Work Text:
Dear diary …
Blaine heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes flicker up, staring across the harsh, sterile scenery, and he wonders why? Why them? Why were they targeted? They were so careful. Kurt especially. Blaine’s beloved husband. Always so careful, so thorough. What had they done to bring this curse down upon them?
But more importantly, what happens now?
His eyes linger longer than they should, but not towards the future. On the present - the life he once knew before his arduous battle began.
It’s been three weeks since we left home in search of comfort, a more hospitable landscape, and water.
Mostly water.
Fsst!
This new reality we find ourselves in is open and vast, full of exciting opportunities. But it’s also foreign and dangerous. One wrong step could mean the end of us, but we must hold tight to hope.
Hope and family.
That’s all we have.
Fsst!
I fear for the safety of those I love.
My gorgeous and talented husband.
My sweet and innocent child.
Our plucky and loyal cat.
I don’t know how long we can continue on this way, but we have to keep going. We have to search. We have to scavenge. This … this is how we will survive.
Fsst!
I suspect it was the heat. The blasted, unseasonal heat! Climate change, global warming ... these aren't just myths! I've seen them! We've felt their effects! Year after year, things have gotten worse. We ran to escape, but there is none. Where do we go? This planet is our home! It's the only one we have! We don't possess the technology to explore the universe in search of another! We did our best to cope, to wait it out, but everything we did to push them away drove them to us.
We couldn't win.
We couldn't even stem the horde. Those monsters! And now, we are overwhelmed by their numbers. They come and come and come and show no signs of stopping. Who knows from where they originate?
Who knows how many there are?
I am doing all that I can, but more keep coming, and I … I cannot stop them.
Fsst!
Was it a mistake coming back? Did we really need to return? The sad answer is yes. These four humble walls and a roof are all we have. And it’s my duty to defend them.
Besides, Tracy has Zoom school on Monday and, apparently, that’s important or something.
Fsst!
The fog is thick.
Fsst!
It never ends.
Fsst!
It's supposed to help.
Fsst!
It hasn't yet.
Fsst!
It makes you want to scream. But when you open your mouth, it steals your voice, fills your mouth and throat, replaces the air.
Fsst!
Blaine sniffles. He blinks watering eyes, trying to focus on the task in front of him, of destroying the army marching relentlessly onward despite his best efforts.
Fsst! Fsst!
It burns the eyes, the nose, the mouth, he mutters. Makes it difficult to breathe, to think. Everything around us is a haze of grey; the air a toxic, chemical soup. I feel myself affected, slipping into a delirium from which I may never recover. And though I will take hundreds of them with me, it won’t make a dent. Not a God dammed dent!
They may still win.
Fsst!
If I don’t make it … if I don’t survive … I only hope that my husband and my daughter can forgive my weakness and remember me the way I was - young … motivated … sexy … a warrior … but also a bastion of love and kindness …
“If I remember correctly, aren't I supposed to be the drama queen? God, Blaine! You're as bad as Rachel.” Kurt coughs, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Nice, Kurt ..."
“Are you high? You have to be. You’re three inches away from the floor, spraying a layer of Raid so thick, the tile is changing colors. Can’t you just spray the ants without making it an event?”
Blaine sits up on his knees, a little giddy, a little woozy, and takes a deep breath of less contaminated air. The world spins left, then goes black for a moment, and after that, he starts giggling uncontrollably. He hears Kurt tut and knows without looking that his husband is shaking his head, probably imagining the amount of damage Blaine has done to his brain. Blaine can admit that he's gotten black-out drunk a time or two more than he should have and come out unscathed, but huffing Raid at his age can’t be good. Maybe he should reconsider calling an exterminator instead of tackling this himself, but it kind of hit them by surprise.
Quarantine had been getting to them.
Getting to them hard.
When times get tough, they normally take refuge at Kurt's dad's, but they couldn't risk it. Not with his existing health concerns. Not considering the fact that Kurt had just returned from a fashion show overseas before this all blew up. Burt Hummel landed squarely in the high-risk category. He'd proactively put himself on lockdown along with Carole before any state mandates went out. Kurt wasn't going to chance bringing this pandemic straight to their door.
So, the Ander-Hummel clan did the next best thing.
They ran away to the Anderson family cabin in Idyllwild.
They’d come home only a few hours ago to discover they had squatters - a humongous colony of ants that had found a way in and made themselves at home, forced inside by the intense heat (even though it's autumn) on a search for water. And they'd found it, pooled inside the cat's freshly cleaned water dish. How it didn't evaporate in the scorching heat, Blaine has no idea.
Blaine takes a few more cleansing breaths. When the world finally slows to a nauseating bob, he turns to his husband.
“You never let me have any fun,” he pouts.
“Are you sure about that?" Kurt asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "I want you to think about last night. Think really hard. And this morning. And over lunch when Tracy took her nap. And then answer me honestly …”
"O-okay, okay," Blaine says, recalling all of the fun they'd had together during those times - all of the athletic, naked, X-rated fun. “Uh, yeah … I may not be thinking clearly. You know, with the Raid, the protecting our house …”
“Yeah, well, your version of protecting our house is keeping me from eating my cheesecake, so chippity-chop-chop, soldier! Let's get this over with.”