Kurt first noticed his roommate's strange behaviour when he came home from work late one night.

Well, actually Rachel Berry always acted a little strange, but Kurt would generally put it in the category of ‘eccentric', rather than just plain worrying.

He came home from work late, like 3 am late, because there had been a last minute screw-up and the latest issue of the magazine was meant to be sent to the printers at seven in the morning, so everybody useful was forced to stay behind. After taking the scariest subway ride of his life, he found Rachel outside of their sketchy apartment in Bushwick talking to some curly-haired guy that Kurt had never seen before.

“Rach?” he called, quickening his weary stride.

The stranger's gaze shot to Kurt for a second before he walked away in the opposite direction, fading into the shadows of a broken streetlamp.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, putting a hand on Rachel's shoulder. The guy hadn't looked outright threatening, but everything about the situation seemed off.

“Yeah,” she said, staring into the darkness nervously. Kurt took a moment to look her over. He'd barely seen her over the past few days because she was rehearsing her butt off after finally getting a lead role on Broadway, and she looked exhausted.

“Come on, let's get inside,” he said, tugging her into their slightly-safer-than-the-street building. “Who was that guy? Why are you out so late?”

“It doesn't matter,” she said, rushing up the stairs ahead of him.

He sighed, taking his time because he didn't have the energy to race after her.

“Rachel,” he began, stepping into the apartment. But she'd already yanked her curtain shut, their version of a closed door, and Kurt was too exhausted to argue.

The next morning when they had a few minutes before their days started, she still refused to talk, which was very unlike Rachel Berry.

He wasn't sure if she was avoiding him the following week or if her schedule was just incredibly busy, but either way the next time he saw her wasn't until a week later around one in the morning. On his late-night trek to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk, he happened to look out the window and find his roommate on the steps of their building with the same guy as before.

Kurt watched them intently, getting increasingly more suspicious because Rachel hadn't been home before he went to sleep all week, and what if she'd seen this guy each night? Had she been out this late all this time, after waking up at the crack of dawn to go to rehearsals? How was she still functioning?

Rachel and the guy had apparently finished their good-byes, because she waved and then headed into the building. Kurt watched the guy watching her, before he disappeared before Kurt's eyes, leaving only wisps of smoke in his wake.

Kurt felt his knees go weak beneath him. He didn't fight it; he fell to the floor with his overactive heart pounding in his ears.

A demon. It was a demon. Rachel was consorting with a demon, had she made a deal-? He slammed his eyelids shut, memories of death black eyes rushing forward. His chest mimicked how it had felt that night, his lungs squeezing like his breath was being forcibly removed, but worse because he could still breathe, he was just losing every emotion he'd ever had. He hit the back of his head against the wall because he could still feel the hot breath against his face, a wet tongue against his lips, in his mouth. Moans ripped from his throat and soft hands cradling his jaw, stroking his back. Gently. Reverently.

Jingling keys outside the door snapped him back to his darkened apartment. He blinked rapidly, his breath coming out in shorts pants. Weak light streamed in from the hall as Rachel opened the door and dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl they'd bought at a flea market she hadn't wanted to go to.

“Who was that?” he croaked from his position underneath the windowsill.

She screeched, hand flying to her chest. “What the- Oh my God Kurt, what the hell are you doing? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Who is he? Why are you seeing him?” he asked, shakily getting to his feet.

“None of your business,” she said, nose in the air. “Now if you'll excuse me, I need my beauty rest.”

“Rachel. Do you know who that was?”

She walked to her section of their apartment, closed her curtain and insisted, “I'm tired.”

“Is it because you've been with him every night?” he asked, approaching her room. She didn't reply, and he continued, voice growing louder, “I know you can hear me and I know you're not asleep. What are you two doing together? What is that demon doing to you?”

She jerked her curtain open, rings screeching against the rod. “You don't know what you're talking about,” she said quietly.

“Demons are dangerous and will steal your soul without a second thought,” he quoted a popular PSA that they'd both heard thousands of times.

