[fic]: Stand By Me
Title: Stand By Me
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Kurt/Finn, Santana, mentions of New Directions/Warblers.
Warning: Violence, zombies, character deaths, mentions of sex, language.
Summary: Everything changes when the world goes to hell.
:-:
if the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall
and the mountain should crumble to the sea
no I won't be afraid
just as long as you stand, stand by me
:-:
Quinn lunged at Kurt's throat, teeth stained a gruesomely sweet pink color. He swung his baseball bat at her head, grunting as her skull crunched at the impact.
"Hurry!" He screamed at Finn, leaping over the quivering body of his former friend. "We need to go. Now."
"Give me a sec!" Finn shouted, fingers trembling as he picked the lock to Burt's shed. "Why didn't he ever fucking tell you where the key was?"
"I don't know!" Kurt shrieked, wielding his bat against the disfigured, animated corpse that was once Quinn's mother. "Why the fuck are the Fabrays in our neighborhood?"
"I don't know! A-ha!" Finn screamed in triumph, throwing open the shed door. "I got the rifles!"
"Then move!" Kurt hit Mrs. Fabray upside the head, watching as her neck snapped in an unsettling manner. She fell sideways, knocking over her daughter.
"Start the car!" Finn chucked the rifles into the backseat, keeping one for himself as he sat shotgun. Kurt revved the engine and floored it, screeching out of driveway. The Fabrays were lost in the dust.
Finn's phone rang, startling Kurt so badly he nearly ran into a lamppost. Finn chuckled darkly, then answered.
"Who's dead?"
"Morbid, Frankenteen."
"Santana…"
"Artie. We tried to save him, but he wasn't fast enough and neither were we."
Finn's heart dropped, and he was quiet for a few moments to respect his friend's memory. For once, Santana seemed to understand.
"Kurt just bashed Quinn's head in."
"So she's…"
"Yeah. And her mom."
"Damn. Even the pricks in Lima Gardens are getting infected. At least the virus doesn't discriminate."
"Not funny, San."
"It's the only way to cope, kid. You'll understand soon enough."
"I'm sorry about Britt."
"Yeah. Me too."
Finn closed his eyes, feeling tears well up. "At least she died quickly. And she didn't change."
"Her preserved humanity is the only thing keeping me sane at this point."
"She died a hero."
"You're not making me feel better, Hudson."
Kurt swerved, running down two zombies like it was nothing. He gave a sympathetic grimace towards the phone. "Put it on speaker, Finn."
Finn did as he was told, listening to Puck's gruff tones in the background.
"Who all's with you?" Kurt asked, driving through a more desolate part of town. They needed supplies and gas, and this seemed like the safest place to stop.
"Puckerman, Zizes, Tina, and Dave."
"Karofsky?" There was no malice in Kurt's voice. Past hurts seemed inconsequential when the world was on the verge of apocalypse.
"The one and only. Saved my life, actually. Kid's a douche, but his instincts are fantastic."
"Have you contacted Coach?" Finn did a double take. Why would they call Coach Sylvester?
"Bitch isn't answering. Shame, really. She seems like a good ally for this sort of thing."
Kurt looked grim. "If anyone can survive the apocalypse, it's her. Call again."
"Ay-ay, Captain Tight-Pants. Any word from the Hobbits?"
Finn and Kurt winced at the mutual nickname for their exes. "Blaine is with Jeff, Nick, and Wes right now. Apparently Thad came to school infected and took a chunk out of David's face. They're on the road as well." He paused. "I haven't heard from Rachel."
"Shame. We could use her screechy voice as a weapon against the brain-munchers."
It's a cruel joke for a missing, and possibly dead, friend, but it lightens the mood. Santana's right, anyways - humor is the only way to stay sane in war. And they are very much at war.
"Alright, we're making a pit-stop. Where are you guys?" Kurt asked, circling the gas station, making sure the coast was clear.
"We're at Puckerman's house. He wanted to check up on his family."
"And?"
"His mom was dragged out the front door by a horde of those creatures. And his sister saw it all from the linen closet. She's okay, no bites or scratches, but she won't stop shaking." There was a pause. "Scratch that - she can't stop shaking."
"I don't blame her," Finn muttered, a lump forming in his throat. "That's all I wanna do right now."
Something clicked in Santana's mind. "What about your folks? Have you heard from them?"
