave growled, running after them.
Santana jumped back up, smacking her pistol against the wall in frustration. "Try and catch up to them, I'll circle around!"
()()()()()
Kurt and Blaine finally stopped at the bottom of a stairwell, catching their breaths.
"Alright… I don't think he can… find us down here…" Blaine panted. He looked up to make sure Karofsky hadn't followed them down there, then pulled his head back in. When he did, he came face-to-face with a very unamused looking Kurt.
"Blaine…" he said it in a warning voice.
"I'm not giving you up yet!" Blaine snapped before Kurt could say anymore.
The McKinley student groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Blaine, you have to let it go. This is a Kurtofsky fanfic. That means you can't win, no matter what you do. Eventually Dave and I have to be a couple in here."
"But why?"
"Because you're boring, Blaine!" Kurt snapped. "You have little to no personality and a cliché backstory! You're all good looks and a nice singing voice, no substance! And you're nothing but agreeable in our relationship, there's no controversy! Any attempt made by the show writers to give you a personality fails miserably! You're just not an interesting person to be in a relationship with!"
Blaine stared at him before looking at the ground. "…oh."
Kurt sighed, putting a hand on his cheek. "Come on, Blaine. It's not your fault. We were pretty much doomed to relationship failure from the start. The fact that they had me give that whole 'I'll never say goodbye to you' line was dooming enough as it was."
"I know. I just… why Karofsky?"
"Dave has an interesting storyline. He's a three-dimensional character, unlike you. No offense. And we're different enough that the relationship would have realistic development to it. We're just too similar for it to truly work."
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs caused them to look up. Dave was quickly skipping steps to make it down to them.
"I'd ask you to turn yourself in, but you kind of deserve to get tackled at this point."
"…fine. The things I do for you."
Blaine stepped in front of the bottom of the stairs. "You'll never take me alive…" he said dully, just waiting for it.
A second later, Dave hit him like a brick wall. Kurt cringed as they both hit the ground. He then reached behind himself and pulled out a sign that said "8".
Dave looked up. "An 8?"
"Your follow-up was impressive, but you didn't quite stick the landing."
"It's kind of hard to stick a landing with someone who uses enough hair gel to grease a diesel engine underneath you." Dave held up a very dazed and battered Blaine.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, you've gotta take him in for murder and resisting arrest, and we have off-screen sex to have."
"Yes!" Dave pumped a fist, hauling Blaine up onto his shoulder.
()()()()()
"Gah!" Dave sat up in his bed, blinking and looking around. Well, that was… unique. "No more nachos and Criminal Minds before bed for me…" he muttered, rolling over and closing his eyes again.