Drop Dead Gorgeous- Chapter 1
Title: Drop Dead Gorgeous
Author: marvystoop
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Blaine/Kurt
Spoilers: None
A/N Beta'd by mothergoddamn so blame her. Troll her.
Summary: It's been a week since Kurt Hummel died and Blaine is having a hard time dealing with his grief and thoughts of what might have been. Luckily, he may have been granted another chance. Zombie Fic.
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Chapter 1
Blaine Anderson sat on the edge of his bed. He wiped a hand over his face and gave a shaky breath. Another bad dream, he thought. The moon shone through his window and swept over his face, casting Blaine’s reflection in his mirror opposite. The hollow stare of a nightmare looked back at him.
No matter how hard he tried to push it away, every night the same dream. The same horror replaying what had happened less than a week ago, like an old black and white home movie going round in his head.
5 Days Ago
Blaine and Kurt had decided to grab some dinner at Breadsticks after school. Blaine’s reasoning’s had been he wanted to keep Kurt company after Pavarotti had kicked his proverbial budgie bucket. Of course that wasn’t the only reason Blaine wanted to spend more time with him.
Look, Blaine he thought to himself There’s no need to turn this into the Enigma Code. Just tell him how you feel.
“Sanity to Blaine, can you hear me?” Kurt asked, a small smile on his lips. God, Blaine wanted to kiss them. Well, after he’d wiped off the crumbs, that was.
Blaine blinked. “Sorry, my mind’s miles away”
“Care to reel it back in? I’m one opera away from wearing a black veil for a week, and there’s only so many times I can wear an entirely black outfit to school.” Kurt sighed sadly. “There are far too few shades of black, you know.”
Blaine laughed. “Okay, then. Consider it anchored back in to place.”
Kurt smiled at him, but Blaine caught the worried look in his eyes. Was that because of him? Had Blaine upset him? Oh, God! What if Blaine had blown his chance? Kurt didn’t like him! This was awful, how could Kurt loathe him like this? What had he--?
“Blaine? Why are you thumping the table?”
“What?” Blaine looked down at the napkin crumpled in his fist. “Oh, I-“ Blaine looked up and meet Kurt’s eyes. “Well, you know.”
“No.”
“No, what?” Blaine asked.
“No, I’m not psychic. I know you wish I could read your mind, alas!”
Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay! You’re right. You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes--”
“Here’s your food!” The waitress called out brightly. She placed the plates down on the table while Blaine contemplated the moral implications of socking a girl in the jaw.
"I could gladly go a lifetime without eating another Tater Tot, but damn they are good." Kurt said before putting one in his mouth.
Blaine gave a quick smile and carried on "Like I was saying.” His mind wasn’t playing ball.
Leaving all the work to his heart and mouth. Not the greatest of team workers. “What I mean to say is--- Your tribute to Pavarotti?" Nothing. Blank. Nada. Everything he wanted to say didn’t come close to how powerfully he felt about the other boy. Biting his lip, he stared down at his hands as if they held the answers. Turns out he didn’t know the back of them that well either. Where had that bruise came from? Stop getting distracted, Blaine!
“What you mean to say is?” Kurt said through a full mouth. “Go on?”
Damnit! Why was this so hard? All he wanted to do was tell Kurt just how much he had moved him and--- Wait! That was it! That was perfect.
“Kurt, you--- Kurt?” A strange expression had morphed over Kurt's face. He looked confused and then suddenly panicked. “Kurt? Are you okay?"
Kurt started motioning his hands in front of his throat and looked like he was trying to cough. He was edging his way out of the booth in hysteria.
“Kurt?! Oh, my God.” Blaine spun to the table next to him. "He's choking!"
He had no idea what to do! Why didn't he know the Heimlich manoeuvre? Everyone knew it. All he had to go on was what he had seen on television! But his feet wouldn’t move. His arms couldn’t reach. His body was completely frozen.
Kurt's expression looked incredibly pained and nobody else was rushing to help. It was the fear in his eyes that finally got Blaine moving. Something clicked inside and he was racing to the other boy. Blaine quickly positioned Kurt in front of him. Arms under the ribs, right? Or was that over them? No time to contemplate anything he started pumping his fists into the boy’s chest. Nothing was happening. Nothing was happening! In what felt like slow motion, he could feel Kurt’s struggles weakening and his body began to grow limp in Blaine’s arms.
“Come on, come on!” Blaine begged as he continued to try and dislodge the fucking Tater Tot.
“Move, kid!” A voice demanded at his side. The chef. He grabbed Kurt from Blaine’s grasp and began to administer the manoeuvre himself. “Spit it up! Spit it up!”
