I think I've decided to post my submissions from Klaine AU Friday on tumblr to FFnet as well. Enjoy.


He's barely sat down for dinner (a can of tomato soup he found in a corpse's backpack) when he hears it. Two knocks. A pause. Three knocks.

The sound of the safe.

In any case, Kurt loads his shotgun before heading towards the door. He barely cracks it open, enough to take a look at the intruder.

Sweat-soiled and uncombed curls, muscular-yet-lean build, and the same slightly desperate look in his eyes that everyone seems to have these days. He points the barrel of the shotgun through the cracked door, directly at the other boy's forehead.

"Name and status."

"Blaine Anderson. Bitten but cleansed through amputation," Blaine holds out a stump that was once where his left elbow met his forearm. Kurt narrows his eyes. "I was bitten on the thumb, barely. I'm safe, I promise. You pretty good with that shotgun?"

"I'm a fricken surgeon with this shotgun. Not that I'd have to be at this range."

To his surprise, Blaine grins. "Excellent. Because I'm unarmed and there's one right behind me."

Blaine suddenly ducks and he's right, because a gangly body lunges toward the door. Kurt acts on instinct, firing into the corpse's skull. It staggers back, headless, and drops to the ground.

Blaine pops back up again, laughing. "You weren't kidding."

"Well seeing as I'm now out of ammo, I suppose you'd better come inside." Kurt says dryly, opening the door to allow Blaine entrance. "I'm Kurt Hummel. Dinner?"

Kurt splits the lukewarm soup between them in what was once Carole's good china bowls. Blaine gazes at him when he leans forward to hand him a bowl. "What're those?"

His necklace has slipped from under his shirt, the charms clanking together. He brings a hand up to grasp at the little gold star. "Memories."

Blaine nods in understanding. "Friends who turned?"

Kurt nods as well, his eyes glassing over as the pulls the chain from over his head. "Rachel," the star. "Brittany," a tiny silver cat. "Artie," a piece of a wheelchair spoke, carefully coiled around the chain. "Finn," his brother's football keychain. "Mercedes and Sam," a golden hoop earring he'd given her for her birthday and a guitar pick he'd rammed a hole through after finding it in Sam's pocket. "Sam shot Mercedes. I shot Sam." he admits, toying with the keychain.

Blaine tentatively reaches at hand out, making sure Kurt has plenty of time to pull the necklace away. He spins the silver nut with a finger. "And this?"

Kurt swallows a lump in his throat that has suddenly appeared there. "My dad."

He doesn't elaborate and Blaine doesn't push. Instead, he gestures to the stump of his elbow. "My brother did this. Bit me, I mean." He rolls the sleeve down to cover it. "One minute it's 'Hey Blaine, pass the salt,' and the next thing I know he's got his teeth in my hand."

"What'd you do?"

"Stabbed him in the nose with a fork and ran like hell." He shrugs. "Went to a friend's and had them help me take it off."

"You know it'll probably happen eventually, right?"

Blaine shrugs again. "Yeah, but based on the fact that you only look beautiful and not delicious, I think I'm okay for now."

Kurt blinks. "Please don't hit on me when we're in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, especially when I'll probably have to blast your head to bits at some point in the future."

Blaine grins. "Can't blame a guy for tryin'. You are beautiful, though. Shame it looks like the whole world decided to take a piggyback ride on your shoulders," His lighthearted tone disappears. "Though if it does end up being you that gets me, at least it'll be quick. We've already established you're an assassin with that thing." He gestures to the shotgun resting against Kurt's thigh.

There's a silence between them before Kurt starts humming, not really aware he's doing it until Blaine joins in with the words.

"Hell's bells are chiming and they're after you next, you can't stop to die and you can't stop to rest,"

"...don't turn back as your family screams, the whole world's falling apart at the seams," Kurt finishes, staring into his soup.

Outside, the dead claw at the door. Kurt reloads his shotgun.