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[So, sometime after he sneaks away from Santana and her obsessive need for attention, Kurt's wandering around looking for somewhere to be. The video catches him wandering down an unfamiliar hallway, hoping that whatever's been out to get him won't find him if he's not on his usual stomping grounds, so to speak. It seems to be going well at first,
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Carrying the stupid communicator with him makes him feel like a freakin' Ghostfacer, too, but after fiddling with the thing and turning it into a camera-cum-EMF-reader, he's ready for any sort of activity.
...If he wasn't so goddamn terrified of having his flesh torn from his skin.
Changing the channels on the communicator to see if he picks anything up, he's got...
Hey, it's that triangle-sweater...Kurt...kid. He looks awful. The speaker's not picking anything up, either. The camera shakes, reels out of focus and goes black, and Dean glances up, hearing the sickening crunch of rotting floorboards and a dull thud.]
Shit. Kurt!
[Picking up speed and shoving the camera back into his duffel, Dean sprints down the hallway, skidding to a halt around a corner at the edge of a precipice...and...it's dark in that hole. He's assuming this is the one, it's the only one he could've fallen into. The man swallows, fumbling for a flashlight and breathing hard as he clicks it on, shining it into the blackness.]
Kurt? Kurt! C'mon, buddy, answer me! [Dean kneels at the edge, careful of the splinters around him that could shatter at any given moment. Fuck. Fuck, that's far down.] Kurt!
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But after a minute of BRIGHT LIGHT in his face, he winces and turns his face away.]
Ngh...shut that off...you'll make me go blind.
[And he weakly lifts his arm up and makes a swatting motion, like that's really going to make the bright light go away.]
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Yeah, you're welcome. [Dean grunts, rolling his eyes and flicking it off before shoving it back into his bag. He's got a pretty good idea where Kurt is below him, but it's a damn pity he doesn't have anyone else around to watch his back while he plays hero.]
It's me. Dean.
[He leans over the edge carefully, wondering if he's got enough rope for a drop this high.] You okay, princess? [Yeah, he can joke around at a time like this, particularly if he's stressed.] Any broken bones?
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[Wait...he squints up, now that the light is gone.]
...Dean?
[OH THANK GOD SOMEONE GOOD-LOOKING TO HELP HIM. But you know, Operation Pseudo-Damsel in Distress was never supposed to be this literal.
He pushes himself up on his palms, and while he's sore, he seems to be okay. And then slowly he'll force himself upright...and time to stand up- OW. Ow, his ankle, that was unpleasant...but he manages to get up, by leaning on a wall and not putting weight on his right foot, ahhh.]
I-I'm fine! [He sounds a little shaken, but he's clearly not dead!] Be careful! The floor is-
[...Strangely, the floor that broke under Kurt's weight is holding Dean up pretty well, without threatening to give away. Huh. ...That's weird.]
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[He frowns down into the hole, dropping his duffel bag and rummaging through it for the freakin' rope.]
Floor's fine up here. As long as you're okay-
[Dean hefts the rope out, moving to the nearest door and tying a knot around the handle, yanking on it to make sure it holds. He leans over the edge again.]
Can you make it climbing up a rope, or you want me to come and get you before another floor breaks? [He's not taking any chances, no fucking way.]
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...I think I can manage.
[He makes a grabbing gesture up at the- woah that's a lot higher up that he remembered. ...Anyway yeah, toss him the rope. This couldn't possibly go wrong, right?]
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Hey. If your arms get tired, lemme know and I'll pull ya, huh?
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[...Well, hopefully it won't be necessary. Kurt reaches and grabs the rope, and uses it to pull himself closer without actually walking on his bad ankle. Then, he ives it a tentative tug and looks up.
That's...really high.
But no, he already said he would. So he grabs on, and tries to pull himself up. It takes him a couple of extremely silly tries, but eventually he gets it and manages to awkwardly shimmy up about three feet. And he swings there for a second, because it's clearly harder than he thought it would be.
Oh wait. What's that?
Is that the rope fraying above him? ...Mm, yep. Pretty sure that's what it is. That's so weird though! It sure looked stronger than that! Kurt moves to start shimmying up the rope again, but it snaps not far up and he goes falling. Again.]
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What the-?
