The road flew by in a blur of greens, blues and tans. Blaine Anderson's 1972 Ford Mustang (left to him by his father) kicked up a cloud of dust as he flew down US-30. He was scowling. And bored. There was absolutely nothing to look at because he was in Ohio and Ohio was flat. At least this part was. Seriously, all he could see was farmland and prairie until the horizon and there was nothing good on the radio and goddamit he missed his parents.

The young man's grip tightened on the steering wheel at this thought. No, he didn't miss his parents that had just up and left one night back in Montana leaving only a note that said "Good luck" and the car. That was just crazy. He savagely hit the radio button, ignoring the stinging in his hazel eyes.

I'm back on the road again, it's time I leave you now
And maybe I'll see you next time, that I'm around
Until then I hope your happy baby and good times come your way
I'm back on the road again, I'm on my way

REO. He could live with this. Blaine felt his mouth twitch in a slight smile and he began belting out the lyrics. It was a beautiful day; maybe he could try to enjoy it. A sign caught his eye.

"Ms. Pillsbury's Pies!" it read in giant white letters. There was a picture of a pretty, petite red-head smiling happily and holding out a steaming cherry pie.

"Best Homemade Pies in Ohio!" the sign proclaimed in slightly smaller letters.

Still singing, Blaine took the exit indicated. What can he say? He had a soft spot for homemade pies.

Kurt Hummel was still seething when he pulled up to his father's house in Lima, Ohio after driving the whole ten hours, 600 miles from New York City.

Fucking Jesse, he thought, slamming his door with much more force than was strictly necessary. Fucking Jesse fucking that fucking girl in OUR FUCKING BED. He glared at his black Lincoln Navigator. Jesse had gotten it with him. The car was going to go, Kurt decided, walking around to the back and yanking out his many bags. It hadn't been a pretty break-up. There had been lots of screaming; lots of yelling; and a hell of a lot of noise because when Kurt Hummel was angry, goddammit, everyone was going to know. The whole apartment complex, it seemed, turned out to see Jesse St. James get ripped a new one by the skinny, delicate-seeming college senior that still had the appearance of a high-schooler.

'It was epic!' Their next-door neighbor would have said if you asked. 'Always thought Jesse was kind of a douche, you know? But screwing over your boyfriend with a girl? That's a new kind of low. Props to Kurt for not taking it lying down! Dude's got claws, man!' Then he would have wandered back into his apartment and passed out from the pot.

"Kurt!" A voice sounded from the small house. Kurt turned and smiled at his dad. Burt Hummel was an average sized man, dressed exactly how one would expect a blue-collar mechanic with his own garage would dress: jeans, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap. He smiled back at his son. Sure he was happy his kid was living out his dreams in the big city, but he still missed his son. These visits were too rare for his liking. He enveloped Kurt in a great bear hug, and grabbed a bag, grunting at the weight.

"Did you pack bricks, son?"

"Dad! It takes many lotions for my skin to look this good. And you never know what kind of clothes you'll need! It's not that heavy. You're just getting old."

"Am not." Burt grunted and shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder, trying to hide his exertion.

Kurt watched his father lug his bag inside, the flimsy screen door banging shut after him. Burt was getting old, Kurt knew that. But that really was his lightest bag and when Burt had helped him move back into the apartment with Jesse for the school year only a month ago, he hadn't struggled at all. And there were dark circles under his eyes that definitely hadn't been there the last time Kurt saw him.

He shook his head. It was probably nothing. Locking the car, Kurt grabbed the rest of his suitcases and followed his father inside. They had planned an evening of getting drunk and letting Kurt cry about Jesse. Sure Burt wasn't too comfortable with this plan (he wasn't exactly an emotional guy) but Kurt figured the beer and the football would get him through it.

Besides, he missed his dad more than he'd ever admit in public. A night of bonding would be nice.

The next morning, however, Kurt was regretting that plan.

"Why is the sun so damn bright?" he complained, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"You're a lightweight." Burt smiled at his suffering son before tossing a uniform at the thin kid. "Get changed, kiddo. Workin' on cars will be good for you."

Kurt sulked and glared at the greased strained fabric. "Hummel Tires and Lube" proclaimed the right breast. "Kurt" it said on the left. He reluctantly pulled it on over his jeans and plain white t-shirt. What would his friends back in New York say if they saw Kurt, the resident fashionista who bitched and moaned if he had to wear anything less than a McQueen on a daily basis? Actually, Kurt thought as he grabbed a tool box and head out of the office and into the crowded garage, it's kind of nice to just relax in crappy clothes. Not that anyone will ever hear him say that out loud. Ever.

He looked up as a car drove in the garage. A blue and white 1972 Ford Mustang, Kurt noted. After growing up around cars his whole life and helping out in the shop from age ten on, he had absorbed a ton of car knowledge. He approved of the driver's choice. Then he sucked in his breath as the single most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life climbed out.