Kurt swallowed hard, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "They're dead."
"I'm sorry, Hummel. Really, I am."
"It's okay," Kurt said, jaw clenching. "They died saving us. We can mourn them when this is over. First we have to make sure they didn't die in vain."
Finn nodded solemnly, staring out the window at the empty parking lot.
"I like your attitude, kid. Always knew you were a tough bitch."
"Well, queers like us have to survive somehow," Kurt mused, parking the truck right at the entrance to the gas station. "Look, Satan, we have to go. We'll call you when we're back on the road."
"Stay safe, boys. No, you know what, screw that. Stay alive. Safe isn't an option anymore."
"The same to you, Lopez. For once in my life, I hope to hear your snarky drawl very soon."
"Watch it, Ladyface."
"Talk to you soon."
Kurt hung up, grabbing his baseball bat from the backseat. "You ready, Finn?"
The taller boy nodded. "As I'll ever be."
They jumped from the truck, racing towards the entrance. Nothing came their way. Relieved, the two boys disappeared into the gas station.
"Alright, Finn, you grab those jugs of gas - as many as you can - and get them into the truck. I'll get provisions." They split up, working quickly and efficiently to stock up on supplies. Finn raced in and out, gun always loaded, hauling an inhuman number of gas jugs each time. Kurt filled canvas shopping bags full of food, flashlights, water bottles, car repair kits, rain ponchos, medical supplies, and anything else that he deemed appropriate. Each time a bag was filled, Finn would add it to his load, storing it safely in the truck.
As Kurt circled the store, looking for anything else that could be of use, Finn burst through the door, locking it with shaking fingers.
"They're here!" He shouted, pulling Kurt behind a shelf. "They smelled us."
"Damn," Kurt muttered, gripping his baseball bat. "This could've an easy getaway."
"Dude, our life has turned into a horror movie," Finn said, chuckling darkly. Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "There's never an easy getaway."
"If we get away at all," Kurt murmured, eyes suddenly sad and very blue. He turned to Finn, looking the most vulnerable he'd been since the Outbreak. "If I fall behind, for any reason, or get caught, or bitten, or anything - leave me. Save yourself. Please."
"No way, dude!" Finn cried, suddenly very aware of the bodies pounding on the windows and scratching at the door. "We're in this together! I'm not leaving you, ever."
"Don't be a fucking hero, Finn," Kurt hissed. "I'm slow - you know that. If something happens, don't try to save me. Get in the car and drive and find Santana and Blaine and Rachel and Coach Sylvester and survive." He paused to let a tear slide down his cheek. "Someone in this family has to."
Suddenly Finn's lips were crashing into his own, large hands grasping at his face. Finn pulled back, eyes dark and brave. "No. No way. We're a team. Kurt and Finn, Finn and Kurt - we're brothers, we're friends, we're…" His voice died.
"So much more," Kurt whispered, a new color filling his cheeks.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," Finn admitted, now just blatantly ignoring the moaning and screaming of the zombies.
"Nothing like a good apocalypse to bring up undisclosed desires," Kurt teased. Finn smirked.
"Come on. We've got some survivin' to do."
Together they rose, as the windows finally gave way and the animated bodies crawled in, thirsting for flesh and blood. Finn raised his rifle, and Kurt prepped his bat.
"Kill anything in your way and run for the car. Whoever gets there first drives. Keys are in the ignition." Kurt sounded eerily professional as he gave orders. Finn was in awe at the boy's commanding presence.
"If we survive tonight, we're making good use of those condoms I saw you slip into the food bag," Finn promised, shooting down the closest zombie. "Do zombies sleep?"
"How would I know?" Kurt shrieked, knocking the brains out of one zombie who looked eerily like Mr. Schue. "And yes, I completely agree with that first idea. In fact, you better be ready for a few rounds of mind-blowing sex, Finn Hudson," he shouted, dodging out of a zombie's way. "'Cause God knows if we're going to survive this war, and you're hot."
Finn laughed, blasting a clear path to the door. He grabbed Kurt's hand and they ran, giggling like children playing tag. Kurt jumped into the driver's seat, Finn in shotgun, and they pulled into the road, hitting as many zombies along the way as they could.
As the car sped down the abandoned highway, Journey blasted from the speakers, intermingled with the laughter of two brave, broken, beautifully in love teenage warriors.