“Don't regurgitate that shit to me, Kurt.”

“What could you need, Rachel? Why the hell do you need the help of a demon?” he demanded, trying to keep himself from getting hysterical. He hadn't told anybody the reason behind his father's miraculous recovery. Besides the fact that it had been illegal and sort of gross, he'd be grateful if he could forget the night ever happened. The memories lingered anyway, but he'd never regret it, not when his dad was only a phone call away again. He couldn't regret that Burt would be there for Christmas and birthdays and always thanks to Blaine.

It had been Kurt's only choice other than letting his father die, but he couldn't fathom what could have made Rachel desperate enough to seek aid from a demon.

“What could you possibly need?” he asked again.

She glared up at him with her jaw clenched hard. “Don't judge me,” she whispered lowly.

“I'm not judging you, I'm asking you what the hell you think you're doing messing around with a demon,” he replied, towering over her.

“Lots of people do it-”

“Desperate, unfortunate souls which, oh, the demons own in exchange for their help,” Kurt pointed out in disbelief.

“He's not getting my soul, I'm not stupid.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “You are such a hypocrite, Kurt Hummel.”

“What?” he asked, stilling reflexively.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you planning on playing dumb? Are you going to pretend that a month ago you weren't zapped in here by some demon yourself? What was his name- Blaine, Blake? You say his name in your sleep sometimes. I think I'll only need one guess to figure out what he got out of the deal.”

His face lit up hotly. “No.”

No no no.

“So don't you dare get all holier-than-thou with me, mister. We each made a choice and-” She swayed on her feet mid-sentence.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, his horror at being found out dropped for a moment.

“I told you, I'm tired. Let me sleep.”

“Rach, you can't keep doing this. How many hours of sleep are you even getting?”

“Enough, I assure you. Now go dream about Blaine.” She snapped her curtain closed, leaving Kurt frozen on the other side.

The next morning Kurt stayed in bed long enough to be absolutely certain that Rachel had already left the apartment, and because he was hiding from Rachel, he was late for work. His day didn't get any better from there. He was worrying himself sick about his stupid best friend being indebted to a demon and whether or not she'd told anybody about his own involvement with one.

He stopped at a coffee shop after work because he wasn't quite ready to go home yet, and nearly spilled his mocha across his hand when he saw who was sitting at the table across from his.

“Blaine?” he breathed, throat tight.

“Hi Kurt,” he replied with a strangely bright grin. Under no circumstances should demons look that carefree and happy. What the hell is wrong with this one?

“What- what are you doing here?” he asked, looking around at the rest of the shop. Of course nobody was really paying attention to them; it's not as if Blaine were on fire or sprouting horns or anything. In fact, he was wearing a sports jacket with leather elbow patches.

He shrugged. “I can drink coffee if I want to.” As if to demonstrate his point, he brought his mug up to his lips and took a sip.

Kurt swallowed thickly. He should leave. Should he leave? He should just go home. Right?

“How's your dad?” Blaine asked.

“Perfect,” he said immediately. “Why wouldn't he be? He's great.”

He nodded. “Good, yeah. I'm just following up.”

“Is that routine for you?” Kurt asked incredulously.

“Not really.”

“Then why are you here? I don't understand.” His fingers tightened around his cup. His gaze kept flicking around nervously, sure that someone in the little coffee shop would figure out that Blaine wasn't human and then come to arrest him for fraternizing with a demon. “I- You're not here to ask for more, are you? We had a deal, Blaine-”

“Whoa, whoa, no-” He got up from his own table and quickly seated himself across from Kurt. “No, that's not how it works, I can't go back and demand more once the deal's been agreed upon. You don't have anything to worry about.”

He looked oddly earnest about it, like his main concern was putting Kurt at ease. It was eerily similar to how he'd acted the night they were together, except he wasn't smiling so calmly then. It was doing nothing for Kurt's nerves.

“So, did you just happen to get coffee at the same place as me?” Kurt asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“So you came here specifically to see me? Why?”