The man was wearing jeans, brown boots, and a grey v-neck that hugged his chest in such a way as to show off his toned muscles. His dark hair was slightly curly, and when he looked at Kurt, Kurt was sure he could just die in those hazel eyes. Screw Jesse. This guy was hot. Although probably not gay. Kurt's shoulder's sagged slightly at that thought, but he managed to plaster on a warm smile and walked over holding out his hand. Curly Hair was kind of short actually, but Kurt honestly didn't care. Up close the guy had looks like Marlon Brando. Or James Dean. Come to think of it, James Dean was staring at him…but whatever. Probably just his imagination.

"Hi, welcome to 'Hummel Tires and Lube'!" The man started but quickly smiled and shook Kurt's hand. "I'm Kurt. This is my dad's shop."

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson." Blaine blinked a few times. "Oh! Yeah. Um. I was wondering. Could you possibly help save my baby?" He gestured at the car. "I was just turning into 'Ms. Pillsbury's' when she started clanging and sputtering and the guys inside said to try to make it here…"

Kurt was already opening the hood. "Don't even worry, Blaine. We are geniuses here." He almost laughed at the look of relief on Blaine's face. "We'll save her for you." Kurt rolled up his sleeves and tried to wave away the cloud of angry-looking black smoke puffing up from the hood.

Hours later, Kurt was still tinkering over the Mustang. He was currently underneath the car, but was still talking to Blaine, who hadn't left yet. Kurt was interesting, ok? The past few hours had been the least boring of Blaine's life (not including other…activities…) and he loved hearing Kurt talk.

The other man (for, as Blaine learned, Kurt was 22 as well and a senior in college who had had a jackass for a boyfriend until recently and no, Blaine did not get slightly excited at this information) kicked off the uniform about an hour ago. His brown hair was amazingly still perfectly styled, though the rest of his body had grease smudges and stains. Not that Blaine minded. It made the guy look hot. And the thin t-shirt made it easy to admire his slightly built and lean body, although his Mustang was blocking it at the moment. He missed the eyes the most. Blue eyes. Beautiful eyes. Currently hidden by a few tons of metal.

Stupid car.

Blaine immediately apologized to his baby mentally, almost missing Kurt's question.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said," Kurt slid out from under the car, "How many miles are on this thing? Cause there is a ton of road dust just caked all up in there."

"It's seen a lot of love…" Blaine said sheepishly, thinking about how many times the Mustang had been driven across the country in the past 15 years. Damn his dad for leaving the car but not teaching Blaine to repair it. These old babies could be temperamental and Blaine really did not feel like scamming every honest mechanic he came across. He was a decent guy, see, but sometimes he didn't have a choice. His chosen profession didn't exactly pay very well.

"You don't have to hang out here all day, you know." Blaine roused himself from his thoughts and stared into beautiful sea-colored eyes. "I might be a while. I mean I can fix up…" Kurt's voice rambled on, mentioning a million things he could fix or tune up for Blaine's Mustang. It all went over Blaine's head. His dad had been the one to take care of the car. He had barely let Blaine drive it. Until he left.

Blaine interrupted Kurt with a laugh. "You can do whatever you want with her." He smiled. "I trust you." Kurt's eyes widened in surprise. "I mean it. And I don't mind waiting."

Kurt eyed him. "Well, ok. I won't be done by tonight. If you want to wait until we close at 5, I can drive you to a motel. I'd invite you to stay at my dad's place, but there really isn't enough room. A motel would be so much more comfortable. Just bring bug spray and don't be afraid to wage war on the cockroaches."

"I definitely will not be, don't worry," Blaine laughed. Seriously, this guy. Only a few hours and already Blaine felt like he knew Kurt's whole life. Leaving was definitely going to suck. "I can wait. It's no trouble."

He watched as Kurt shrugged and wiggled back under the car. He sighed. Totally wasn't fair. Here was a perfectly hot and sexy guy right in front of him who was definitely gay as evidenced by his story about this Jesse guy and Blaine couldn't make himself hit on him. He'd had plenty of one-night stands, some good, some bad (Jeremiah comes to mind, but that is a story that will never be told), yet Kurt seemed different. He was genuinely a really nice if snarky guy, and had just broken up with a long-term boyfriend. Getting in his pants for one night was tacky and kind of douche-y. It wasn't right. He silently cursed his morals. Blaine wandered away, looking for a bathroom to distract him from Kurt's narrow hips and long legs.

"Did you hear about John?"

"About how he disappeared yesterday? Yeah."

Blaine paused behind a car that was missing two tires. He could hear the other two mechanics talking in low voices as they changed the oil in a fancy Audi. Kurt had told him their names. Bob was the one in overalls and…Jim was the one with a ratty baseball cap and beer belly? Maybe. And Burt. Kurt's father. Burt was walking up to them. Blaine didn't enjoy eavesdropping, but this had piqued his interest.

