FIC: No Home Left to Run From
Title: No Home Left to Run From
Pair: Klaine
Includes: mpreg, zombie apocalypse!
Word Count: 1240
Summary: Blaine and Kurt make it back to the Anderson house to check on his family and gather supplies. (And wishes come true.)
Earlier part to Contraception Should Be Considered a Staple
From the gleempreg Writing Challenge, of course.
Blaine dropped down onto his bed and stared around his room in disbelief. Somehow, in his mind, he’d expected it to be as torn apart and destroyed as everything else in his home town. Instead, it seemed that no one had been here in ages. The only thing missing from his house was some pictures, that he could determine.
A groan interrupted his thoughts, and Blaine whipped his gun up into the air. Chastising himself, he let the gun drop a little and headed into the hallway. He poked his head into his sister’s room to find Kurt bent over a Disney Princess trashcan.
“Oh, no.”
Blaine moved to his side and rubbed his back. His heart fluttered nervously at the thought of Kurt getting sick. He might be infected, and Blaine was dead sure that he wouldn’t be able to put a bullet in Kurt’s brain if that were the case.
“How do you feel?”
Kurt gave him a dark look and leaned against the bed. “How... How old was your sister again?”
Blaine chuckled. “19.”
“You’re kidding.” Kurt looked around the room and pressed his palm flat to his stomach. “I need... to check my temperature. I don’t think I was bitten, but what if it goes airborne?”
Blaine scrunched up his brows and terror crept up his throat, causing him to choke, just a little. He touched Kurt’s sweaty forehead, but felt no fever. Actually, Kurt seemed a little cool, a little clammy.
“What if it’s just the flu?” Blaine suggested.
Kurt laughed weakly. “Now would be the perfect time for that, hm?”
Blaine handed Kurt his gun, just in case and headed for the bathroom. “We should try to find some more weapons, while we’re here.”
“Good idea. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Do I get a cake?”
Blaine returned with the thermometer, and Kurt stuck it under his tongue. Blaine sat beside him and reached over to rub his upset tummy gently.
“You’d have the fever by now, wouldn’t you?” Blaine whispered.
“I don’t...” Kurt wrinkled his nose and looked up.
Blaine’s eyes widened, and he reached over to touch Kurt’s hand, so he wouldn’t fire the gun. Most of her face was gone, but Blaine would recognize her anywhere. Those black curls, the lingering smell of Chanel amongst the decay, and that silky lavender nightgown with the lace and floral detailing at the neckline, which Blaine had given her for Christmas last year.
Kurt rose and grabbed the crossbow he’d set by the bed. “Get out of here, Blaine.”
“Mama...” His voice sounded young and small to himself.
She hissed and shuffled toward them, gaining speed.
“Get out!” Kurt ordered, tossing Blaine the gun.
Horrified by the sight of her, Blaine backed away until he was in the hallway. He put his hands over his ears, but heard the shot, the wet sound of arrow sinking through her skull and into her brain.
There was more retching, but Blaine couldn’t bring himself to go back into that room with the remains of his mother’s remains. Kurt came out a moment later, wiping his arrow on a sparkly pink hand towel. He looked at Blaine as he put it back into bow for later use.
“Let’s just get what we came for and get out of here. This isn’t your home anymore, honey.”
Blaine was silent as they returned to his room and found a duffle bag and a back pack. Together they sorted through his clothes, grateful that they were roughly the same size and would be able to share for as long as the clothes held together, and stuffed in whatever would be useful.
For a moment, Blaine stopped to stare at his shelves. Cluttered full of books and video games. Things that seemed less than useless to them now. He reached up and took a worn but well cared for bunny rabbit. Kurt watched as he put it into the bag carefully.
“Um.” Blaine searched for some kind of explanation, but Kurt just came over to kiss his cheek.
“Kitchen. Food.”
Blaine nodded. It was safer to gather food in homes. More people flocked to stores, and therefore, there was a greater chance of there being walkers there. They’d found that out a few days after the outbreak had hit, and they’d gotten themselves trapped in a produce cooler.
In retrospect, Blaine sort of wondered if it would have been a good idea to use condoms... not that they’d had any means whatsoever of getting them in that moment.
