Title: You Came For Me

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mild gore, language.

A/N: This is just a little something I cooked up after seeing an amazing graphic on tumblr. This is my first fanfic for kurt/blaine, so my apologies if it is not up to the standards the amazing klaine writers have already set. Depending on how it is received, I may write a sequel. Enjoy! =]

Based on this .com/post/6539503965 drawing over at reidavidson's tumblr.

Let me start by saying this: everyone has a secret. Some people may be hiding something small, like the fact that they accidentally ran over their neighbor's cat one morning and replaced it before anyone noticed. Other people might be hiding something pretty substantial, like their life as an undercover spy, or their business dealings with a mafia. The secret I happen to be hiding isn't even mine. Well, I suppose in a roundabout way it is, since it has certainly impacted my life, but the basic principle remains. The secret I am hiding is not about me – it's about Dalton Academy.

Dalton Academy is first and foremost a school, but that is not its only function. It doubles as a governmental safehouse and research facility. When we have lockdown drills, we have fucking lockdown drills. Dalton becomes virtually impenetrable. And should anyone actually manage to get inside, we'd be able to take care of ourselves. Unlike most schools, Dalton doesn't hold math, English, science, and history as its four core classes. Instead, every student is enrolled in hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, and strength and agility training. On top of those annual requirements, I've got AP Lit, AP Calculus, AP Chemistry, AP Italian, and Warblers. I spend my meager free time either with Kurt, or asleep. To say the least, I'm pretty busy. Which is why I completely missed the warning signs leading up to the Zombie Apocalypse.

The day started out ordinarily enough. I had finished my morning warmups, snatched a quick breakfast from the cafeteria in the form of two energy bars, and was so far quite pleased with my performance at the shooting range, despite my exhaustion. It was Friday, and I could not be more ready for the weekend. After I got some much needed sleep, Kurt and I were planning on spending the entire weekend together. Kurt had finally coerced his dad into allowing my overnight presence, albeit in the guest room, but still. It was progress.

"Nice shot, Anderson!" Sergeant Drake's pleased voice boomed through the room, and the other boys turned to look at my target. A tiny hole was now situated in between my target's eyes. A perfect kill shot.

"Thanks Sarge," I beamed.

Drake clapped a muscled hand on my shoulder before moving on to critique Thad's stance.

A wave of warmth swept over me – happiness mingled with pride. During my years at the Academy, Sergeant Jonathan Drake had become my closest confidant. We had met the very day I transferred, halfway through my freshman year. He had seen me - the small, scared gay kid, completely lost in this frightening new world - and he had taken it upon himself to mentor me. Under his guidance, I had surpassed the other boys with astonishing speed. At first he chalked it up to raw ability – natural talents that were finally being honed. But it wasn't long before he realized my true motivation. I lived on praise. Having always been overlooked by my mother in favor of my baby sister, and suffering through my father's disappointment in me, being praised by an adult was like oxygen to me. I thrived with it, and struggled without it. With this realization, Sergeant Drake – or Jon, as he let me call him when we were practicing one-on-one – was able to bring out the very best of my abilities. In the process, he became the father I'd never had.

After a few more rounds, the first period bell rang, and we all dispersed. I had English next, and I still had to run back to my dorm room to grab my blazer and my backpack. I sprinted lightly across campus, grabbing what I needed and jogging back to the commons. As I stepped inside, buttoning my blazer absently, I noticed a crowd of students huddled around one of the TV monitors, watching it with rapt attention. I walked over, curious, and stopped next to Wes.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

"The epidemic…" Wes breathed, eyes glued to the screen.

"What about it?" I frowned, adjusting my tie. The major news networks had been all agog lately over the most recent health scare, a virus that seemed to be taking the country by storm. Though this was quite unusual for May, I wasn't worried. This would probably just be a repeat of the H1N1 panic – unnecessary and stupid.

"It mutated, Blaine," Wes whispered shakily.

