Notes: I have good news and bad news for you guys. The good news is: this is the final book! In the next six chapters, at least most of your questions will be answered! However, the bad news is: after I've published the next interlude on Saturday, I have to take a hiatus of either one or two weeks. I have an exam and three essays due at the end of this month and it's very unlikely I'll be able to find the time to finish writing/editing the last few chapters, and I don't want to leave you with a cliffhanger. If I have a burst of energy this week, I'll be able to continue publishing after just a week's break; otherwise, you're gonna have to wait until I've done my exam. I'm so sorry, especially since I've had such lovely readers and reviewers. (Thank you to themuse19 for the rec!)

Also, this is when the fic starts becoming violent. There will be death (neither Kurt nor Blaine's, but I'm not spoiling further than that), as well as more mental torture and some aftereffects of it.

BEFORE I WAKE
BOOK TWO
THE END OF EVERYTHING

chapter xiii

Kurt scrambled to his feet and looked around. He was stunned to see that the landscape was different – the sky had been growing darker when he'd last been there, darker as Blaine grew more lethargic – but now, now the place was almost unrecognisable, and it definitely didn't help that Kurt could barely see ten feet in front of him through the twilight-dark sky and thick mist. Whereas before when the Lake had been beautiful and so clear Kurt could see to the bottom, now the water as murky, and Kurt didn't want to look too closely at whatever was floating in it; the grass beneath his hands and knees grew in dull brown patches, and the dirt was dry and cracked; if Kurt squinted, he could just about make out the rocks, but either the mist was playing tricks on him or the very silhouette of the rocks had changed shape. Kurt realised he was probably seeing this world for what it really was.

Kurt swallowed hard and slowly stood up. His legs almost gave away again but he managed to stay upright. He tried to control his breathing – slow, deep, steady breaths, like when he did yoga – to try and steady his heartbeat.

And his quick, shallow, panicking breaths had carried through the mist, and Kurt wanted to make as little noise as possible. This wasn't the place where he and Blaine had spent hours having cannonball competitions and making jewellery from grass in lieu of absent flowers; who knew if there was anything dangerous out there now?

He couldn't see a single sign of Blaine, not even as his eyes adjusted to the fog. He bit his lip. "Blaine?" he whispered, and then he called again at the top of his voice. His voice, Blaine's name echoed all around him, high and thin and eerily echoing; Kurt froze and held his breath, but there wasn't a single noise in response. Still, he didn't want to hang around in this spot for much longer – just because he couldn't hear anything, that didn't mean nothing was coming.

To the castle, then, he decided. After all, if Blaine wasn't by the Lake, the castle was the only place left. Blaine had never wandered far when everything was fine, and no matter how long it had taken Kurt to get here again, no way would Blaine have just gone for a stroll when the place looked like this.

Any other alternative didn't bear thinking about.

It took Kurt some time to figure out the right direction in which to walk. He had to follow the edge of the Lake until the undergrowth became impossible to move through just to make sure the marks in the fog were actually the rocks and not his imagination, and then he had to move slowly to keep the distance and direction from the rocks straight.

The forest was easily the most different and frustrating change. The trees were so tall they blocked most of the already dim lighting, and most of them were pines and it seemed that even in a supernatural world evergreens didn't die; but still, there were lots of damaged and dangling branches, some branches that had fallen right off the trees, bare branches from oak trees which caught on Kurt's clothes and skin and hair, and marks that Kurt definitely didn't want to look very closely at.

It wasn't only dead trees that tore Kurt's skin either; the undergrowth was wild and thick and almost impossible to navigate through. Kurt could only hope he was still heading in the right direction, because Kurt's only choices were to take his time and keep his clothes relatively intact or go quickly and hurt himself. (The fact that he could feel pain was more than a little worrying.) The forest's only saving grace – not that it really counted – was that the further away from the Lake Kurt got, the lighter the mist became, and so too did the damp chill slowly fade.