"Guys. John probably got fed up with his shrew of a wife and left her to go to Vegas for the weekend." Burt glared at his employees.

Jim shifted uneasily. "But that's not like John. He was terrified of Mel, remember? He'd never leave her like that. And he's the sixth guy to go missing—"

Sixth? Christ. Blaine swore under his breath. Never a moment's peace. It always caught up with him.

"Even so—hey! Even so," Burt firmly spoke over the other two, "it's police business. Talkin' about this sort of this does nothing except scare each of us silly. Now. Get back to work. And Bob, I know you are skimping on Harrow's. She's a good person, so go clean her car properly." With that, Burt turned away, heading for the office. Jim and Bob exchanged glance, but shut up and went back to work. Blaine could tell by their twitching jaws that both were still nervous.

Walking back over to Kurt, Blaine unfolded one of the many folding chairs lying around the garage and sat down. Six men missing. This was obviously a problem. He wished Kurt would hurry up and finish. Or at least get bored and want to leave early.

Kurt's gentle chatter washed over him. Occasionally Blaine commented but mostly just listened. He was distracted.

After dropping Blaine off at the local motel (Blue Horizons Motel, which kind of sucked but Blaine insisted it was fine since the next closest was another three miles and wasn't much better), stopping by the garage to get another hour of work in and eating a comfort dinner of steak and mashed potatoes with his dad, Kurt went out on the town. Sort off. Lima didn't exactly have the best night life but Kurt was determined to stop moping about Jesse and thinking about how sexy Blaine looked when he had dozed off in the garage. No. Kurt was going to have a night to himself and he was going to enjoy it, dammit.

After wandering from bar to bar, he finally just gave up and went to the one his dad and his buddies sometimes frequented. Inside was loud, with the pool tables clanging and a late West-coast hockey game on the TVs and the 30 or so drunk patrons clamoring for another beer. He almost decided to just leave and go home to watch a chick flick and cry into the sheets all night but it was too late. He'd been spotted.

"Kuuuuuurt!" Jim waved furiously from a corner of the bar. Bob was next to him and they both held up pitchers. Kurt would have to stay for a least a little bit now. He grew up with these men as his adopted uncles. They were family. And family didn't let family drink alone.

Which is how Kurt wound up slightly buzzed when he stumbled back in the house at 2 a.m. He winced when the screen door banged shut, the noise seeming exceedingly loud in the dead silent house. He moved through the darkened house as quietly as possible, not wanted to wake Burt up. As he got changed and flopped into bed, Kurt felt something was…off. He turned over and stared at his ceiling. This wasn't the house he grew up in. His dad had moved into a smaller place closer to the garage after Kurt left for college four years ago. The room was small, with a bureau off to the side, a vanity, a bedside table with a lamp and the bed as the only furniture. The ceiling stared back at Kurt. Why was he so nervous? The house was quiet. It wasn't leaking. There were a few owl calls outside. But otherwise…silent. Kurt bolted upright. Silent.

It was never silent at night in this house. The walls were paper-thin and sound carried right through them. Burt snored. Loudly. It was a constant growing up, and Kurt had long since trained himself to sleep while it sounded like a truck starting up in his father's room. But it was silent now. Kurt practically ran to his door, tripping over his suitcases on the way. Cursing, he flung open his door, not even bothering to be quiet this time. Kurt flew down the hall, desperately trying to fight the panic bubbling in his chest. His dad was probably fine. Maybe he got one of those sleep-aids that stopped the snoring. But the conversation from earlier that night kept rushing through his head.

'Six men missing?'

'Yep.' Bob drank deeply. 'No one knows where they gone. But it's always the same. They go to bed and when someone goes to wake them in the morning…nothing.' Jim nodded in agreement, looking slightly queasy. Kurt had taken another long sip from his pitcher and changed the subject quickly.

He paused in front of his dad's door at the end of the hallway.

"D-Dad?" He called quietly, knocking gently. No answer. Kurt swallowed hard, but turned the knob and pushed the door in. "Dad?"

The bed was empty. Moonlight from the open window fell across the rumpled sheets, so Burt had been under the covers at some point that night. The curtains twirled gently in the late night breeze, casting strange shadows into the room. Kurt carefully walked in, hand pressed tightly to his mouth to keep from crying out. The picture frame that was usually on the bedside table was missing. Kurt soon found it face down on the floor near the open window. The glass had shattered all around it. Kurt slowly picked it up. It showed a family of three, taken long ago. Kurt had been about 6, and his little self was clinging to a beautiful woman with long auburn hair and a smile to rival Grace Kelly's. A younger Burt had his arm around her waist. They smiled at the camera.

"Dad…" Kurt's voice broke.

