YOU HAVE SEVEN DAYS.

This fanfic is a fusion with the Nintendo DS game The World Ends With You. If you haven't played the game, don't worry, everything will be explained in the context of the story. You really should play it, though, that game is fucking awesome.

Warnings: Pretty wildly AU. Lots of afterlife stuff, and this fic is gonna get kind of actiony. There will be a couple of fight scenes. I will do my best to not suck at writing those scenes. :x There's some gory description of death, and some of your typical angst.

Kurt and Blaine have never met, the Glee club was disbanded after they lost at regionals at the end of season 1.

This first chapter is in two parts. The first part gets a bit vague near the end, but that's intended. Part two is a bit of an info-dump, esp. if you've already played TWEWY. Sorry. :(

All my notes on this fic can be seen on my profile. Please keep in mind that those notes can contain spoilers for future chapters. Enjoy~

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CHAPTER ONE, PART ONE. Twilight Galaxy.

Did I ask you for attention

When affection is what I need?

Thinking sorrow was perfection

I would wallow till you told me

There's no glitter in the gutter

There's no twilight galaxy

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There are many things that can push a person over the edge. It all depends on the person, of course. Some people can take years of abuse, torment, hatred, and plain angst and turn it into a character-building experience. Some people would fall apart at the seams if they heard that a handful of people didn't like them. Some people can take one traumatic experience and carry it with them, like a talisman, to prove to themselves that they're stronger than they may appear. Some people crumble under the pressure of daily life and turn to drugs or booze or lots and lots of sex to deal with their problems.

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This garage holds a lot of memories for Kurt.

He can remember drawing on the concrete floor with sidewalk chalk as a child, always careful not to get it on his clothes. His favorite was always the ultramarine blue chalk, so he was always having to use the scraps of that color to make blue skies, blue cars, blue balloons, whatever his childlike imagination could think of.

He can remember the deep freezer that has always stood against the far wall, where ice cream and popsicles came from in the summer.

He can remember climbing nervously into his father's truck one morning to learn the first rules of driving. When backing out, use the mirrors. When turning, use the turn signal. That truck was an automatic, so Kurt hadn't had to learn how to drive a stick-shift. When his dad got a new truck (the old one's transmission kicked the bucket last winter), it was a stick-shift. The two of them sat in the cab, Burt in the driver's seat, Kurt next to him, both staring at the shifter as Burt tried to explain how a stick-shift worked. To this day Kurt is still unable to drive anything but an automatic.

One of the many things he is apparently unable to do.

Also on the list: Pass AP English, get a boyfriend, get Dad to notice him more, figure out what he's going to do with his life.

At the moment, Kurt is sitting alone in his own car, a pile of papers in Technicolor folders on the passenger seat next to him. The car isn't running, the key turned back towards him to run the CD player but not the engine. Today was the last day of school in his junior year.

He takes the green folder, which is at the top of the pile, and opens it. A year's worth of English assignments is inside, none with a grade higher than a B-. Kurt remembers slaving over each essay, stressing over each test over classic literature, staying up late looking up references and how to quote them properly, and consulting an SAT level book on English grammar. He definitely remembers how his English teacher, Mr. Whittaker, would avoid calling on him in class, would not walk by him, would act disgusted if their hands touched by accident when Kurt handed in a paper.

The B- had been an essay written a few weeks ago, before they started on their finals. They were told to pick a controversial topic relevant to their age group. Some girl picked abortion, the guy that sat next to Kurt picked 'violent video games', and there was a bit of a fight over who would get 'legalizing marijuana'. Yes, even in an AP class, the priorities of his peers were having unprotected sex, smoking pot, and playing video games. Or, at least, that's how he saw it.

Kurt chose the topic of teenage suicide. It had hit a little close to home with his recent bout with depression, but as it turned out, doing all that research had been oddly therapeutic.

Until he got the paper back.

He had slaved over that damn essay, determined to get an A. He knew for a fact that Mr. Whittaker was homophobic, so Kurt decided to bring discussion about gay teens committing suicide into his essay in an attempt to show the teacher how his attitude could be hurtful.