I looked at him sharply, "What do you mean 'mutated'?"

Wes pointed silently at the TV screen.

I turned slowly, suddenly apprehensive.

The headline flashing across the bottom of the screen froze me, filling my veins with ice.

VIRUS MUTATES – ZOMBIES OVERRUN LIMA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

Zombies.

The virus was creating zombies.

In fucking Lima, Ohio.

Lima.

Shit.

"Oh my God," I choked out, "Kurt's in Lima."

Wes looked at me sadly, "Oh my God, Blaine…I'm so sorry."

"What do you mean you're sorry?" I snapped at him.

"Blaine, McKinley is only twenty minutes from Lima Memorial. It'll be overrun in no time. Kurt won't stand a chance."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," I growled, turning on the spot and swiftly exiting the Commons, ignoring Wes calling after me.

I shed my blazer and backpack on the way to the armory, keeping only my phone, keys, and school ID. I swiped the latter through the card slot on the armory door, and the door swung open, allowing me entry. I grabbed a weapons belt off the wall, strapping it around my waist and sticking two Glocks in the twin holsters before palming a machete and exiting the armory, pulling the heavy steal door shut behind me. I sprinted back across campus towards the parking lot, unlocking my car quickly and clamoring in, setting the machete on the passenger seat before screeching out of the lot and speeding towards the highway. I fumbled briefly with my phone, hitting '1' on my speed dial as I turned onto the highway.

Ring.

Ring.

Come on, come on, come on, pick up.

Ring.

Ri-

"Blaine?"

"Kurt! Oh thank God!" I breathed in relief at the sound of his voice.

"Blaine, what's wrong?"

"Where are you right now?" I demanded, the needle on my speedometer approaching 90.

"I'm in class. Or, well, I was. I'm in the hallway right now. Why?" Kurt's voice sounded uncertain, "What's going on?"

"Kurt, what is the safest place in your school?"

"Um, probably the dressing rooms underneath the auditorium," Kurt replied hesitantly, "Blaine, you're scaring me. What's happening?"

"Kurt, listen to me," I commanded, switching lanes to avoid one of the few cars that was actually on the highway this morning, "Go to Principal Figgins and tell him that your school needs to go into an immediate, full-security lockdown. This is the real deal, highest priority. If he doesn't believe you, tell him to turn on the news. After that, I need you to get to those dressing rooms as fast as you can. Once you're there, I want you to barricade all of the entrances with everything at your disposal. Once you've done that - and this is very important Kurt – once you've barricaded yourself inside the dressing rooms you must not let anybody else in. I don't care if it's Mercedes, or Finn, or even Mr. Schuester. I don't care who they are. Do. Not. Let. Them. In. Do you understand?"

Kurt whimpered, "Blaine, I – "

"Do you understand, Kurt?" I barked out, clutching the phone tightly.

"Y-yes," Kurt gulped.

"Good," I breathed, "Now go to Figgins. The sooner your school is in lockdown the better. Call me back once you're barricaded. I'll contact your family and friends and let them know what to do. Don't worry about them. Right now, I want your first and only priority to be keeping yourself safe."

"Blaine! Blaine, what's going on!" Kurt cried, breath coming in gasps. I could hear the faint sound of shoes slapping against tile.

"The virus mutated. Lima Memorial is currently being overrun by zombies."

"WHAT!" Kurt squeaked, "Zombies! Are – are you serious! But – oh my God, Blaine, what are we gonna do!"

"Sh, Kurt, it's okay. Just do exactly what I told you, and you'll be fine. I promise."

"Oh, God. Blaine, what about my dad? And Carole? And the Glee club?" Kurt's voice took on a slightly hysterical edge, "I can't just leave them!"

"You can, and you will," I stated firmly, "I will take care of them, okay Kurt? All you need to worry about is keeping yourself safe."

"But Blaine, I can't just stay in the dressing rooms forever!"