Blaine stood aside, his hands clutching tightly at his hair. He felt a sting in his eyes and realized he was crying.
It has been too long. Too long.
Kurt turned his head slightly and locked his eyes with Blaine's. The terror in them was paralysing. Blaine hissed at the sight. And then that soft blue-green was gone, leaving in place the whites of Kurt's eyes as they rolled back into his head. His body went limp.
"No--" Blaine rushed forward to Kurt as the man began to gently lay him down. "Don't stop! What are you doing?" He tried to grab at Kurt.
"There's nothing you can do, son,” The chef said softly. “He's gone."
Blaine sat in the booth in a daze. He didn't even acknowledge the sympathetic looks of other patrons, the buzzing of conversation. He just stared at Kurt’s empty seat. Clenching and unclenching his hand.
“The paramedics?” The waitress said. " She put a gentle hand on Blaine's shoulder. “They are taking your friend away.” Her voice was a little raw, as if she’d been crying. Why? Kurt is his friend, not hers. Oh, no. Kurt was his friend. Was.
He turned his head slowly, watching through the window as they loaded Kurt into the ambulance. Kurt's body into the ambulance.
“Where are they taking him?”
She smiled sadly. “The hospital, darling.”
Blaine's vision swimmingly met with the woman's gaze "The hospital? That's where they’ll make Kurt better. Oh! He forgot his school bag." He lazily motioned to the bag on the floor. "He has homework he needs to do tonight."
He stood up and let himself be guided from the restaurant into the ambulance. He climbed up inside and sat next to the stretcher, seeing it but not. “You’ll make him better?” he asked the paramedic. “You’ll make Kurt okay again.”
The man shook his head. He didn’t answer.
*
Blaine could barely remember the aftermath. The doctors had checked him over and treated him for shock. His parents came to pick him up and he had spent the next two nights at the family home.
He didn’t even remember seeing Burt, Carole or Finn at the hospital. The third day he had asked to be taken back to school. Back to walking the halls that Kurt had walked, to the places he had sat, to the windows he would sometimes catch Kurt looking out of and singing to nobody in particular when he had thought he was alone. Everything he touched, saw or knew was covered in the memories of Kurt. Why couldn’t Blaine have recognised his feelings sooner? Before it was too late?
Fighting back tears, he lay down on his bed into a foetal position and seamlessly fell into a deep sleep. It was a short one. It has to be less than two hours later when he was jerked awake, a sweat on his brow. It wasn’t the dream this time. No, it was something else. He looked around the room, found nothing amiss and sighed.
It was still dark but he needed a walk. He needed air. He needed to stop staring at these four fucking walls.
Throwing back the covers, he picked up some discarded jeans and a sweater from the day before, quickly dressing. He made his way out of his room, making sure to walk the opposite way.
That meant he didn’t have to walk past Kurt’s room.
When Blaine was outside, a chill hit him immediately; he wrapped the fleece tight around himself and carried on walking following the path that led to the park. He kicked at a stone and stared up at the moon. It was beautiful. Not for the first time he wished Kurt was next to him to share the view. He had a feeling he’d be thinking that for the rest of his life.
A rustling sound came from a bush nearby, but Blaine shrugged it off as an animal and carried on. Why hadn’t he acted quicker? Why had he froze like that? Would those few minute have saved Kurt? Would that have been enough to save the boy he loved?
The boy he loved. There. The one thing he couldn’t admit to himself when Kurt was alive. Fat lot of good it did now.
“Ouch! Stupid rock!”
With a start Blaine swung round to where he’d heard the voice. Maybe it’s an animal with Tourettes...
“Who’s there?”
He heard more rustling and then something dark fall sideways out of the bush to the ground.
Blaine took a step back “Are you okay, Sir? Or, ma’am?” Obviously a drunk. A pint-size drunk. Wine coolers. Even the Elementary kids were getting their hands on them these days.
A forced deep voice responded, “It’s Sir! And yeah-- Er, I’m just dandy, thanks! You can go away now.”
With a cautious glance round, Blaine approached the fallen man slowly “Are you okay? Here let me help you up at least?”
“No! Stay over there! I’m good.” The man made to sit up a bit “See? Like an athlete! Just please don’t come any closer.”
Blaine stepped onto the grass and sniffed the air. A foul stench made him check his shoes to make sure he hadn’t stood in anything nasty. All clear. But the smell was getting stronger the further he walked on.
He grimaced while bending slightly to offer a helping hand “It smells like something died out here.”
The figure slowly turned its head to look at Blaine.