The paper was marked down a whole letter grade, and the only red marks on his essay were around the topic of gay teens. Mr Whittaker took offense to it, and even went as far as to write in the margins,

"If being gay makes you so unhappy, then don't be gay! Easy as that!"

Easy as that. Kurt tears up a little as he finds the neat writing off to the side of his essay. Well, he tried, and not being gay wasn't very easy for him. But he realizes now what Mr. Whittaker was trying to say.

Park the car in the garage, close all the doors. Roll the windows down, start the engine. Play some music, drift off to sleep.

And never wake up.

Easy as that.

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"Hey, Blaine, we're going bowling tonight, wanna come?"

Blaine looks up from shoving sheet music in his bag to smile apologetically to his fellow Warbler, Jeff. "Sorry, not tonight."

The room is clearing out; Warblers rehearsal ran late again and Blaine checks the time on his phone nervously.

"Come on, Blaine," Nick whines from the door, "you never come out with us. It's a Friday! They do black light bowling on Fridays!"

Blaine shrugs a little, kind of a 'what can you do' look on his face. "I told my dad I would be home tonight," he says with a hefty sigh. "In fact, I told him I'd be home about twenty minutes ago, so I really need to get going."

He really hopes they don't hear the way his voice shakes.

Jeff looks to Nick with a raised eyebrow, then turns to watch Blaine make his way to the door. He follows after, with Nick falling in beside him as they walk behind Blaine at the same brisk pace. "One of us could give you a ride," Jeff says.

Blaine considers the offer for a second. His father always wants him home on time, no excuses. The man never lets Blaine drive to school, though, saying he hasn't earned the responsibility. As if being in a demanding extra-curricular activity like the Warblers, being an Honor Student with a nearly perfect GPA, and having a school sport to play for every season wasn't responsibility enough. He even gets a part-time job every summer, as long as it's within walking or bike-riding distance.

"No thanks," Blaine says, looking over his shoulder to smile at his friends. "I don't live too far from school, it won't take me but ten minutes to get home."

"We just don't want you getting into any trouble," Nick says sadly, fussing with the sleeves of his blazer, clearly worried.

"I won't," Blaine assures them, squaring his shoulders as they exit the building.

They say goodbye to each other and Jeff and Nick walk away, towards Jeff's car. Blaine doesn't have time to wait around to see them turn to look back at him every so often, nor does he have time to make note of the fact that Jeff does not immediately start his car and drive off. All Blaine has time to do is dig in his bag for his iPod as he walks, untangling the earbuds.

Once the music starts pounding in his skull, he finds it much easier to maintain the brisk pace needed to get home in a timely manner. Of course, he's already late, but his father usually waits about forty-five minutes before calling him, and an hour before he gets in the car to come find him. Getting called is bad enough for Blaine, and his father has had to come fetch him only once. It had been a soccer game that Blaine had 'forgotten' to tell his parents about, simply because his mother was the one who screamed insults from the sidelines if anything didn't happen in her son's favor. It was kind of embarrassing once he got older.

Blaine turns down Franklin Street, a shortcut that he's rather fond of. It isn't really a street, more of a long narrow alley between two office buildings. There is old graffiti and some wicker furniture that he's sure has been in the same spot since before he started attending Dalton. There are dandelions growing between cracks and the alley itself hasn't been repaved in ages. It feels old, antique, and that's what he loves about it. Though he does sometimes get a feeling of foreboding whenever he walks down this alley, but he just adds that to its charm.

He takes a quick glance at his phone, checking the time and to see if his father has called. He hasn't, so Blaine starts walking just a bit faster. Maybe he can make it home before his set curfew of five-thirty. Maybe he won't have to listen to another lecture about how irresponsible he is, how ungrateful he is.

Maybe.

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The sound of the engine running is blocked out to his ears only by the sound of music playing. He had made a mix CD about three weeks ago containing his favorite songs. At first, whenever he listened to it, the music would wash away all the hurt and sadness. It would make him forget that being the gay kid at school pretty much made him a social leper. It would make him forget that his own father, while not willing to say it out loud, preferred Finn Hudson as a son.