"I know that. I'm coming for you. I'm on my way to McKinley right now. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Blaine, I'm scared," Kurt's voice was small, frightened.

"Courage, Kurt," I soothed him, "I know you can do this."

"Okay," Kurt whispered, "I'm outside Figgins' office now."

"Good," I praised, "Just stick to the plan and you'll be fine," I paused briefly, "I love you, Kurt."

"I love you, too, Blaine," Kurt choked out, and the line disconnected.

I wasted no time in dialing the next number, which was answered in only two rings.

"Hummel Tires and Lube, how may I help you?"

"Mr. Hummel? It's Blaine. I don't have time to explain this, but I need you to get Carole, go home, and lock yourselves in your basement."

"Blaine? What the hell are you talking about!"

"Lima Memorial is currently being overrun by zombies, and they're spreading through the community. You need to stay safe."

"Zombies!" Burt exclaimed, "Oh my God, I have to get Kurt!"

"NO!" I commanded, "I already gave Kurt instructions. He'll be fine. I'm going to get him right now, but I promised him that you would be safe. So please, work with me here."

"And what exactly makes you more qualified to go get Kurt?"

I chuckled coldly, "I'm currently in possession of two Glocks and a machete. And even though you've threatened to use a shotgun on me if I screw things up with Kurt, I've been informed that you don't, in fact, own a gun. I think that makes me more qualified."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"Just because you have weapons – and I'm quite curious as to how exactly you obtained them – does not mean you're qualified to use them."

"I'm a trained killer, Mr. Hummel," I stated bluntly, "I can assure you, I'm qualified."

Another pause, shorter this time.

"My son is dating a trained killer. Am I supposed to be comforted by this fact?"

"Right now? Yes," I responded honestly, "Because my number one priority is keeping Kurt safe, and I will stop at absolutely nothing to do so."

"Well. Good," Burt harrumphed, "But the second he's safe, you are going to give me a very long, very detailed explanation. You got that, kid?"

"Affirmative, sir," I smiled to myself, "Now go get Carole and stay safe. I'll come for you."

"You better," Burt grumbled before hanging up.

I whipped my car into the right-most lane before dialing the final number and setting the phone on the passenger seat, activating the speaker phone.

It only had to ring once.

"Who's this?"

"Puck, it's Blaine."

"Now's really not a good time, dude."

"I know. Where are you right now?"

"I'm in the boys' bathroom. Everyone's freaking the fuck out because our school's going into lockdown. I don't even know why, but whatever it is seems like serious shit."

"It is. How secure will your school be under a lockdown?"

Puck snorted, "Not secure. Our school's version of a lockdown involves locking the doors. That's it."

"Are your outside windows wire-reinforced, at least?" I inquired.

"Nope."

"Shit," I growled, "Alright, listen to me, Puck. I need you to get all of the Glee kids together, and find Coach Sylvester. You guys need to get into the Cheerios' bus and drive to Dalton as fast as possible."

"Wait, why?"

"Because you're all in danger right now, and the Cheerios' bus is bulletproof. It's an army-grade vehicle."

"Okay, first of all, how the hell do you know that? And second, no way is Coach Sylvester gonna help the Glee Club. That just doesn't happen."

"I'm dating a former Cheerio, Puck. That's how I know. And tell Coach Sylvester that this will be a favor for Porcelain. And that it's a matter of life and death."

"Shit," Puck swore, "Okay. I'll do it. Later, man."

I leaned over to the passenger seat and grabbed my phone, flipping it closed and stuffing it in my pocket before flooring it.

My speedometer went up to 170.

My car could handle 110. No problem.

By the time I arrived at McKinley High School twenty minutes later, the place was a mess. There was glass and blood and screaming and zombies everywhere. I parked my car quickly, grabbing my keys out of the ignition, and my machete off the passenger seat, stowing the latter in my weapons belt. Then I stepped out of the car, locking it quickly and stuffing my keys in my pocket. I grabbed a Glock from one of my holsters, took a steadying breath, and advanced into the school.