He lost track of time as he walked. If it weren't for the different levels of thorns from the bushes – some tore through his trousers, others pricked at his elbow – he would think he was barely moving at all. He knew the castle was well within a single night's walk from the Lake, so he couldn't have been unconscious for very long so far. He wondered if his dad had been contacted yet and guilt landed heavily in his stomach.

He had just . . . dropped. Kurt didn't know exactly how he'd got here – obviously, it had something to do with that woman from the hospital, at this point he wouldn't be surprised if the chanting had been some kind of spell – but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he had one moment been fit and healthy, and the next he had been unconscious. The rest of the Dalton boys, and maybe even the children, had probably freaked out. Jeff undoubtedly would have, given that they were in a hospital. But that also meant he was literally surrounded by people who could, at the very least, put his loved ones at some ease.

Kurt's final appearance here was infinitely more preferable than Blaine's; better to just faint in a hospital than fall into a coma due to extensive injury from a car accident. Of course, that didn't answer the questions of why Kurt was now in this place permanently whereas before it had just been in his sleep; or why it had been so lovely to begin with and grown more horrifying as Blaine had grown weaker; or why Kurt had been unable to access here after Blaine's real body had had to be connected to life support.

It didn't take an idiot to realise questions were connected somehow. Kurt just wished he had the answers.

He had barely any warning – a crunch of dead leaves and broken branches, harsh breathing – before he was crashed into the ground. He landed heavily on his arm and cried out. Bucked and twisted his body because there was something on him, hard and long and smelling of rotting meat, and though it seemed to weigh barely more than Brittany it was somehow everywhere, curling all around him.

A moment of searing pain in his jaw. Something trickled down his neck. With a yell, Kurt pushed up with some unknown strength and staggered to his feet, throwing the creature off him.

It's face was sunken and grey; it's eyes wild, sharp teeth and thin lips wet with red. Two arms and hunched shoulders and concave chest little more than skin, bones and taught, twisted muscles.

The thing dove forward again, snarling. Kurt ducked and brought up his arm to catch across its neck. It whined as it stumbled back but quickly gained its footing and came after Kurt again, and again Kurt reacted without thinking, pushing his arm out and up. Something cracked. The thing exploded, covering Kurt's front with a fine layer of dust.

Kurt coughed, using the inside of his blazer to wipe his face with shaking hands. And then he threw up.

Everything ached – the arm he'd landed on and subsequently used to defend himself, his shoulder, his back, his hand, his stomach, his lungs, his jaw where he'd been bitten. Even the tiny scratches from the branches and thorns seemed greater as the adrenalin died down.

He wished he were back at the Lake. Even muddy, he would rather be dirty than covered in evidence that he'd killed something.

Bile burned Kurt's throat as he threw up again, and tears burned his eyes as he sobbed. He buried his face in his blazer, hoping to muffle some of the sound – and stem the blood flow from his cheek – because he knew there was no way he could survive another attack. In fact, he knew he should keep moving. The faster he got to the castle, the safer he would – probably – be. But he wasn't even sure he was moving in the right direction anymore, and he'd just killed something, even though it in was self defence, and he couldn't – stop – crying!

Pull yourself together, he thought harshly. You're no good to Blaine if you don't stop crying and get moving!

Kurt didn't know how long it took him to gather himself up. Long enough for the acrid taste in his mouth to fade, for his knees to creak and complain when he managed to stand, for his pains to fade into a dull throb. He was probably lucky another one of those . . . things hadn't come along, or at least had passed him by. The sky hadn't changed at all, as jarringly empty as it always had been.

But eventually, he pushed forward once again. His legs were weak and his head was stuffy and his neck and shirt were covered in blood, but Blaine needed him, and he wasn't going to let him down again.

End notes: Spoiler: the thing is not a zombie. Your mind my have jumped there because of grey flesh, snarling humanoid and biting, but there are no zombies in this fic. Next chapter is a good'un! ;)