fic: crash and burn. (kurt/blaine)
Title: Crash and Burn
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,421
Warning!: Character death
Summary: Kurt talks to Blaine forty-two minutes before the plane crashes.
It's quiet for a moment - but not in an awkward way. The two of them just breathe each other in, feeling the presence that seems so close, and yet so far away. And even though they're miles and miles apart, they feel safe, knowing they're going to be reunited so soon.
"I love you," Blaine says, soft, vulnerable.
A/N: I don't know what prompted me to write this; I just knew I needed to write angst.
Kurt rolls over, his warm skin brushing over the soft blankets.
He peels his eyes open carefully, squinting against the pale, early morning light that stretches across the walls. He moves his head, looking at the alarm clock resting on his crowded bedside table and sees that it's just after six in the morning. He usually gets up early, but not as early as this, and he gives a sleepy smile as he remembers why he's so excited for the day.
Today, Blaine's coming home.
It's been three days - Kurt counts quickly in his head - five hours, and twenty-two minutes. Three days, five hours, and twenty-two minutes of pure torture and agony.
Kurt thought it would be so much easier than this. He thought that he'd simply busy himself - going to work, coming home and cleaning the apartment, making dinner, doing more work, possibly reading or something else of leisure and he'd be perfectly fine. It was only four days after all - easy enough to handle.
However, it wasn't.
Time ticks so much slower without Blaine, and he finds himself looking up, glancing around the empty apartment with a pressure aching in his chest. He has no ambition to do anything for himself, no interest in anything really, because it's hard being alone.
It's hard to eat meals without setting the table for two, and it's hard to leave in the morning without planting a kiss on someone's lips. It's hard to come home to silence, and it's hard not to share stuff about his day with anyone. It's hard to brush his teeth and go through his nighttime skincare routine when he has full use of the mirror, and it's hard to go to sleep when there's no warmth beside him.
And now he's so close.
He's so close to having Blaine in his arms again, to feel his body pressed against his own. He's so close to wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck and kissing him senseless and feeling his hot breath against his lips. He's so close to just being with Blaine and having him there, and these three days, five hours, and now - twenty-eight minutes have been driving him crazy and he can't wait the fourteen or so hours he has left.
He sighs as he pushes himself from bed, running his fingers through his greasy hair. He goes to the window, and looks out for a moment over the silent neighborhood, bathed in soft light, the dew sparkling in the grass, and birds flitting around excitedly through the trees.
Three days, five hours, and thirty-five minutes.
And suddenly, things are looking brighter.
.
.
By eleven o'clock in the morning, Blaine is already impatient, itching to go home.
Unfortunately, he's attending a last minute meeting with Wes about the success this trip has given school, and it's not exactly a good time to be distracted. He needs to be professional, like he is in the classroom, but he's never gone this long without Kurt before.
And it's as if he's sixteen years old again, counting down the minutes until school is over and he can see Kurt again. Watching the clock with anxious eyes, and biting his lip as he shakes with anticipation.
Wes kicks his ankle under the table, and he looks up, raising his head off of his hand.
"Quit zoning out," Wes hisses under his breath, and Blaine gives his head a hearty shake, turning his attention back to his boss, hoping no one's noticing just how inattentive he's being.
As soon as he turns the team loose, Blaine is the first to get out of there, Wes following after him. He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks for messages, his heart sinking slightly when he sees that there's none. He hits speed dial number one and puts his phone to his ear, his heart racing through the rings and almost breaking when he gets Kurt's voicemail.
Kurt's at work - he should've known.
He lowers his phone with a disheartened look and a heavy sigh.
"We're leaving soon - calm down."
Blaine turns, and Wes stands there with a smirk on his face.
"You'll be seeing Kurt in no time," he continues. "Just relax and get through the rest of this work day. Our plane leaves this evening. It's not much longer."
Blaine sighs again, looking down at his feet. "I know," he says quietly. "I just miss him too much."
Wes nods and walks forward, resting a comforting hand on Blaine's back. "I know it sucks," he says. "But just hang in there, alright?"
Blaine says nothing, but closes his eyes, imagining himself back in Kurt's arms, holding him tightly.