The chaos was even worse inside. I side-stepped my way quickly through the horrors in the hallways, shooting when necessary. All of the classroom doors were open, either busted off their hinges, or swinging listlessly back and forth. Bodies littered the hallway, screams of the wounded rent the air, and the haunting groans of the zombies permeated the already terrified atmosphere. I grimaced at the gory scene, shooting a zombie hovering over the body of a girl whose abdomen was ripped open, spilling bright, coppery blood onto the dirty hallway tiles. As I passed another shattered window, I heard a familiar voice cry out. I turned to glance out the window, spotting a bloodied Puck and Finn carrying the body of what looked to be Beci Jackson onto the Cheerios' bus. The door closed behind them and the bus started up. I caught a glimpse of Coach Sylvester in the driver's seat as it pulled speedily out of the parking lot.

My stomach clenched at that sight. The Glee club members had all obviously been injured to some degree. Glad as I was that Kurt was not among them, I didn't know what his current state was, exactly. But I did know one thing: the sooner I found him, the better.

I made my way quickly through the rest of the hallways leading to the auditorium, only to find the last hallway flooded with zombies coming in through the doors at the end of the hallway.

"Shit," I swore under my breath.

Upon seeing me, the gruesome creatures advanced quickly, moaning eerily. I palmed both of my guns, and began shooting, unloading on the horde until the moans were silenced and I was out of bullets. I threw the now useless guns to the floor, shedding my weapons belt after withdrawing the machete. I walked through the auditorium doors, cringing as I noted that not even this room had escaped carnage. A dismembered corpse lay prone on the stage, and a trail of fresh blood led back to the stage door.

Suddenly, a shrill scream sliced through the air.

I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Kurt," I choked out, sprinting to the stage door. I pushed it open easily, absently noting the broken hinges and pile of debris as I flew down the stairs. I followed the trail of blood down the hallway, turning the corner and barging into a darkened room. A broken sob met my ears, and I glanced down.

Kurt was curled in a ball against the far wall, spattered in blood and cowering away from the zombie that was advancing towards him, grisly hand outstretched. A red hot rage swept through me at the sight and I lunged forward, slicing cleanly through the air with my machete. A sick sense of satisfaction filled me as the blade tore effortlessly through the zombie's neck, cutting off its moan of surprise. The body swayed slightly before falling to the ground with a dull thud. I lowered my machete slowly, a sneer of rage still plastered on my face as I watched the zombie's head roll across the room.

"Blaine!" Kurt's sudden cry broke through my haze, and I looked up.

Kurt pulled himself to his feet and ran towards me. I stepped forward, dropping the machete and capturing him in an embrace. I could feel his tears against my skin as he flung his arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly.

"You came for me," he whispered brokenly, voice cracking with a mixture of fear and immeasurable gratitude.

"Of course I did," I murmured into his hair, stroking his back soothingly, "I promised, didn't I?"

"I was so scared, Blaine," Kurt whispered shakily, breath tickling my neck, "I thought I was going to die."

"Sh, it's okay. You're safe now," I cooed, pulling back to look him in the eyes, "I will never let anything hurt you, you hear me? As long as we're together, you have nothing to worry about."

Kurt nodded, smiling tearily at me.

I brushed my fingers through his disheveled hair, ignoring the blood still staining my palms, "What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?" I smirked.

Kurt giggled, nodding once before slipping one of his hands into mine.

I grinned at him, stooping to grab the machete with my other hand. I noticed him eyeing the weapon warily.

"Where did you get that, by the way?" he inquired, eyes glued to the bloodied blade.

"It's a long story," I chuckled, "How about I tell you on the way to your house?"

"Deal," Kurt beamed.

Armed with my machete, and flanked by the boy I loved, I walked confidently out of the darkened dressing room, my mind charting the quickest way back to my car.

Bring on the zombies, man.

I was ready.