After checking to the motel, Blaine spent the night researching the missing men as best he could on his laptop. His portable printer was busy for hours. He could see no connection. Three of the six were white, two were black, and one was Asian. Two were married, the rest were either single or had girlfriends. Four had kids. The only connection was that they were all men between the ages of 40 and 55. And were apparently sleeping alone.

Then Blaine had pulled up a map of Lima. The men didn't live on the same street, but the sewer system of Lima had a few hubs where several lines fed into one room. All the men lived in houses whose plumbing was connected to the same hub. Maybe that was important? Blaine decided to explore it in the morning. But it was only 11 o'clock. So then Blaine started reading through his parent's journal they had left him. Maybe in there he could figure out what was going on.

He had several theories by the time he closed the book around 2. He yanked off his shirt and jeans, deciding to sleep in his boxers. It was fucking hot, even for October. The bed wasn't insanely comfortable, but considering the last few nights had been spent in his car, anything with real sheets and a mattress was an improvement. No sooner had he laid down, however, was his cell phone ringing off the hook and a hysterical Kurt was crying in his ear about his missing father.

Then Kurt decided he wasn't sleeping in his house that night and that Blaine had better be ready because he was coming over.

There was no arguing with Kurt, Blaine had quickly realized. Instead, he rapidly began cleaning the motel room: stripping the walls of the various newspaper articles on the missing men he had collected, hiding the map with the sewer tunnels marked under the bed, and stashing his parent's…guide… deep into one of his duffels. By the time Kurt burst in around 4, the room looked fairly normal and not at all like a crazy person's hideout. B laine also had the sense to pull on a pair of sweatpants. Kurt threw his bag at the base of the wall, sat on the bed and burst into tears.

Shitshitshitshit, Blaine was internally freaking out. What could he possibly do? He had a fairly good idea what had happened to Kurt's father, and it sure as hell wasn't pleasant. He doubted Kurt would want to hear that. Blaine had never been all that comfortable with other people and their feelings. Ever. So the sight of a really cute guy sitting on his bed bawling his eyes out was terrifying, yet he had this crazy urge to try to comfort him. Blaine awkwardly sat down next to Kurt, who flung his arms around Blaine's neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Startled Blaine didn't move for a few seconds, but soon hugged Kurt back and murmured comforting words in his ear.

Eventually Kurt calmed down enough to speak in full sentences and haltingly told Blaine what happened.

"It's just…he's all I have, you know? My mom died when I was really little and it's just been the two of us forever and now he's gone and I don't know where he is. Something happened to him." Kurt took a deep breath, still clutching Blaine's hand in a tight grip. His red-rimmed eyes looked desperately at Blaine, who felt his heart breaking for this poor kid. "Something really bad. He wouldn't do this to me after Mom."

"I think," Blaine said gently, "you should get some sleep. Everything might look better in the morning."

"Doubt it." Kurt snorted, but leaned back on the bed. After spending most of the past two days in hysterics, sleep came instantly.

Blaine took the opportunity to study this beautiful man lying on his bed. Yeah. The powers that be were definitely mocking him by sending what looked like an angel to haunt him. How did someone keep their skin so flawless anyway? He brushed a finger across Kurt's cheek. It looked like porcelain. He draped the sheets over Kurt's body and retreated to the chair next to the desk. It felt weird to sleep in the same bed as a guy he had known all of maybe 18 hours total. The chair would be just fine. He could do some research anyway.

"What's that?" Kurt's voice next to his ear the next morning shocked Blaine awake more effectively than any alarm clock.

"Wazzwat?" he mumbled, trying to fight back a yawn and failing. The clock on the bedside table said 8:34. Damn. Only about 3 hours of sleep then.

"That." Kurt pointed at his laptop screen which currently was displaying a gruesome picture of what looked like a beautiful woman with long claws and huge teeth dripping with blood. At her feet was the outline of a clearly dead and blood-soaked man .

Shit. Blaine quickly slammed his laptop shut. How to explain this. "Um. That was a succubus." Kurt raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. Damn him for being so well put together already. Actually he was dressed really fashionable…those boots hugged his calves way too well to be anything but designer. "Right. Um." Blaine snapped his thoughts back to placating Kurt. "A succubus is a demon that takes the form of a woman to seduce men. She visits men sleeping alone and feeds off them for several days, draining their energy. When she decides she's bored, she kills them. Legends vary on whether the succubus merely eats their soul or just the flesh." Don't ask any more questions. Please. Blaine silently begged.

No such luck. "She feeds off men?" Blaine nodded. "Why, in the next tab then, are you looking at the missing persons reports?"

Fuck. Kurt was one nosy and observant son-a-bitch. "Um…" He was usually better at thinking on his feet. Why was it so hard to lie to this guy? He's just another person that Blaine will leave behind after this whole job is over. But he wasn't. He was Kurt. Dammit.

"Who are you? Really?" Kurt was gazing at him as if Blaine was a particularly interesting puzzle. "I know you said you were FBI earlier, but quite frankly, that's bullshit." Blaine blinked at Kurt, mouth trying to work but failing miserably. "Also I did work on your car a bit after you left. Your trunk, Blaine."