“Yeah, I kinda did” Kurt said.
Author: marvystoop
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Blaine/Kurt
Spoilers: None
A/N Beta'd by mothergoddamn so blame her. Troll her.
Summary: It's been a week since Kurt Hummel died and Blaine is having a hard time dealing with his grief and thoughts of what might have been. Luckily, he may have been granted another chance. Zombie Fic.
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Chapter 1
Blaine Anderson sat on the edge of his bed. He wiped a hand over his face and gave a shaky breath. Another bad dream, he thought. The moon shone through his window and swept over his face, casting Blaine’s reflection in his mirror opposite. The hollow stare of a nightmare looked back at him.
No matter how hard he tried to push it away, every night the same dream. The same horror replaying what had happened less than a week ago, like an old black and white home movie going round in his head.
5 Days Ago
Blaine and Kurt had decided to grab some dinner at Breadsticks after school. Blaine’s reasoning’s had been he wanted to keep Kurt company after Pavarotti had kicked his proverbial budgie bucket. Of course that wasn’t the only reason Blaine wanted to spend more time with him.
Look, Blaine he thought to himself There’s no need to turn this into the Enigma Code. Just tell him how you feel.
“Sanity to Blaine, can you hear me?” Kurt asked, a small smile on his lips. God, Blaine wanted to kiss them. Well, after he’d wiped off the crumbs, that was.
Blaine blinked. “Sorry, my mind’s miles away”
“Care to reel it back in? I’m one opera away from wearing a black veil for a week, and there’s only so many times I can wear an entirely black outfit to school.” Kurt sighed sadly. “There are far too few shades of black, you know.”
Blaine laughed. “Okay, then. Consider it anchored back in to place.”
Kurt smiled at him, but Blaine caught the worried look in his eyes. Was that because of him? Had Blaine upset him? Oh, God! What if Blaine had blown his chance? Kurt didn’t like him! This was awful, how could Kurt loathe him like this? What had he--?
“Blaine? Why are you thumping the table?”
“What?” Blaine looked down at the napkin crumpled in his fist. “Oh, I-“ Blaine looked up and meet Kurt’s eyes. “Well, you know.”
“No.”
“No, what?” Blaine asked.
“No, I’m not psychic. I know you wish I could read your mind, alas!”
Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay! You’re right. You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes--”
“Here’s your food!” The waitress called out brightly. She placed the plates down on the table while Blaine contemplated the moral implications of socking a girl in the jaw.
"I could gladly go a lifetime without eating another Tater Tot, but damn they are good." Kurt said before putting one in his mouth.
Blaine gave a quick smile and carried on "Like I was saying.” His mind wasn’t playing ball.
Leaving all the work to his heart and mouth. Not the greatest of team workers. “What I mean to say is--- Your tribute to Pavarotti?" Nothing. Blank. Nada. Everything he wanted to say didn’t come close to how powerfully he felt about the other boy. Biting his lip, he stared down at his hands as if they held the answers. Turns out he didn’t know the back of them that well either. Where had that bruise came from? Stop getting distracted, Blaine!
“What you mean to say is?” Kurt said through a full mouth. “Go on?”
Damnit! Why was this so hard? All he wanted to do was tell Kurt just how much he had moved him and--- Wait! That was it! That was perfect.
“Kurt, you--- Kurt?” A strange expression had morphed over Kurt's face. He looked confused and then suddenly panicked. “Kurt? Are you okay?"
Kurt started motioning his hands in front of his throat and looked like he was trying to cough. He was edging his way out of the booth in hysteria.
“Kurt?! Oh, my God.” Blaine spun to the table next to him. "He's choking!"
He had no idea what to do! Why didn't he know the Heimlich manoeuvre? Everyone knew it. All he had to go on was what he had seen on television! But his feet wouldn’t move. His arms couldn’t reach. His body was completely frozen.
Kurt's expression looked incredibly pained and nobody else was rushing to help. It was the fear in his eyes that finally got Blaine moving. Something clicked inside and he was racing to the other boy. Blaine quickly positioned Kurt in front of him. Arms under the ribs, right? Or was that over them? No time to contemplate anything he started pumping his fists into the boy’s chest. Nothing was happening. Nothing was happening! In what felt like slow motion, he could feel Kurt’s struggles weakening and his body began to grow limp in Blaine’s arms.
“Come on, come on!” Blaine begged as he continued to try and dislodge the fucking Tater Tot.
“Move, kid!” A voice demanded at his side. The chef. He grabbed Kurt from Blaine’s grasp and began to administer the manoeuvre himself. “Spit it up! Spit it up!”