“There's something I want to talk to you about.”

“I can't imagine we'd have anything to discuss,” Kurt said, finally finding the strength to stand up from his chair.

Blaine reached his hand towards him like he was going to stop him from leaving, but he stopped himself and instead said, “It's about Rachel.”

Kurt had been poised to exit, but at his words he slowly turned back to Blaine.

“Who?” he asked quietly.

“Rachel Berry. Your roommate,” he replied.

His gaze was fixed on Kurt as he slid back into his seat. Kurt's heart thumped loudly in his ears as he asked, “What about her?”

“You're worried about her deal with a demon.”

“How would you know that?”

He didn't reply, just shrugged.

“Blaine, how do you know anything about Rachel?” he demanded, voice growing louder.

“I've been keeping an eye on you,” he said, and as if to prove his point he was looking at Kurt with such casual intensity that it made him shiver.

“What the hell does that mean? Have you been stalking me?”

His small sliver of doubt melted away when the fact that demons could be invisible slammed to the forefront of his mind. It felt like his insides had turned to rock, heavy and cold inside him, as he remembered all of the times he thought he'd been alone in the past month, when he'd felt safe in his own home. Blaine could have been watching his every move, seen him when he was most vulnerable.

His nails bit into his palm when he recalled Rachel's words from last night- you say his name in your sleep sometimes.

He swallowed down his rising nausea.

“I only watched you when you were with other people,” Blaine said, as if that excused his behaviour. He reached forward again, intent to comfort him with his touch, but Kurt snatched his hands off the table.

“How is that supposed to make me feel any better about this horrid breach of privacy?” he asked, the words shooting past his lips in a hiss.

Kurt wished that Blaine was ugly, that he had horns tearing through his forehead and that his skin was mottled and grey, that his eyes couldn't get so wide and- and upset at Kurt's reaction. He didn't want to believe that Blaine actually felt regret for his actions and was sorry for Kurt's misery.

He wanted Blaine to be ugly, inside and out, like demons were supposed to be.

“You weren't alone when I watched you,” Blaine said, eyebrows drawn up in sincerity. “I wasn't invading on private moments, I was just seeing what other people saw.”

“Yeah, maybe if you were watching me in the street or at work, but coming into my home and watching me fight with my best friend? That is an invasion, Blaine.” He poked a finger at tabletop, breath coming fast. “Nothing excuses that.”

“I can stop,” he said.

“Do that,” Kurt spat. “And while you're at it, get out of here. Just leave.”

“I wanted to talk to you about-”

“Can you get Rachel out of her deal?” he asked plainly.

Blaine held his gaze for a moment before quietly saying, “No.”

“Then I have nothing to say to you.”

He nodded, head down, and slowly stood up. He peeked up at Kurt and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He left the coffee shop without another word and disappeared down an alley.

When Kurt was sure that he was gone, he stood up and threw his lukewarm coffee into the trash with more force than necessary because Blaine had no right to look so damned hurt and confused. It was absolutely ridiculous that he looked like a puppy who was expecting a pat and instead received a harsh slap.

Kurt leaned against the wall and breathed through his nose, willing the guilt lodged in his throat to disappear.

Demons are dangerous and will steal your soul without a second thought. They have no emotions or respect for human life. They have been known to possess or otherwise influence humans, and because of this, humans caught in the act of dealing with a demon will immediately be apprehended by the Bureau of Demon Affairs and questioned accordingly. Do not interact with demons.

Kurt muted the TV as the latest celebrity announced the same PSA that had been shoved down every American's throat since television had been invented. Sometimes they added a personal story about how a demon had negatively affected a ‘loved one'.

Kurt was sure that at least half of the celebrities had struck a deal with a demon to get their fame.

You could see it in their eyes, the fear of their approaching fate.

The eternity of servitude.

The early death.

Whatever they'd decided was worth being rich and famous.