Blaine tried not to look at Kurt. He knew what was in the trunk. Well. There was no escaping now. He'd have to tell the truth. And give up any hope a friendship with this angel.

"You have an armory in there. Machetes. Guns. Knives. And the other stuff? Amulets and talismans? What the hell, Blaine? I wasn't going to mention it because it's your life but now you're looking up demons and missing persons reports and I found the map earlier." Kurt actually looked a little guilty at this admission. "It was sticking out from under the bed. Anyway. Not the point." Deep breath. "Blaine, do you know what happened to my dad?" he asked, scared eyes boring holes into Blaine.

Truth time. Shit.

"I'm a hunter." Blaine finally said. Kurt sat down on the bed and stared, but thankfully didn't interrupt. "See, there are monsters out there. Real monsters. Ghosts. Werewolves. Vampires too, if recent rumors are true." He chanced a glance at Kurt, who had a blank expression on. This was not going well. Oh boy. Full steam ahead, Blaine thought ruefully. "Hunters, like me, track down these monsters and stuff and kill them to protect the public. You. Basically." He shifted uneasily under Kurt's gaze.

"You aren't lying." Kurt stated. It wasn't a question.

"No." Blaine whispered.

Kurt nodded as if to himself. "Well. I believe you. I don't know why, but I do." Relief washed over Blaine. "So…you've been doing this your whole life? Driving from place to place in the Mustang, saving people and hunting things?" His mouth twitched in a smile at this last question.

"Basically yeah." Blaine admitted. "My parents got into it after my little sister was killed by a poltergeist when I was seven. We've been on the road ever since."

"Where are your parents now?"

Blaine swallowed. "I don't know. They left me a few months ago in California. Cut off their phones, their friends. I only have the car and their handbook."

"And fake IDs apparently." There was definitely a ghost of a smile on Kurt's lips. "I'm sorry about your sister."

"Me too."

They sat in silence.

"So…this succubus. You think she's responsible for the disappearances?" Blaine nodded. "What's your plan then?" Blaine stared at Kurt. Stubborn blue eyes glared back, and Blaine knew he wasn't going to be able to ditch him. He sighed, prayed he was doing the right thing, and began explaining.

Blaine hated sewers. Hated them. He didn't care how often he generally found himself mucking through this shit, he still hated sewers. They were wet and grimy and smelled. But if Blaine thought he hated it down here, Kurt loathed it. He muttered about how his skin was never going to recover from this and his boots were completely ruined and oh god was that a rat?

Blaine was glad he was the one with the shotgun. Kurt was holding the thick handbook to his chest, where an exorcism spell was bookmarked. Blaine wasn't exactly sure on how to kill a succubus so he brought the exorcism spell because she was a demon supposedly and the rock salt-loaded shotgun.

'Rock salt?' Kurt had laughed at him.

'Don't knock it.' Blaine warned, carefully capping another shotgun shell. 'It repels a lot of supernatural beings. Something about salt being pure.'

'But still,' Kurt giggled. Actually giggled. 'Salt. Ghost and demons are afraid of condiments. What is my life.'

Both had flashlights that barely pierced the dim gloom. Water dripped loudly, and dank smell assaulted their noses. Blaine was beginning to wonder if they were headed in the right direction. They'd been walking for almost twenty minutes, and he was feeling antsy. "Kurt," Blaine hissed quietly. "Kurt, look, you've got to be quieter. I can't hear if something is sneaking up on us and we don't want to give her a warning that we're coming."

Kurt glared at Blaine, but thankfully shut up. He was aware of how loud his boots were against the grimy ground, and attempted to walk quietly. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm down and slow his pounding heart. Kurt Hummel might be scared to death and freaking out internally but to hell with showing it to Blaine.

Stupid Blaine.

With his soft, curly hair and ripped abs (because while yes, Kurt had been a bit hysterical last night he had not missed that fact that Blaine had been shirtless and if he held on for a little longer than he actually needed to who was judging anyway?) and tight ass and the extremely dapper way the hunter wore his leather jacket. Also, no one should be able to look that sexy holding a gun while also covered in sewage filth. It wasn't right.

Kurt sullenly followed Blaine's footsteps, not looking where the tunnel was headed. I am obviously crazy, he decided. Following a guy that talks about ghosts and demons as if they were real. I don't even believe in God and now I'm consciously seeking out a succubus that might have kidnapped my dad with a guy barely out of college—if he even went which I doubt—that I've known all of a day. Yeah, Kurt thought he was definitely crazy. He didn't even notice when Blaine stopped suddenly, instead walking directly into Blaine's back. He muttered an apology into the leather.

'S'okay." Blaine pushed Kurt to the side of the tunnel as he cautiously leaned in to peak into the room ahead.