Blaine stood aside, his hands clutching tightly at his hair. He felt a sting in his eyes and realized he was crying.
It has been too long. Too long.
Kurt turned his head slightly and locked his eyes with Blaine's. The terror in them was paralysing. Blaine hissed at the sight. And then that soft blue-green was gone, leaving in place the whites of Kurt's eyes as they rolled back into his head. His body went limp.
"No--" Blaine rushed forward to Kurt as the man began to gently lay him down. "Don't stop! What are you doing?" He tried to grab at Kurt.
"There's nothing you can do, son,” The chef said softly. “He's gone."
Blaine sat in the booth in a daze. He didn't even acknowledge the sympathetic looks of other patrons, the buzzing of conversation. He just stared at Kurt’s empty seat. Clenching and unclenching his hand.
“The paramedics?” The waitress said. " She put a gentle hand on Blaine's shoulder. “They are taking your friend away.” Her voice was a little raw, as if she’d been crying. Why? Kurt is his friend, not hers. Oh, no. Kurt was his friend. Was.
He turned his head slowly, watching through the window as they loaded Kurt into the ambulance. Kurt's body into the ambulance.
“Where are they taking him?”
She smiled sadly. “The hospital, darling.”
Blaine's vision swimmingly met with the woman's gaze "The hospital? That's where they’ll make Kurt better. Oh! He forgot his school bag." He lazily motioned to the bag on the floor. "He has homework he needs to do tonight."
He stood up and let himself be guided from the restaurant into the ambulance. He climbed up inside and sat next to the stretcher, seeing it but not. “You’ll make him better?” he asked the paramedic. “You’ll make Kurt okay again.”
The man shook his head. He didn’t answer.
*
Blaine could barely remember the aftermath. The doctors had checked him over and treated him for shock. His parents came to pick him up and he had spent the next two nights at the family home.
He didn’t even remember seeing Burt, Carole or Finn at the hospital. The third day he had asked to be taken back to school. Back to walking the halls that Kurt had walked, to the places he had sat, to the windows he would sometimes catch Kurt looking out of and singing to nobody in particular when he had thought he was alone. Everything he touched, saw or knew was covered in the memories of Kurt. Why couldn’t Blaine have recognised his feelings sooner? Before it was too late?
Fighting back tears, he lay down on his bed into a foetal position and seamlessly fell into a deep sleep. It was a short one. It has to be less than two hours later when he was jerked awake, a sweat on his brow. It wasn’t the dream this time. No, it was something else. He looked around the room, found nothing amiss and sighed.
It was still dark but he needed a walk. He needed air. He needed to stop staring at these four fucking walls.
Throwing back the covers, he picked up some discarded jeans and a sweater from the day before, quickly dressing. He made his way out of his room, making sure to walk the opposite way.
That meant he didn’t have to walk past Kurt’s room.
When Blaine was outside, a chill hit him immediately; he wrapped the fleece tight around himself and carried on walking following the path that led to the park. He kicked at a stone and stared up at the moon. It was beautiful. Not for the first time he wished Kurt was next to him to share the view. He had a feeling he’d be thinking that for the rest of his life.
A rustling sound came from a bush nearby, but Blaine shrugged it off as an animal and carried on. Why hadn’t he acted quicker? Why had he froze like that? Would those few minute have saved Kurt? Would that have been enough to save the boy he loved?
The boy he loved. There. The one thing he couldn’t admit to himself when Kurt was alive. Fat lot of good it did now.
“Ouch! Stupid rock!”
With a start Blaine swung round to where he’d heard the voice. Maybe it’s an animal with Tourettes...
“Who’s there?”
He heard more rustling and then something dark fall sideways out of the bush to the ground.
Blaine took a step back “Are you okay, Sir? Or, ma’am?” Obviously a drunk. A pint-size drunk. Wine coolers. Even the Elementary kids were getting their hands on them these days.
A forced deep voice responded, “It’s Sir! And yeah-- Er, I’m just dandy, thanks! You can go away now.”
With a cautious glance round, Blaine approached the fallen man slowly “Are you okay? Here let me help you up at least?”
“No! Stay over there! I’m good.” The man made to sit up a bit “See? Like an athlete! Just please don’t come any closer.”
Blaine stepped onto the grass and sniffed the air. A foul stench made him check his shoes to make sure he hadn’t stood in anything nasty. All clear. But the smell was getting stronger the further he walked on.
He grimaced while bending slightly to offer a helping hand “It smells like something died out here.”
The figure slowly turned its head to look at Blaine.
“Yeah, I kinda did” Kurt said.