Not Keen on Tuesdays, Either (4/?)
Title: Not Keen on Tuesdays, Either.
Author: mothergoddamn & rebness
Pairing/characters: Blaine/Kurt, Santana/Brittany, Rachel/Finn, Kurt/Karofsky (one-sided)
Warning: DARK!FIC. Character death. Violence.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When the students of McKinley High are staring death in the face, who will live to tell the tale?
Previous:
1/ 2/ 3
Not Keen On Tuesdays, Either
Chapter 4
Blaine gripped his knees tight and focused on keeping his breathing low and quiet. Focused on not screaming at the top of his lungs for help. He suspected that the only person who would come running would be holding a gun.
He was blocked off. He was alone. And some person he had barely ever spoken to was wandering over to him with the sole intention of putting a bullet in his forehead. Hell, at Dalton all he had ever got was a tardy slip on one dark day. A harsh laugh barked out of him before he could stop it and he covered his mouth with his palm. He could feel the nervous laughter burning away in his chest, bubbling to the service. Think of sad things! Think of sad things.
You know, other than getting shot in the face.
Oh, God. Okay, okay. Kurt. Think of Kurt's face. Kurt's eyes. Kurt's skin. Kurt on the floor, with a gaping wound--
Yeah. Blaine didn't feel like laughing anymore.
Are they nearer? he wondered, as the footsteps resumed. He cringed against the locker, as if he could push himself against the metal. In the eighth grade, Blaine had admitted to liking N*Sync and Jack Boman had locked him in a locker for being a 'total girl'. Now? Blaine felt pretty damn nostalgic for the confinement of that locker. At least there’d have been a door.
The steps stopped. And the sound of a handle been lifted up and down began. Seconds ticked by and Blaine's chest burned, he'd been holding his breath since the tapping against the flooring had recommenced. A slam, a body against wood and then screams. The shooter was in the classroom, the one that had Blaine had been refused entry into.
Sneaking a glance round the corner, Blaine could see that the hallway was now clear. This was his chance!
Standing on shaky legs. Blaine took a step out into the hallways, a moan coming out of its own accord. Inside the room came a mixture of shouts, breaking glass and shrill screams. But no shots.
This was it. With a deep breath, Blaine took to the hallway, running as if his life depended on it.
Well, it does!
Worst first day ever.
*
Finn strained to listen for the sound of footsteps, wondering what he could even do if he rounded this corner and some nutjob was holding a gun pointed at his face. He could see that the door to Spanish clash was wide open, so presumably the students had fled.
What if the shooter’s still in there? he asked himself as he moved closer. This is dumb, Finn! Go and run away, or something.
Someone was speaking in there, in hushed tones. Despite his misgivings, he moved closer to the door, listening. It was female. He wondered if he could take a chick with a gun.
'Don't worry,' she was saying. 'I won't leave you by yourself. I'll stay with you until someone comes.'
Finn frowned, fighting the urge to make his way into the classroom. He didn't know what was behind there yet. He just knew the voice was familiar, but not Rachel. He couldn't risk it, and no one had said if the shooter was a chick or not. Girl power and all that.
'--Pillsbury's going to be so sad. I don't have to tell her if you don't want to. I can just tell her that you went to live on the farm with my dog. My mom says that it’s really nice there.’
Brittany.
Finn made his way through the door, his eyes darting around the room. 'Brittany,' he hissed, seeing the girl sitting beside a pair of prone legs of some student. Shit. Was that a body? Who was it? Shit, Finn really didn't need to see a body right now. He was just supposed to grab his girlfriend, his brother and go and sit in Sonic or something until it all calmed down.
'Finn?' Brittany turned around and wiped at her eyes, her face deathly pale. ‘Finn, something bad happened.’
He crossed towards her quickly. 'Listen, we need to go. We need to--' He'd forgotten about the body. His eyes cut down to the figure on the ground.
Oh.
Oh. It was Mr. Schue.
He staggered back against the nearest desk, scraping his leg against it. Foul acrid liquid filled Finn's mouth and he shuddered as the hot bile was spraying from his mouth through his fingers. He tried to tear his eyes away from the corpse, but he couldn’t.
'It’s all right,’ murmured Brittany. ‘He’s just gone to live on a farm, Finn.’