They had finally found the hub. Six other sewer lines fed into the room, which was a circle of about 20 feet in diameter. The ceiling rose about 12 feet, and the only ambient light came from three sewer grates scattered across the room. Other than that, it looked the same as the tunnel the boys were standing in. Dark, dank, covered in filth and reeking. Only…the smell was different. Kurt tightened his grip on Blaine's arm, who nodded.

"Yeah…I smell it too." He whispered sadly. Underneath the stench of sewage filth was an odor of decay, like rotting meat. The air also had a coppery tint to it. "Blood. And death." Blaine glanced back at Kurt who had, if possible, gone even paler. But Blaine couldn't waste time comforting the boy. He checked the chamber of the shotgun yet again and gave Kurt's hand a reassuring squeeze before studying the room again.

There. At the far end, near one of the tunnel entrances. A dark lump was just barely visible. Clouds must have lifted outside for the room suddenly got brighter. Blaine felt Kurt tense up next to him before he dropped his flashlight and dashed across the room. "DAD!"

"Shit! Kurt! Get back here!" But Kurt had already covered the distance and was crouching by the lump. "Fuck!" Blaine suddenly remembered why his father had preferred to work alone. Newbies were fucking annoying. Still muttering curses and flinging glances in every direction, Blaine worked his way across the open space. Up close, Burt looked awful.

Put bluntly, there was blood everywhere. Four long gashes slashed across his chest, and his throat had nearly been torn out. Blood stained his mouth and had settled in a pool all around his body. Near Burt's corpse, the remains of the other six missing men were piled, each in various stages of decay. The earliest, Michael Kenning, had been reduced to yellowed bone. The rest still looked fairly juicy however.

Blaine hadn't really expected to find Burt alive. That kind of happy ending bullshit was only found in the movies. However, at that moment, he wished to a God he never prayed to that he could have spared Kurt the trauma of losing another parent before their time. But now was not the time to grieve. They had to move, quickly, and before the succubus came back. He shook Kurt's shoulder gently. "Kurt." The brunette didn't move. His wide eyes, usually full of sarcasm and laughter, were glassy. Blaine shook his shoulder again, this time more roughly. "Kurt! We have to move. Come on. Kurt! KURT!" He only clutched the tattered book with the exorcism spell and stared unseeingly at his dead father. Blaine growled and yanked Kurt up by the other boy's coat lapel with one hand, the other clutching the gun.

"Look at me. Kurt! Look at me!" With an effort, it seemed, Kurt dragged his blue eyes to Blaine's hazel ones. They watered with unshed tears and horror. Ignoring the stab in his chest from seeing so much pain in those eyes, Blaine spoke. "I'm sorry about your father. I am. And you will get time to properly mourn him. However," Blaine grimaced "right now, we need to worry about getting out of here alive. She might have seen us already, and if so, she won't let us go. We need to focus, alright?" Kurt didn't answer. "We are going to focus on killing that bitch and getting out of here. Are you with me Kurt? I need to know." Blaine hated being so clinical and detached but he could not afford a catatonic wing man at the moment. The brutality of Burt's death meant the creature responsible was extremely powerful, and Blaine was not entirely sure he could protect both Kurt and himself if she decided to attack. But Kurt was shakily nodding.

"I'm with you." He whispered.

"How adorable," drawled a feminine voice.

Blaine and Kurt jumped, with Blaine pushing Kurt behind him protectively and pointing the shotgun at the woman leaning on one of the tunnel entrances.

She had long, flowing black hair, full red lips and curves in all the right places. The clingy red material of her dress accentuated her trim waist and full breasts, and Blaine was fairly certain that had he been otherwise inclined, he would not have been able to resist the sex that seemed to ooze off her body. The only thing off about the gorgeous tanned woman was her jet black eyes. No whites were visible. Demon. Blaine tightened his grip on the shotgun, which he now realized was little more than useless. Salt could damage many supernatural beings, but it only tended to irritate demons. A few lower level ones could be held at bay with salt lines, but more powerful ones would simply crack the ground and step across. He tried to take a step forward but Kurt's fingers were digging into his shoulder, and it was actually starting to hurt. "Don't you leave me!" Kurt hissed into his ear.

"Oh that's why my powers aren't tempting you two to completely ravish me!" The demon laughed cruelly. "Other inclinations, eh boys?" She sultrily smiled, putting as much swing in her hips as possible as she approached them, her dress dragging on the ground. The v-neck plunged so low Blaine could see her belly button. He backed up nervously as thoughts of her naked and prone form flitted across his mind. She's powerful. Shit shit shit. He aimed the barrels at her chest and pulled the trigger with a bang.

Red bloomed across her chest and she froze. She looked down at her ruined dress and torn up torso before fixing Blaine with the scariest glare he'd ever been fixed with. "You little bastard. I liked that dress!" She was suddenly grabbing Blaine's coat and flung him across the room with a shriek. He hit the wall a few feet up with his back before falling on his face. Groaning, Blaine began hunting through his jacket.