Rachel wasn't home to watch television with him. Apparently the whole cast was behind on learning the choreography, and there were now mandatory extra dance rehearsals.

They hadn't really talked since two weeks ago when they fought, mostly because she'd been ignoring him, but he was sure that Rachel and the rest of the cast were taking a break at this very moment. Just like the rest of the world.

Because last week, the Demon Police (who had a really pretentious proper title so most people referred to them by the nickname) had caught a demon.

Reporters, cops, scientists, people in the street- everyone was talking about how completely unprecedented it was, how everybody should be super proud of New York, and America, because it was the first time anybody had ever trapped a demon.

That was all true if you ignored the rest of the world. Kurt had done an enormous amount of research before attending the demon mixer, and he'd found several reports detailing that Aboriginals used to summon demons and question them to learn about their magic.

Of course, priests and other people who just didn't like demons did their best to burn all of that information once they'd conquered the lands the Aboriginals once called their own.

Anyway, what the New York unit of the Bureau of Demon Affairs was doing was still unprecedented, technically, because no one had ever captured a demon and then displayed it in a cage for the viewing of the general public.

To be unveiled internationally on a TV special, like the royal wedding.

Yes, this was certainly new.

Kurt had been watching the same channel for the past three hours, all programs on demons, and what would be done to the captured demon, and recaps of the news programs from the past week in case someone had been under a rock and hadn't heard.

It reminded him of the football pre-shows Burt and Finn watched before the Super Bowl.

He'd been a nervous wreck the entire time.

He'd been a nervous wreck the entire week.

The demon that they captured, in all likelihood, was not Blaine. The odds were so slim he didn't even want to consider it.

Unfortunately, that possibility had been plaguing him since he'd heard a demon had been caught.

When he'd walked into work last week and found the whole office abuzz with the news of the capture, he'd immediately asked if anybody knew the name.

One of his coworkers had replied with the name of the officer who'd shot the demon (with the new, experimental liquid iron-secreting bullet), and Kurt had nearly kicked himself for speaking up at all. Obviously the name of the demon wouldn't be revealed. Who the hell cared what the abomination called itself?

Eventually, the feature presentation started and Kurt focused all his attention on the television screen, where newscasters from around the globe were gathered in the middle of Central Park, surrounding the caged demon at a safe distance.

It only took a further twenty minutes of fanfare before a few armed Demon Police tore off the blood-red curtain that had covered the cage since it had been brought to the square hours earlier.

Kurt held his breath, along with the rest of the world, and craned his neck forward to see into the cage. The walls of the prison were supposed to be transparent, but there was plenty blocking Kurt's view. Two layers of iron-laced glass, interspersed with two layers of criss-crossing bars, also made out of iron because it was the only thing humans had found that weakened demons and nobody was taking any chances.

The cage was just tall enough to stand in, and slightly wider. It was eerily reminiscent in shape to the cages that travelling circuses always seemed to house their lions in on cartoons.

Though Kurt's vision was obscured by the bars, he could still see that the demon looked dead on the floor. His cheek was squished against the bottom of the cage, and Kurt could only see the top of his curly-haired head, and none of his face.

He clenched his fists, waiting impatiently for the camera to pan around for a complete 360 look at the first demon ever captured by humans.

The announcer was explaining what the cage was made out of, and the security detail posted ‘round the clock to ensure no escape attempt would be made. Kurt didn't care because he already knew all of that from the special, The Demon Caged, he'd watched an hour ago.

The camera finally moved and zoomed in close enough for a shot of the demon's face and… he was blindfolded and gagged.

And manacled and chained to the cage.

All iron, of course.

 Kurt knew everything about the imprisonment except who was imprisoned.

The demon was curled in on himself, his face covered mostly by his hands, and the bars from the cage blocked so much of Kurt's view that he didn't understand the point of making such a huge spectacle of the unveiling.

He turned the television off, worry and frustration battling in his gut.

He didn't care whether or not Blaine was in that cage, he just wasn't going to be able to think about anything else until he knew the truth.