A few hours later, they were sitting together in a stolen Volkswagen (so stolen because Kurt said it had good gas mileage) on the outskirts of town with their bags and weapons easily accessible. They’d gotten gas from other cars and stowed the extra in the backseat. Soon, they would have to hit the road and get as far from the city as possible. It wasn’t good to be in densely populated areas at night.
Kurt reached back into their backpack full of food and pulled out a tiny box of candles and a couple of Twinkies.
“Where did you get that?” Blaine asked incredulously.
Kurt stuck a candle on top of one of the Twinkies and lit it. “The kitchen. Your sister must have stashed them. They were in the cupboard. The candles were just in the kitchen drawer.” He held it up to Blaine. “To another year alive. Make a wish, babe.”
The image of his mother, lips torn away along with half of her face, her eyes cold and bloodshot, her clothes dirty and askew, flashed before Blaine’s eyes. He looked at Kurt, frowning worriedly at the paleness of his cheek.
He blew out the candle.
Kurt broke the Twinkie in half then and fed it to Blaine, who smiled a little when the cream got on his lips and Kurt had to wipe it off and lick the excess off of his fingers. Blaine started the car, checked to be sure that there was nothing in the backseat but their supplies and that the doors were all locked, and headed out onto the road.
When Kurt offered him the other half, Blaine shook his head. “You should eat it. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am,” Kurt admitted. He touched his stomach and shook his head. “Just still feeling a little queasy. That’s all.”
“Try it. Let the walkers know what it feels like to be puked on for once.”
Kurt chuckled and just let his head rest against the door. His eyes drooped, then shot open again almost immediately. He made a frustrated noise.
Blaine knew Kurt's heart was racing and ready. Fight or flight.
“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if I need you,” Blaine assured him. He reached over and brushed limp hair out of Kurt’s eyes.
Kurt closed his eyes again. “Mm. Let me know when... you need me to drive. It’s... it’s probably just stress, y’know. Stress. Upset stomach. You know.”
Blaine squeezed Kurt’s leg and tried to keep his eyes on the road. He didn’t really believe in superstitions or magic. He barely believed in God anymore. But he hoped that his wish came true, and that what ailed Kurt was something, anything, other than the virus that had destroyed everything they’d known all of their lives.
Next -> Chasing Ghosts
Pair: Klaine
Includes: mpreg, zombie apocalypse!
Word Count: 1240
Summary: Blaine and Kurt make it back to the Anderson house to check on his family and gather supplies. (And wishes come true.)
Earlier part to Contraception Should Be Considered a Staple
From the gleempreg Writing Challenge, of course.
Blaine dropped down onto his bed and stared around his room in disbelief. Somehow, in his mind, he’d expected it to be as torn apart and destroyed as everything else in his home town. Instead, it seemed that no one had been here in ages. The only thing missing from his house was some pictures, that he could determine.
A groan interrupted his thoughts, and Blaine whipped his gun up into the air. Chastising himself, he let the gun drop a little and headed into the hallway. He poked his head into his sister’s room to find Kurt bent over a Disney Princess trashcan.
“Oh, no.”
Blaine moved to his side and rubbed his back. His heart fluttered nervously at the thought of Kurt getting sick. He might be infected, and Blaine was dead sure that he wouldn’t be able to put a bullet in Kurt’s brain if that were the case.
“How do you feel?”
Kurt gave him a dark look and leaned against the bed. “How... How old was your sister again?”
Blaine chuckled. “19.”
“You’re kidding.” Kurt looked around the room and pressed his palm flat to his stomach. “I need... to check my temperature. I don’t think I was bitten, but what if it goes airborne?”
Blaine scrunched up his brows and terror crept up his throat, causing him to choke, just a little. He touched Kurt’s sweaty forehead, but felt no fever. Actually, Kurt seemed a little cool, a little clammy.
“What if it’s just the flu?” Blaine suggested.
Kurt laughed weakly. “Now would be the perfect time for that, hm?”
Blaine handed Kurt his gun, just in case and headed for the bathroom. “We should try to find some more weapons, while we’re here.”
“Good idea. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Do I get a cake?”
Blaine returned with the thermometer, and Kurt stuck it under his tongue. Blaine sat beside him and reached over to rub his upset tummy gently.
“You’d have the fever by now, wouldn’t you?” Blaine whispered.
“I don’t...” Kurt wrinkled his nose and looked up.