"Kurt! The spell!" he shouted, still turning out every pocket he could find. The succubus snarled and marched over to Blaine.

At the sound of Blaine's voice, Kurt began flipping through the pages until he came to the exorcism spell. It was in Latin and Kurt hoped to God that Latin was pronounced the same way French was, otherwise they were truly fucked. He glanced back at Blaine, who had whipped a small bottle out of somewhere and was flinging the contents at the demon. She howled, smoking slightly. Holy water? Kurt ignored the battle and he tried to decipher the handwritten notes.

"Exorcizamus te

omnis immundus spiritus,

omnis satanica potestas,

omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…"

As Kurt spoke, wind suddenly picked up, in a tunnel, which made no sense. He kept reading, noticing from the corner of his eye how the demon began twitching and screaming.

"How cute! Little boys, playing games." She snarled, rushing at Kurt. Kurt backed away, still reading, and hoping that Blaine was going to stop her cause her fingers lengthened into foot-long claws and holy shit that just didn't happen in real life. She raised her arm to strike, but a small blur tackled her and she fell to the side, screaming and twisting in Blaine's grip.

"Keep reading!" Blaine roared, trying to avoid her razor-sharp fingers. A few cuts opened on his cheek, however.

Kurt, who had faltered a bit at the attack, redoubled his reading efforts.

"Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei,

contremisce et effuge..."

Even though he was tripping over the complicated Latin, the general gist seemed to get through and the demon writhed and squirmed even more violently under Blaine. Her voice suddenly deepened as she cursed out both of them, screaming threats and trying desperately to throw Blaine off her back. Blaine only wrapped his arms around her more tightly. He winced as she managed to bite his upper arm with long, sharpened teeth. He hadn't even noticed the change. Come one Kurt, hurry up!

"Your father begged for his life!" The demon snarled, fixing Kurt with her black eyes. Kurt stared back in shock. "Like a coward! He begged!" The demon began laughing. Blaine slammed her head against the ground to shut her up.

For his part, Kurt had backed up against the wall, watching Blaine grapple with the demon, completely numb. He saw her claws find Blaine's side and the hunter let out a cry of pain. That woke Kurt up. "Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!" As he shouted out the last line, the demon screamed again, throwing back her head, but this time a thick black smoke poured from her nose and mouth. It gathered on the ceiling, rumbling angrily before bursting into flames and vanishing. The wind stopped just as suddenly.

Kurt's legs gave out and he sank to the floor, still staring open mouthed at the scorched-free ceiling. He dimly noticed Blaine standing up and gently laying the girl's body down before sitting next to Kurt. He didn't speak, just eyed Kurt warily. He seemed afraid. Kurt tried to clear his dry throat. "That…that just happened?" He looked at Blaine for conformation, who hesitated before nodding. "I just exorcised a demon." Just processing that thought was shocking. "I saw a demon. With black eyes. Her hands turned into claws." This shit just didn't happen in real life. What. The. Fuck. "I…I beat her." Kurt felt satisfaction nestle in chest. "She killed my father, and I beat her. I won." He giggled a little; smiling at Blaine's confused expression.

"Yeah, you sent the demon to hell…" Blaine said slowly. He still watched Kurt carefully though.

"That…thing…can't hurt anyone else. I did it. We did it! We did it!" By now Kurt was laughing. He ran a hand through his styled hair, now even caring what it looked like. He gradually calmed down and saw his dad's body still in its pool of blood. Tears leaked from his eyes. Blaine just hugged him and, for the second time in less than twelve hours, let Kurt cry into his shoulder.

Burt's funeral was three days later on a cold and cloudy October day, which Kurt thought was damn appropriate. His dad was dead. The sun had no business happily shining when the world sucked so much. The three days since the sewers had been a whirlwind of activity, from the police questioning to planning the service to interacting with the few relatives still around. Surprisingly, Blaine stuck around. He slept on the couch while Kurt didn't sleep at all. Kurt wasn't sure if Blaine stayed to help him out (he had, in all honesty, been helpful with the planning and dealing with reporters and even the sudden appearance of Jesse and his new girlfriend) or if he stayed because he was too polite to ask if the Mustang was fixed so the hunter could get the hell out of Dodge.

Kurt hadn't told Blaine that his car had been fixed ever since he had snuck out of the house for several hours two days before.

Regardless, Blaine was standing next to him, dressed in a sharp suit, and Kurt was grateful for the company. Ohio, quite frankly, sucked for Kurt. He had been bullied everyday in school and had no friends until he left for college. He ordinarily could stand only a few days in Lima before feeling so claustrophobic he practically screamed. He had reached that point several days ago, but the funeral forced Kurt to suck it up.