Who wouldn't? Finn is straight, he plays football, he has lots of friends and everyone likes him.

The garage smells like exhaust. The smell doesn't bother him much.

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His leg muscles are starting to burn. He certainly isn't out of shape, it's just that he just spent an hour and a half in rehearsal and is now trying to walk home as fast as possible without actually running. If he runs home, he'll be out of breath and his father will know he'd run home and will berate him for causing a scene. How would that look, a boy in a perfectly pressed school uniform running down the side of the street? It would look ridiculous. And no one in this family is allowed to look ridiculous.

They have an image to maintain, after all.

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He is starting to feel sleepy. He is very dizzy. Keeping his eyes open makes it worse, so he closes them.

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He is getting impatient. He's standing at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. He punches the button on the light pole again, just for good measure.

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He might be falling asleep. Maybe he's dying. Maybe this is it. Maybe his dad will come home from work tonight to find him laying dead in the driver's seat of his car, the engine still running.

Maybe he shouldn't have shut his eyes so soon, because now he can't seem to open them again.

Maybe dying isn't as easy as he thought it would be.

Maybe this isn't what he wanted.

He starts to panic, but it's all internal. He can't think straight, he can't find the energy to just raise his arm and turn the key.

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The light changes. "Finally," he mumbles.

He matches his stride to the beat of the song playing on his iPod. He turns up the volume a bit. He really likes this song. He keeps his eyes forward, full of purpose, trying to ignore the fact that the people sitting in cars are probably watching him walk past. People watching him like this unnerves him. He tries to concentrate on the music and not on his feet. He has a strange fear of tripping in the middle of crossing the street with a line of traffic watching.

He doesn't hear the screeching tires.

Or the horns blaring.

He really likes this song. That's all he hears.

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He can't stay awake anymore.

He can't feel the slight vibration of the car running, he can't hear the music playing. His thoughts are disjointed. He sees broken images in his head; his mother, who died years ago. His dad, who he loves so much. His friends from the short-lived Glee club. What he remembers from his mother's funeral, his imagination putting himself in her place.

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He doesn't see the truck at all.

He does feel it, however. It's like a hard shove, and it takes him so completely by surprise that he doesn't have any time at all to react. His left earbud is knocked out as he goes flying a short distance. There is pain all over. He doesn't know what just happened. He doesn't know what he was doing before just now. He can hear his music, he can hear a horn honking. He hits the ground and the pain explodes from one side to all over, and then nothing. All within the space of four or five seconds.

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There is blackness, so complete that he can't even comprehend it. It's not like when the lights are out and you can just barely make out your surroundings. It's not even like when it's so dark you can't see at all and you can at least sense your surroundings. This is nothingness, and he seems to be just plopped right down in the middle of it.

He tries to remember why he's here.

He tries to figure out where 'here' is.

He doesn't know.

He wants to cry.

It occurs to him that he's dead.

He cries.

OoOoOoOoO

CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO. Blindness.

Send us a blindfold

Send us a blade

Tell the survivor

Help is on the way

I was a blindfold

Never complained

All the survivors

Singing in the rain

I was the one with the world at my feet

Got us a battle

Leave it up to me

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Kurt is sitting on the floor in some indistinct place, washed out in white light coming from all directions. The floor is smooth and cold like ice. He doesn't really remember what happened before he got here. He doesn't know how he ended up sitting here, like he's waiting for something.

He can't see any walls, he can't see a ceiling. He doesn't even see his own shadow because the light seems to be coming from everywhere all at once. He holds his hand out in front of his face, staring at it as if he's never seen it before.

He doesn't realize that it's dead silent until it isn't anymore; there is the distinct sound of stilettos clicking, coming closer. The sound is echoing all around him, so he can't tell where the sound is originating from.

He shivers.

A woman's voice accompanies the clicking, "Hello there."

Kurt gulps nervously and, seeming to come back to himself, starts looking around for any sign of another person. There is none.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" the woman says. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Her voice is soft and the reprimand is well-meaning. There is something in her voice that stirs memories loose in Kurt's muddled mind.