Blaine’s eyes widened, and he reached over to touch Kurt’s hand, so he wouldn’t fire the gun. Most of her face was gone, but Blaine would recognize her anywhere. Those black curls, the lingering smell of Chanel amongst the decay, and that silky lavender nightgown with the lace and floral detailing at the neckline, which Blaine had given her for Christmas last year.
Kurt rose and grabbed the crossbow he’d set by the bed. “Get out of here, Blaine.”
“Mama...” His voice sounded young and small to himself.
She hissed and shuffled toward them, gaining speed.
“Get out!” Kurt ordered, tossing Blaine the gun.
Horrified by the sight of her, Blaine backed away until he was in the hallway. He put his hands over his ears, but heard the shot, the wet sound of arrow sinking through her skull and into her brain.
There was more retching, but Blaine couldn’t bring himself to go back into that room with the remains of his mother’s remains. Kurt came out a moment later, wiping his arrow on a sparkly pink hand towel. He looked at Blaine as he put it back into bow for later use.
“Let’s just get what we came for and get out of here. This isn’t your home anymore, honey.”
Blaine was silent as they returned to his room and found a duffle bag and a back pack. Together they sorted through his clothes, grateful that they were roughly the same size and would be able to share for as long as the clothes held together, and stuffed in whatever would be useful.
For a moment, Blaine stopped to stare at his shelves. Cluttered full of books and video games. Things that seemed less than useless to them now. He reached up and took a worn but well cared for bunny rabbit. Kurt watched as he put it into the bag carefully.
“Um.” Blaine searched for some kind of explanation, but Kurt just came over to kiss his cheek.
“Kitchen. Food.”
Blaine nodded. It was safer to gather food in homes. More people flocked to stores, and therefore, there was a greater chance of there being walkers there. They’d found that out a few days after the outbreak had hit, and they’d gotten themselves trapped in a produce cooler.
In retrospect, Blaine sort of wondered if it would have been a good idea to use condoms... not that they’d had any means whatsoever of getting them in that moment.
A few hours later, they were sitting together in a stolen Volkswagen (so stolen because Kurt said it had good gas mileage) on the outskirts of town with their bags and weapons easily accessible. They’d gotten gas from other cars and stowed the extra in the backseat. Soon, they would have to hit the road and get as far from the city as possible. It wasn’t good to be in densely populated areas at night.
Kurt reached back into their backpack full of food and pulled out a tiny box of candles and a couple of Twinkies.
“Where did you get that?” Blaine asked incredulously.
Kurt stuck a candle on top of one of the Twinkies and lit it. “The kitchen. Your sister must have stashed them. They were in the cupboard. The candles were just in the kitchen drawer.” He held it up to Blaine. “To another year alive. Make a wish, babe.”
The image of his mother, lips torn away along with half of her face, her eyes cold and bloodshot, her clothes dirty and askew, flashed before Blaine’s eyes. He looked at Kurt, frowning worriedly at the paleness of his cheek.
He blew out the candle.
Kurt broke the Twinkie in half then and fed it to Blaine, who smiled a little when the cream got on his lips and Kurt had to wipe it off and lick the excess off of his fingers. Blaine started the car, checked to be sure that there was nothing in the backseat but their supplies and that the doors were all locked, and headed out onto the road.
When Kurt offered him the other half, Blaine shook his head. “You should eat it. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am,” Kurt admitted. He touched his stomach and shook his head. “Just still feeling a little queasy. That’s all.”
“Try it. Let the walkers know what it feels like to be puked on for once.”
Kurt chuckled and just let his head rest against the door. His eyes drooped, then shot open again almost immediately. He made a frustrated noise.
Blaine knew Kurt's heart was racing and ready. Fight or flight.
“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if I need you,” Blaine assured him. He reached over and brushed limp hair out of Kurt’s eyes.
Kurt closed his eyes again. “Mm. Let me know when... you need me to drive. It’s... it’s probably just stress, y’know. Stress. Upset stomach. You know.”
Blaine squeezed Kurt’s leg and tried to keep his eyes on the road. He didn’t really believe in superstitions or magic. He barely believed in God anymore. But he hoped that his wish came true, and that what ailed Kurt was something, anything, other than the virus that had destroyed everything they’d known all of their lives.
Next -> Chasing Ghosts