The rest of the mourners had long since left. Only Kurt and Blaine remained, looking at the twin headstones. One for his mom, one for his dad. Kurt was an orphan. His worst dreams as a child had finally come true, and he had never felt lonelier.

"Thanks." He finally said, trying to ignore how his voice cracked.

Blaine clasped his hand comfortingly. "It's no problem." He gently tugged Kurt back to the car.

"Bye Mom. Bye Dad." Kurt felt a tear trickle down his face. He angrily wiped it away. He was done crying. He had to make plans. And talk to Blaine. Who was sure to hate the idea that had been growing in Kurt's mind. But fuck what Blaine thought. Kurt Hummel wanted this. And Blaine was going to hear him out.

As Kurt was in no state to drive, Blaine took the wheel. He pulled up to the curb outside Burt's (Kurt refused to call it anything else) house. Kurt made no move to get out. "Kurt," Blaine began worriedly.

"You're leaving soon." Kurt interrupted. He fixed Blaine with an even gaze.

Blaine could only nod mutely. His heart hurt faintly at this motion.

"I'm coming with you."

Blaine blanched and stared at Kurt. "No you aren't."

"Yes. I am." Kurt glared and shot a look that Blaine was quickly learning was his Bitch quit talking nonsense look. "There's nothing for me here. Or in New York." He continued quickly, talking over Blaine's protests. "No, shut up listen! How can you expect me to go back to studying stupid patterns and fucking fashion trends and caring about the next musical on Broadway when I know about all the things that go bump in the night? If what you've been telling me is true, people are dying every day because of these creatures. I can help."

"You'll be a liability." Blaine harshly cut in. "The sewer was a fluke. You can't fight. You can't shoot."

"I can shoot a gun. Dad took me hunting."

"Fine. You can shoot animals. What if you were aiming at a child?" Kurt huffed and looked away. "Because, Kurt, some creatures take the form of children. Could you shoot a little girl without hesitating?" Kurt was glaring again. Blaine sighed and twisted in the seat so he was facing Kurt completely. "You don't understand. This life sucks. It's full of bad motels, too few showers, greasy food, no money, loneliness and death. Lots of death. Every time my phone rings, chances are it's someone telling me one of the few friends I've made was killed by some vampire or something. And that's not including all the people I fail to save even after I've taken a job. 'Cause you can't save everyone. Being a hunter eats away at you, Kurt, and you can't ask me to take you with me." Blaine immediately knew he screwed up when he saw the anger flashing in Kurt's eyes. "You don't want this life."

"Do not play the tragic hero card with me, Blaine!" Kurt yelled at his face. "I am aware of the shitty end of the spectrum with this job. I am, shockingly, not stupid. However," His face flushed with anger. "This job saves people. And after my father dying, I don't want anyone else to have to go through this. If I can save just one person, then all the shitty showers and fucking cockroaches will have been worth it." Kurt set his jaw stubbornly. "Just one person, Blaine. It'd be worth it."

Blaine looked at Kurt. The angry, sea-blue eyes, the pale skin, thin lips, stubborn jaw line. He didn't know whether to punch Kurt in the face or kiss him senseless.

"I can't live with it, Blaine." Kurt admitted quietly. "I can't live with knowing that people are dying and I'm not doing everything possible to help them. I can't."

His resolve was weakening. Blaine knew he was going to say yes in that moment. And he hated himself for damning Kurt to a life of being a hunter. He hated that all of Kurt's dreams had been shattered only a few days ago and he hated that Kurt's morals wouldn't let him go back to New York and be happy. But most of all, Blaine hated that a small part of himself was glad Kurt wanted to come. Because he had been really lonely since being abandoned but his parents, and just having a friend for the long rides would be more than Blaine had hoped for in the past. Someone to share the life. Blaine stared out the window. It had started raining and fat raindrops rolled down the glass.

"I can fix your car. She is a beauty, but being on the road for forty years takes its toll. She'll break down again."

Blaine turned back to Kurt, searching his face for doubts. He saw only resolve, pride, and determination. Fuck.

"Guess I can't say no to that." He tried to smile as Kurt squealed and hugged him, grinning broadly. He barely heard Kurt say he just going to grab his already packed backs and that his Mustang was ready at the shop. He heard the door slam and watched Kurt dash inside the house, probably scaring the crap out of the old ladies inside. Leaving now would be so easy. Just…drive to the shop, get his baby, and be gone. Blaine sighed. Because he wasn't going to. He couldn't leave Kurt now.

He was going to be stuck with that stubborn, headstrong, sassy brunette for a while, and a part of Blaine didn't even mind. When Kurt climbed back in the passenger seat, Blaine could return his smile.

He hit the radio button.

Well the night's busted open,

These two lanes will take us anywhere…

"Hope you like classic rock." Blaine grinned at Kurt's pout, and pulled away from the curb. Maybe this could work out.

Oh, oh, thunder road, oh, thunder road, oh thunder road…