"My mother died ten years ago," he chokes out.

"Yes, I know," the woman responds. Kurt can hear a smile in her voice.

"Am I dead?" he asks, his voice small.

There is a length of time in which there is only the sound of her heels clicking.

Then, she replies, "In a manner of speaking, I suppose you are."

"...Oh, God..."

There is a quiet laugh, like music. "Sorry, he's busy. Oh, I never get tired of that joke..." She seems to say the last part to herself. "Well, the good news is that you weren't meant to die yet, so you get a second chance. The bad news is, we aren't going to just hand it over to you. You'll have to earn it."

Kurt is still reeling from the fact that he is currently dead. That his attempt was successful. That he is currently in some sort of twisted afterlife. That he was wrong about there not being any afterlife.

"...You were half right, Kurt," the woman says solemnly.

He groans, hugs himself, and has to resist the strong urge to rock himself back and forth.

"Anyway, back to the matter at hand. You have been selected to be a Player in our game, the Reaper's Game. You will be given seven days to prove you are worthy of a second chance at life. If you can survive the seven days and emerge victorious at the end of the week, you can get your life back."

"This is insane," Kurt whines, his voice strained. "I'm dead."

There is a light scoff. "Really, dearest, you must keep up.

"Now, the rules are simple. The game is managed by Reapers, and they can and will attack you. You will need to find a partner, and the two of you will work as a team. You will need to defeat what we call Noise, which are creatures made from all that's bad and nasty in the will do this with the use of Psychs."

Kurt grips his hair. Information is being crammed into his previously empty head and it hurts. He doesn't know where all of this is coming from.

Psychs; an extension of his Imagination used to attack Noise. The Reapers and the Noise are his enemies. The other Players are his competition. Psychs are channeled through a common-place item-

The woman is speaking to him again, simultaneous with the inpouring of information. "You'll be given some pins, the standard medium for Psychs. They each have a Psych assigned to them. Most importantly, you'll be needing these."

Two objects drop next to him. One is his own cell phone, the screen black. The other is pin-back button with a design on it that, had Kurt been in his right mind, he would think was incredibly tacky. It was a stylized skull, plain white on a black background.

"Obviously, the first thing is your phone," The woman says. Her voice sounds closer than earlier. Kurt picks up his phone with a shaking hand. "That's how you'll get your missions; one a day, which you must complete within the time limit or you'll be erased."

"Erased?" He doesn't like the sound of that.

"Wiped from existence. You are erased, you lose the game." Her heels click from behind him. "The other is your Player pin. It marks you as a Player, obviously. It also lets you Imprint, and keeps you from being Imprinted on. You must have it on at all times during the Game."

His head hurts so much. None of this is making any sense to him. It's like the time Finn tried to explain the rules of poker to him.

The woman seems to be walking in circles around him, but he still can't see her. "As long as you and your partner can work together, you should do fine. So that will be your first priority; get a partner."

Kurt stares down at his phone and new pin, feeling numb. "I don't think anyone will want to be my partner. Just like gym class. I must be in Hell, and this must be the preamble to an eternal dodge ball game," he mumbled.

"This isn't like gym class, Kurt," the woman says.

"This makes no sense," he says in a small voice. "Please let me wake up now. Please just let this be a bad dream. Why did I do this, I didn't really want to die!"

"We will take an entry fee. The one thing you value most."

"I don't even know why I did this... I just... Everything was so hard, everything was falling apart... I was tired of everything..." He can feel her standing behind him, but he is too busy panicking to bother turning around. "Please, please, please..." He begins to cry. "I was stupid, I know I was stupid! Please just let this be a bad dream-"

"We will return your entry fee at the end of the Game if you win." Her voice is quiet, right by his ear.

He is sobbing now, nearly incoherent. "P-please... My dad... my dad, he... I c-can't just l-leave him, he'll think it's his f-fault!" He gasps for air.