He'd go to the public viewing tomorrow for a better look.

Kurt had planned a quick peek during his lunch break, but apparently half the city had the same idea, so he came back a few hours later after pawning off the rest of his work on an intern and leaving the magazine early.

The bit of Central Park that was roped off for the event was crammed to capacity, with a waiting line that wasn't much shorter than Kurt had seen during his lunch. It looked like everybody and their brother had come to see the demon for themselves, and to get a quick pic for Facebook. Guards kept a six foot boundary around the cage, preventing anybody from tapping on the glass in an attempt to make the demon move from his fetal position on the ground.

He waited for a little over an hour in line before he was allowed through the gate. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but it seemed to drag on when it took him twenty minutes to fully pass the group of evangelists handing out lollipops to the children in line.

He'd never had much faith in religion, and he now found it even more laughable considering that a demon had done more for his father than a hundred prayers ever could have. He assumed that was why religious folk hated the demons so much.

He was finally let into the corral, and after numerous elbow jabs through the mass of people, he found a spot where he could sort of see the demon. His wrists were red and blistered from the iron chains, and Kurt realized he was probably curled into that prone state because he didn't have the strength to do anything else since he was so surrounded by his kryptonite, as it were.

He looked around for the protesters of this inhumane treatment, but then rolled his eyes at himself- demons weren't human. They weren't even animals. They had no one on their side.

Because they're evil, he reminded himself.

He took a deep breath and examined the caged demon with a critical eye, slowly assuring himself that it couldn't be Blaine. The prisoner was lankier than Blaine, and paler.

The differences could have been due to the awful conditions, but since Blaine had suddenly appeared next to him, Kurt was quite sure it wasn't him who was trapped.

“Hoping it was me?” Blaine asked as if he had casually walked up to Kurt like a normal person instead of transplanting himself ten feet away from half of the city's Demon Police.

Kurt looked around wildly, but no one else had noticed an abrupt extra body in the crowd.

“Just checking,” he answered, heart in his throat. He took Blaine in, confirming to himself that it was really him and he was not trapped inside a painful prison.

Blaine caught him staring and smirked. Kurt shuddered and turned back to the cage.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“Yeah, because I was really hoping to laugh at you being tortured and humiliated,” he replied sarcastically.

He shrugged. “You didn't seem too happy with me last time we spoke.”

“That doesn't mean-” he cut himself off. Why didn't he want to see Blaine in that cage? A demon is a demon is a demon, it's not like it would make any difference which one was in there. “Why are you here, anyway?” His voice rose. “Are you still stalking me?”

“No, I told you I wouldn't.” He gestured at something across the courtyard. “We're going for a rescue attempt.”

Since Kurt was looking in the direction Blaine was pointing, he noticed a wisp of smoke rise from the crowd and drift towards the cage.

“That cage is like 80% solid iron,” he said.

“I know, it feels like I'm getting sunburnt just standing here, ugh.” He shuddered, rubbing his arms.

“Are you good friends with that demon, then?” he asked, confused as to why he was risking his health. How could demons form strong bonds with other demons if they didn't even have emotions? (Though he doubted that ‘fact' more every time he repeated it to himself).

“He's one of our own,” he replied, focused on the barely-there smoke. “We can't let humans capture him and display him to the world like a joke.”

Kurt looked at the captured demon again, the thick cage trapping him, and the hundreds of gawking bystanders kept at a distance

“I don't know if anyone would describe him as ‘joke',” he mused. “That cage was specially built to contain him and he's still bound and gagged. There are upwards of fifteen guards within eyesight. Look around; we're terrified of him.”

To Kurt's surprise, Blaine rolled his eyes. “Of all the demons to be terrified of. Jessie is- ugh, he's an idiot,” he scoffed. “Do you know how he was caught?”