‘No, he hasn’t!’ he protested through his fingers.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t real! It can’t be real! What the fuck, stop staring at him, you dumb-- how can it be real? How can it?
No, he couldn't handle this. Not Mr. Schue. After he'd done so much for him, fuck, after he had filled the hole that his father had left -- and now, yet another person just gone from his life!
It’s not real!
'Brittany,' Finn gasped out, wiping at his mouth and avoiding the man on the floor, pretending that red gleam wasn't there. 'We need to find the others and get out.'
'I don't think he should be by himself, Finn.'
'Brittany! He's--' dead. 'We can't help him. We have to help the others who’re trapped.'
Schue’s eyes were wide open, staring. He winced at that glassy stare. You’re dead! Don’t judge me for this, you can’t. I’ve failed, I know, I’ve failed.
'Wait,‘ said Brittany, ‘what do you mean others?' She frowned, her thumb stroking over the back of Mr. Schue's hand. Finn wondered if it was cold yet. He felt the bile come rushing up again and swallowed it back with a grimace.
'Artie's okay,' he rushed to reassure her. 'But Rachel is here somewhere,‘ he choked. ‘And Kurt. Santana and--'
'Santana?' Brittany's eyes grew wide. 'Is she hurt?'
'I don't know.'
Brittany patted Mr. Schue’s chest. 'We have to find her. It’s totally what Mr. Schue would’ve wanted. Remember, he made us sing that Queen song about friends? And Santana got all weird on me and just kept glaring at me for like the entire song--’ Reaching out, she stood and grabbed hold of Finn's hand, squeezing tight. He shuddered with gratitude as she leant forward and locked her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug. It took all of his strength not to break down and cry.
When she pulled away, he let her lead him, clutching at her hand meekly as she guided him out of the classroom. He felt like he was in that story about Orpheus and your idiocy: he must not look back. If he didn’t, maybe it wasn’t real.
Brittany had a knack of saying the right thing on very rare occasions, as if she was aware of something he wasn’t. She glanced back at him as they passed over the threshold of the classroom. ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to look.’
She reached past him and shut the door.
-
Chapter 5
Author: mothergoddamn & rebness
Pairing/characters: Blaine/Kurt, Santana/Brittany, Rachel/Finn, Kurt/Karofsky (one-sided)
Warning: DARK!FIC. Character death. Violence.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When the students of McKinley High are staring death in the face, who will live to tell the tale?
Previous:
1/ 2/ 3
Not Keen On Tuesdays, Either
Chapter 4
Blaine gripped his knees tight and focused on keeping his breathing low and quiet. Focused on not screaming at the top of his lungs for help. He suspected that the only person who would come running would be holding a gun.
He was blocked off. He was alone. And some person he had barely ever spoken to was wandering over to him with the sole intention of putting a bullet in his forehead. Hell, at Dalton all he had ever got was a tardy slip on one dark day. A harsh laugh barked out of him before he could stop it and he covered his mouth with his palm. He could feel the nervous laughter burning away in his chest, bubbling to the service. Think of sad things! Think of sad things.
You know, other than getting shot in the face.
Oh, God. Okay, okay. Kurt. Think of Kurt's face. Kurt's eyes. Kurt's skin. Kurt on the floor, with a gaping wound--
Yeah. Blaine didn't feel like laughing anymore.
Are they nearer? he wondered, as the footsteps resumed. He cringed against the locker, as if he could push himself against the metal. In the eighth grade, Blaine had admitted to liking N*Sync and Jack Boman had locked him in a locker for being a 'total girl'. Now? Blaine felt pretty damn nostalgic for the confinement of that locker. At least there’d have been a door.
The steps stopped. And the sound of a handle been lifted up and down began. Seconds ticked by and Blaine's chest burned, he'd been holding his breath since the tapping against the flooring had recommenced. A slam, a body against wood and then screams. The shooter was in the classroom, the one that had Blaine had been refused entry into.
Sneaking a glance round the corner, Blaine could see that the hallway was now clear. This was his chance!
Standing on shaky legs. Blaine took a step out into the hallways, a moan coming out of its own accord. Inside the room came a mixture of shouts, breaking glass and shrill screams. But no shots.