Just a number of short hours; he can do this.
.
.
The day is a slow one - if possible, much slower than the last three, and Kurt can hardly keep still. He taps his foot, he shakes his legs, he drums his fingers, and yet nothing can calm the excitement rising within him.
He gets home early - around three-thirty, and waiting there isn't much better.
After passing the time by cleaning everything until it's practically sterile, he goes to the grocery store where he buys ingredients for Blaine's favorite meal, preparing to surprise him when he gets home. He knows Blaine will be exhausted, and after a meal like this, he'll sleep extremely well.
Kurt loves doing things for Blaine - it's a second nature. Something warms inside of him whenever he sees that smirk on Blaine's face and the twinkle in his eye, knowing that he's the cause of Blaine's happiness.
He's dying just to see that again.
.
.
At around six-thirty, Kurt's phone starts ringing form the coffee table.
He jerks out of his tired stupor, reaching for it quickly. His heart jumps wildly in his chest as he answers it, putting it up to his ear.
"Hello, sweetheart," he says, his smile wide and eye-crinkling.
He hears Blaine laugh on the other end of the line. "You seem happy," he comments. "I wonder why that could be."
Kurt chuckles too, and a weight lifts from his shoulders and chest.
"I'm at the airport right now," Blaine says, and Kurt's heart does a little jump. "And I just wanted to remind you that I'll be seeing you in a few hours."
"Oh, well I can hardly wait," Kurt says, trying not to squeal. "How did the trip go?"
"Honestly," Blaine starts. "I'm not exactly sure. Well - I think it went well. I had a lot of trouble staying focused the past few days."
Kurt laughs - loud and long, and he does this little squeak in between gasps, the one that makes Blaine's heart flutter.
"Me too," Kurt says at last. "I'm surprised I haven't been fired."
It's quiet for a moment - but not in an awkward way. The two of them just breathe each other in, feeling the presence that seems so close, and yet so far away. And even though they're miles and miles apart, they feel safe, knowing they're going to be reunited so soon.
"I love you," Blaine says, soft, vulnerable.
"I love you too," Kurt replies, and it's sincere as it was the first time he said it in that coffee shop.
They both hang up, but feel so much better.
.
.
Forty-two minutes later, a plane departing from Los Angeles goes hurtling towards the ground.
.
.
Kurt looks anxiously at the clock.
It's nine-fifty-three.
Blaine should've been home by now.
Kurt knows that traffic can be heavy - but not this heavy. Driving home never takes this long.
He sits on the couch, twiddling his fingers nervously together, his breath coming faster than what is normal. He's tried calling Blaine a few times now, but every time it's gone straight to voicemail.
It's safe to say he's starting to panic.
.
.
Paramedics race around the scene of the crash, sifting through all the debris, looking for any survivors.
There doesn't seem to be any.
.
.
It's ten-oh-three when Kurt's world comes crashing down.
.
.
The ten o'clock news starts up, and Kurt isn't really sure why he's watching - maybe as a subconscious effort to keep his mind off of his worries, but honestly, he isn't paying much attention.
That is, until the announcer is going through the list of stories to cover, and one catches his ear in particular.
" . . a plane, departing from Los Angeles crashed, killing all twenty-seven passengers. We'll have more details later on."
Immediately, Kurt's head starts spinning, his heart racing, his breath stopping short. His ears ring with the reporter's words, and it's suddenly like the floor is falling right out from under his feet. His vision swims in front of him, and he inhales a huge, shaky breath as he holds to the sofa cushions for support, his taut knuckles turning white.
He waits through a commercial, holding on until the actual story comes up. He's not sure what to feel yet exactly, but as of now all he feels is numb.
He doesn't want to believe it, and really, he can't. He'd just talked to Blaine a few hours ago - he was perfectly fine, he was happy, he was on his way home. Kurt refuses to believe that anything's happened. It's just not possible. Blaine's going walk through the door any moment with a huge smile on his face, and they're going to run into each other's arms and share a passionate kiss and desperate "I love you"s.
But that doesn't happen.