“Of course,” he replied with irritation. It was all anybody had been talking about for the last week. “There was another mixer and the Demon Cops infiltrated it-”

“And I speculate with very little doubt that when all the other demons there transported immediately back to the demon realm, Jessie stuck around longer than he needed to and made a big speech about how humans would never catch a demon and how stupid they were for even trying, and then somebody fucking threw an iron net over him or whatever happened-”

“A revolutionary new liquid iron-secreting bullet,” Kurt recited from memory.

“-because he's a dramatic idiot,” Blaine finished.

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed at the contempt in his voice. “So, why are you helping him escape?”

He sighed, turning away from the smoke that had concentrated around the lock. “I guess we're not today. The locks are iron, too. We thought they might have overlooked one small detail, but we're out of luck.”

“How can you tell?”

Blaine's eyes met his, and Kurt immediately wished that his focus was elsewhere. “Demons have other ways of communication than speech, Kurt.”

“You can talk to smoke?” He was lost.

Blaine snorted. “Smoke is the closest we can get to our base form in this realm.”

“What?”

“The main element of our base form only exists in the demonic and angelic realms-”

“Base form?” he echoed, zeroing in on what had actually confused him about Blaine's first explanation. “A demon's natural state is a wisp of smoke?”

Irritation flashed across his features. “It's more substantial than that; your realm is just very restrictive.”

“You're smoke,” he said in disbelief.

Kurt had had sex with smoke.

Blaine was shaking his head, sighing, when a woman in a tight red dress appeared in front of them.

Kurt jumped, hand going to his throat.

“Revealing demon secrets to every hot boy that shows interest, are we?” she said to Blaine, tone dripping with disproval as well as condescension. Neither of them had a chance to respond before she fanned herself and said, “Can we get out of here? All this iron is giving me hives.”

Her warm brown skin looked completely flawless to Kurt, but he supposed she was speaking metaphorically.

“Wait, was she just smoke?” he asked Blaine.

She finally spared him a second glance, her eyes raking over him in a way that made him feel completely exposed.

She suddenly grinned, wide and shark-like, and asked, “How would you like a demon to owe you a favour?”

“Absolutely not. I don't know what you're talking about, but no.”

She scowled, and Kurt swore he could see fire flash in her pupils.

“Who the hell is this?” she asked, crossing her arms over her impressive chest.

“He's no one,” Blaine said with a wave of his hand. Kurt almost let out an indignant huff before he remembered that he didn't want to be anyone to Blaine. “Santana, we can go-”

She looked speculatively between Kurt and Blaine, lips pursing before twisting into a smirk. “Past client? Okay, I can work with that. You help a demon out, get us the key for that lock, and Blaine'll return whatever he took from you for the deal you made.”

“I-” Kurt began, blood running cold.

“Ten years off your life? Back on. Eternal servitude? Now down to half an eternity. You obviously still have your soul now, does he get it after you die? Not anymore.”

“He can't give back what he took from me,” Kurt bit out, cutting off her car salesman-like pitch.

Blaine sucked in a sharp breath.

The woman, the demon- Santana raised a brow, but before she could speak a man beside Kurt asked, “Who are you talking to?”

Kurt looked from the stranger to the two demons in confusion.

“I'm-” he began, throat tight. Do not interact with demons. “Just people-”

Blaine shook his head, almost apologetically, and Santana winked at him.

His heart dropped down to his boots. They were invisible to everyone but him. He was talking to air.

“Bluetooth?” Kurt tried, voice cracking.

When he failed to produce any sort of communication device from his ear, the man shouted, “Demon! He's talking to a demon! There are free demons here!”

“No, no, it's nothing, shut up,” he snapped, ducking his head as a hundred heads turned to stare at him.

The attention of the nearest guards were on him in an instant, and they sliced through the crowd like a hot knife through butter to arrest him.

“Well this was fun. Ta.” Santana waved her fingers at him, her Cheshire cat grin hanging in the air before she disappeared completely.

The last thing he felt before he himself disappeared was a soft grip on his elbow, and then it was like he was freefalling, his stomach in his throat, except that he no longer had either.

What a terrible day this was turning out to be.