A soft hand comes to rest on his shoulder. It feels like warm sunlight. The woman beings to hum a hauntingly familiar tune.

hush little baby, don't you cry

mama's gonna sing you a lullaby

OoOoOoOoO

Blaine looks down at the lapel of his blazer where he put his new pin. It's right next to the Warblers pin he always wears.

The room is still cold, but the blinding light is gone, and it seems that the strange woman went with it. As walls and floor tiles and the like come into focus, he sees other people. Most of them are his age, about even in boys and girls. They all look either sick to their stomach or terrified.

Two girls are clinging to each other, both wearing red and white cheerleading uniforms; the blonde one is sobbing while the dark-haired one hugs her and pets her hair.

Another girl with dark hair is standing, and she's one of the few who seems to have the strength to do so. She has a look of purpose and drive that seems almost comical on someone so small.

A young man apparently in his very early twenties is staring vacantly into nothing, holding his out-of-date cell phone limply in his hand.

A boy is sitting on the floor not too far from Blaine, curled in on himself and crying. Blaine can hear him muttering.

"Please let this be a bad dream... Please let me wake up now... I didn't want this..."

Blaine wonders why he hasn't started freaking out yet. Honestly, hearing that he was dead was a bit of a shock, but he remembers getting hit by a truck and that it hurt a lot. Now it doesn't, though, and he doesn't appear to be horribly disfigured. He supposes that this game, a second chance, a way to prove his worth, has given him something to hope for. He may be dead, but all is not lost.

He just has to find a partner, hope they can work together, and survive a week in a game he barely understands.

The boy crying looks up and the movement catches Blaine's eye. They make eye contact.

That boy's eyes are so blue, Blaine feels like he may have been hit by a truck again. 'Oh, my God,' he thinks, his jaw dropping a bit. 'He is gorgeous.'

He attempts to smile reassuringly at the poor guy, because he seems really upset, and as pretty as his eyes are when he's been crying Blaine really doesn't want him to be unhappy.

The other boy just stares back for a minute, then he glances behind him. When he looks back at Blaine, he looks a bit puzzled.

Blaine wants to laugh. It's really weird. He also wants to get up and walk over to that other boy, maybe sit next to him, maybe convince him that everything will be alright.

All at once, everyone's phones go off with the same generic "beep-beep" tone, scaring the living daylights out of everyone, including Blaine. With some difficulty he tears his eyes away from the crying boy to look at his phone's screen.

Instead of his usual background displaying a photo of him and his friends, there is a sickeningly green background. There is a digital clock, displaying the time and date. Above that is a message.

The Game will begin in 30 minutes. You will be taken to the starting point shortly. When the Game starts, you will be required to find a partner. If you have not found a partner in 15 minutes, you will automatically be erased. Further details on the Game, as well as missions, will be sent to your phone.

Best of luck,

The Reapers

OoOoOoOoO

end of chapter one

In the next chapter, our boys look for a partner, get their first mission, try to figure out how to keep from getting killed, as well as find out what their entry fee is.

Hopefully ffnet didn't eat my linebreaks. They're kind of important in this chapter since it went back and forth between Kurt and Blaine a lot. Speaking of which, I hope the part where it was going back and forth came out right. I did that to build up the tension, and I only used pronouns so that the last part is vague enough that it could be either of them, or both.

This was meant to feel really fast-paced and anxious. I was going to go into a lot more detail with Kurt and Blaine before they died, but I feel like all the important stuff you need to know is that Kurt is unhappy, so he killed himself, and that Blaine has a strained relationship with his dad and he died trying to get home on time so as not to make his dad angry. I thought that if I put too much 'pregame' stuff it would distract from the actual purpose of this chapter, which was to introduce the boys and their issues, kill them, and get them in the game.

If you're confused about how the Reaper's Game works, well, you know how our boys feel. ;D It'll make sense in the next chapter when we actually start the game.

As I mentioned, I have notes for this fic. I make a lot of notes when I write, so if you want more info on this you can get it at my profile. The notes contain spoilers for the next chapter, so tread with caution if you want to be suprised. There is also a link to the TWEWY Wiki if you want more info on the game.