Kurt trembles through the other news stories first, his eyes tingling and a painful pressure taking residence in his chest. He curls up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest and tries not to scream while the reporters going on about robberies and riots. His stomach churns and he thinks that he might throw up, but he somehow manages not to.
And then there's a picture of a plane in flames, broken and battered, and covered bodies being dragged away by paramedics, and he feels ten times sicker.
"The plane departed at six-fifty this evening, and at around seven-thirty, it went down. Apparently, one of the engines malfunctioned and caught fire - the pilot hardly had anytime to react, and within seconds, all passengers were killed."
Kurt completely stops breathing for a moment, his mouth hanging open. A shiver passes down his spine, and he finds it impossible to move.
No.
No.
This isn't happening.
It's not.
It can't be.
But as much as he'd like to believe it's not, he knows that that's Blaine's flight. He knows that that's why Blaine hasn't come home yet, and why he never will.
.
.
The night stretches in a dark pool of denial and flashes of acceptance.
Kurt forces himself through the rest of the news, praying and wishing for some sign that anyone's survived. He analyzes every little detail, and when the news is over, he rewinds it and watches it at least a dozen more times, looking for anything that could lead him to think that someone's still alive.
But he only ends up torturing himself and breaking his heart over and over again.
After the first hour, time begins to pass much too slowly.
Kurt's waiting now.
He's waiting for Blaine to come walking through the door, his luggage trailing behind him. He's waiting for Blaine to call out his name, announcing that he's home and waiting for a welcome back kiss.
But he's also waiting for that confirmation call - for the authorities to tell him that his husband's dead, that he died this evening in a severe plane crash on his way home from Los Angeles.
(However, he's hoping with all his might that it's not the latter).
He's waiting for anything to help him to get through this. Anything that will help him find some way to closure.
He just needs to know.
He just needs to know that either his hope was all worth it, or that it's time for him to begin the process of grief.
As of now, he's hanging onto that thread of hope, of that small chance that Blaine is fighting his way to him still. He's not going to let go until someone tears him away - until he's shown solid evidence that he'll never be able to hold Blaine again, or to kiss him, or to say "I love you" and have him return the statement. He can't do it because that would be moving on, and that's not anything he's ready to do right now. That's not something he's sure he'll ever be able to do.
But as the clock ticks on, and it's now past midnight, he's slipping.
He starts thinking of who Blaine would want at the funeral, and where he would like it be, and how he'd like it decorated, and what his casket would look like, and Kurt knows that he's going to have to do everything justice, he's going to have to make this as perfect and amazing as Blaine was.
And as soon as one of these thoughts enters his mind, he mentally kicks himself for even allowing it.
No.
He can't give up.
He can't accept it.
He can't let go of Blaine.
He can't.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But in the end, he knows he has too.
.
.
After one-thirty in the morning, everything starts to sink in.
Well, more like it all hits Kurt in a tidal wave of grief and anger and sadness.
It's been hours, and if anything has happened besides Blaine not surviving, Kurt would know.
It's dark now, and the tv is just annoying background noise as Kurt curls in on himself and the sobs take over. He grips his hair with his fingers, pulling tight, and shoves his face into his knees.
It's just not fair.
It's not fair because they never got to say goodbye, they never got a last moment with each other. All Kurt wanted was to just see him again, and now he'll never get to - not even as a soulless body. Kurt imagines they'll just fill a casket with some meaningful things and bury it in place of him. Maybe by miracle, they did manage to save his body, but Kurt doubts it.
And it's not fair because Blaine was only twenty-five. He had such along life ahead of him. They were going to finally buy a house, they were going to have kids - and grandkids, they were going to grow old together, and all Kurt can think about now is everything they've lost and all that they could've had.
He can't even process the fact that he still has a life, that he can still do all of those things if he ever found the courage to go on.
Because, maybe he doesn't want his life anymore.
It's too hard to think about the fact that he has to keep going. He can't imagine doing anything without Blaine.
And then it hits him that this is probably how his father felt when his mother died, and it only makes him sob harder. And he just wonders how many times he's going to lose someone he loves until the whole goddamn world is happy.
He screams - loud, angry, desperate, and it tears at his throat, only creating more pain.