This was it. With a deep breath, Blaine took to the hallway, running as if his life depended on it.
Well, it does!
Worst first day ever.
*
Finn strained to listen for the sound of footsteps, wondering what he could even do if he rounded this corner and some nutjob was holding a gun pointed at his face. He could see that the door to Spanish clash was wide open, so presumably the students had fled.
What if the shooter’s still in there? he asked himself as he moved closer. This is dumb, Finn! Go and run away, or something.
Someone was speaking in there, in hushed tones. Despite his misgivings, he moved closer to the door, listening. It was female. He wondered if he could take a chick with a gun.
'Don't worry,' she was saying. 'I won't leave you by yourself. I'll stay with you until someone comes.'
Finn frowned, fighting the urge to make his way into the classroom. He didn't know what was behind there yet. He just knew the voice was familiar, but not Rachel. He couldn't risk it, and no one had said if the shooter was a chick or not. Girl power and all that.
'--Pillsbury's going to be so sad. I don't have to tell her if you don't want to. I can just tell her that you went to live on the farm with my dog. My mom says that it’s really nice there.’
Brittany.
Finn made his way through the door, his eyes darting around the room. 'Brittany,' he hissed, seeing the girl sitting beside a pair of prone legs of some student. Shit. Was that a body? Who was it? Shit, Finn really didn't need to see a body right now. He was just supposed to grab his girlfriend, his brother and go and sit in Sonic or something until it all calmed down.
'Finn?' Brittany turned around and wiped at her eyes, her face deathly pale. ‘Finn, something bad happened.’
He crossed towards her quickly. 'Listen, we need to go. We need to--' He'd forgotten about the body. His eyes cut down to the figure on the ground.
Oh.
Oh. It was Mr. Schue.
He staggered back against the nearest desk, scraping his leg against it. Foul acrid liquid filled Finn's mouth and he shuddered as the hot bile was spraying from his mouth through his fingers. He tried to tear his eyes away from the corpse, but he couldn’t.
'It’s all right,’ murmured Brittany. ‘He’s just gone to live on a farm, Finn.’
‘No, he hasn’t!’ he protested through his fingers.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t real! It can’t be real! What the fuck, stop staring at him, you dumb-- how can it be real? How can it?
No, he couldn't handle this. Not Mr. Schue. After he'd done so much for him, fuck, after he had filled the hole that his father had left -- and now, yet another person just gone from his life!
It’s not real!
'Brittany,' Finn gasped out, wiping at his mouth and avoiding the man on the floor, pretending that red gleam wasn't there. 'We need to find the others and get out.'
'I don't think he should be by himself, Finn.'
'Brittany! He's--' dead. 'We can't help him. We have to help the others who’re trapped.'
Schue’s eyes were wide open, staring. He winced at that glassy stare. You’re dead! Don’t judge me for this, you can’t. I’ve failed, I know, I’ve failed.
'Wait,‘ said Brittany, ‘what do you mean others?' She frowned, her thumb stroking over the back of Mr. Schue's hand. Finn wondered if it was cold yet. He felt the bile come rushing up again and swallowed it back with a grimace.
'Artie's okay,' he rushed to reassure her. 'But Rachel is here somewhere,‘ he choked. ‘And Kurt. Santana and--'
'Santana?' Brittany's eyes grew wide. 'Is she hurt?'
'I don't know.'
Brittany patted Mr. Schue’s chest. 'We have to find her. It’s totally what Mr. Schue would’ve wanted. Remember, he made us sing that Queen song about friends? And Santana got all weird on me and just kept glaring at me for like the entire song--’ Reaching out, she stood and grabbed hold of Finn's hand, squeezing tight. He shuddered with gratitude as she leant forward and locked her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug. It took all of his strength not to break down and cry.
When she pulled away, he let her lead him, clutching at her hand meekly as she guided him out of the classroom. He felt like he was in that story about Orpheus and your idiocy: he must not look back. If he didn’t, maybe it wasn’t real.
Brittany had a knack of saying the right thing on very rare occasions, as if she was aware of something he wasn’t. She glanced back at him as they passed over the threshold of the classroom. ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to look.’
She reached past him and shut the door.
-
Chapter 5