He wants to get up, wants to call someone, wants someone to just hold him and tell him that it's going to be okay, but he can't move. He doesn't have the energy or the strength. He'd rather just lay here for days until the lack of water drains his life.
.
.
It's two-thirteen when Kurt finally falls asleep, his sinuses clogged, his throat sore, his head aching, and his stomach in knots.
Everything falls away, and he's whisked away into peaceful darkness.
It's only a small break from the hell he's going to have to endure.
.
.
His escape is short-lived.
.
.
The sun shines pale and soft, just as it hade the day before, and the birds chirp happily in the trees. It looks like the day is going to be a nice one weather-wise.
Kurt peels his eyelids open, and the pain hits full force - physical and emotional.
Within seconds, he's racing to the bathroom, bending over the toilet as he throws up violently. He grips the porcelain tightly as he coughs and gags, needing it for support. As he finishes, he lays his head against the closed seat, warm tears already leaking from his eyes.
He can't do this.
It's too difficult.
There's just no way - no possible way he's ever going to find the strength to get over Blaine.
He can't bear to think that he'll never see him smile again, or hear his laugh fill up a whole room. He can't bear to think that he'll never hold him again, or kiss him tenderly, and maybe not-so-tenderly under hot, itchy sheets. He can't bear to think that they'll never be fathers together, that they won't get to raise kids that take after the both of them. He can't bear to think th -
He stops thinking a moment, raising his head slightly from the toilet.
It's the sound of the front door, and Kurt secretly prays that it's a robber - preferably armed so that death can take him away as well.
Unfortunately, it's not a robber.
It's something a little better.
"Kurt?"
He freezes, and almost throws up again. His breath catches in his chest, and he feels so lightheaded, he thinks he might faint if he tries to move.
"Kurt, where are you?"
Footsteps race through the apartment until they stop in the bathroom doorway.
And there he is.
.
.
His hair is messy, his eyes are dull, his clothes disheveled, and he looks nothing short of exhausted, but he's there.
"Kurt, sweetheart?" he asks softly. "Are you okay?"
Kurt simply sits there a moment, his eyes wide and eyebrows halfway up his forehead. His mouth falls open, his lips trembling, and then he's jumping up from the ground, throwing himself at Blaine. He wraps his arms tightly around Blaine's neck and buries his face in Blaine's shoulder, sobbing hard.
"Oh my god," he breathes. "You're alive. Oh my god. Oh my god."
Blaine reaches up, holding Kurt back tightly and pulls back for a brief second to kiss his cheek.
"I'm n-not hallucinating, am - am I?" Kurt asks shakily, pecking Blaine on the lips. "The plane - it - it - "
"It crashed, I know," Blaine says softly. "I wasn't on it. Wes was. He went ahead of me. He's dead." Blaine's voice cracks on the last two words, and he gives a small sniffle.
"I'm - I'm so sorry," Kurt says, reaching up a trembling hand to cup Blaine's cheek. "What - what happened last night?"
"It was insane," Blaine says, ignoring the sting he feels from the mention of Wes. "There were some issues with my payment and my credit card. And then they lost my luggage. And I couldn't book a flight until around midnight - which right after that was when I finally found out about the crash. And then my phone died, and I started panicking, and I couldn't find a spare moment to beg someone for their phone to call you until I was on the plane and most everyone was asleep, and when I did call you, you didn't answer."
"Well," Kurt says with a stuttering sigh. "I was probably either sobbing or asleep."
Tears start rolling freely down Blaine's cheek as he gives a shaky smile. He pulls Kurt back towards him again, hugging him close. "Oh god, I can't imagine what you went through last night," he whispers.
Kurt almost laughs, but a small, relieved sob interrupts it. "Well, I'm fine now. I just - I love you so much. Don't - don't ever forget."
"Believe me," Blaine whispers, and quickly kisses Kurt's ear. "I won't. I love you too."
They stand like that for what feels like hours, wrapped into each other as they try to calm themselves down, simply relieved to be in each other's arms again.
.
.
For long after that, the two of them never travel without the other.
They make a pact that if something ever does go wrong, they'll go through it together, holding tightly to the other while they welcome the oncoming danger.
If they have each other, then nothing else matters.