[There's a snapping sound, almost like a gunshot, and the rope breaks, lightening the weight considerably and sending him toppling back onto his ass.] Fuck.
[Groaning, he rolls forward and peers over the edge again.]
Dude. This just ain't your lucky day. I'm comin' down. Heads up. [Throwing the duffel bag over one shoulder, he grips the rope (or what's left of it) tightly and braces his feet on the edge, looking down over his shoulder for a split second before rappelling down through the hole. Of course, Dean reaches the end of the rope fairly early and doesn't exactly land on his feet, grunting in pain as the bag of weapons digs into his spine when his back hits the floor.]
...okay, fucking ow. [The man swears under his breath, getting to his feet and squinting in the half-light.] No more boot camp exercises for you, Mr. Fashionista. [Dusting himself off, he coughs and glances around.] ...break anything this time?
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[He rubs at his head though. He's fine, but everything ever hurts a little.] That doesn't even begin to describe it. My entire weekend has been like this. Granted, that was the first time the floor gave out on me - [He looks up at the hole] - but every few minutes or so I've fallen down or had chairs break while I was sitting in them. Things have practically jumped off of walls to smack me in the head! It's ridiculous and humiliating. It's like I've been cursed or something. I haven't gone ten minutes without gettin hurt in the last twenty hour hours!
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...cursed? Yeah, I know a little bit about that. My whole freaking family's cursed. [This is...a bit of a tender subject. It'd be best to move on.]
There's something weird going on. Everyone I ran into's got something wrong with 'em. I gotta mess of rabid dogs on my ass, for one, so we should start moving and find something you won't fall through. [Retrieving his flashlight and clicking it on again, he locates Kurt and offers him a hand up, giving him a cheeky grin.]
Sometime today would be nice, princess.
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You can stop calling me that now. It's not as cute as I'm sure you think it is.
[But fine, he'll come along. Limp along. Same thing, right?]
...Wait. Rabid dogs are after you?
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Yeah. More like Hellhounds, though. You don't have to worry - They only come after people who sold their souls and hafta give 'em up. [Dean shrugs as if this is some sort of normal occurrence. He won't explain unless asked, of course, like usual.
Switching his flashlight back on, he shines it into the surrounding darkness and makes a face, mumbling under his breath.] Now, which way to go...?
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[He sticks close though, content to go wherever Dean is leading him.] Either way would be fine. I've gone through this whole mansion twice now, and it hasn't made a difference.
[Though things are strangely good for now. Nothing's happened for a few minutes. Hmm...]
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...yeah, actually. Hellhounds. From Hell. It exists, did you know that? [Dean starts walking towards him, a funny look in his eyes.] Well it does. And that's where I'm headed. I don't even know if there's a Heaven-
[With every step, he's backing Kurt against the nearest wall.]
...and I don't fuckin' care. 'Cause most of us will end up in the Pit. And it's very, very real. [By this point, Dean's voice has lowered to something husky and inherently dangerous.] Hellhounds are the things you have nightmares about, Kurt. They peel the flesh from your bones so fast you don't know what hit you until you're dead. And it all starts with one little deal. You know what that is?
[Dean has Kurt pinned there, now, and isn't going to let up until he gets his say.] One Crossroads Demon. One bargain. Your soul for whatever you want, for ten years. But I'm special, Kurt. I wanted to bring my brother back from the dead. I got one year. And right now now, I have one month left. And when it's your time, they sic Fido and his ravenous, rotting buddies on you, and yeah, it's fucking terrifying when an undead German shepherd on steroids wants to chew on your lower intestine.
[His face has gotten closer and closer, to the extent where he's practically murmuring into the other's ear, and then Dean retreats enough for breathing room, the obvious distress finally making its way onto his face. Kurt reminds him so much of Sammy that it's just starting to get weird.]
I don't wanna die, Kurt. Not yet. Not today. Not here. So pick yourself up by your bootstraps 'cause no one's getting fucked over on my watch. Especially not you. You got that?
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He's not sure he understands. Kurt's never believed in...in God, or Heaven, or Hell. They all seemed to go hand-in-hand in his world. But, there were a lot of things that didn't exist in his world.
Dean's speaking in his ear and something that he would have found erotic just minutes ago suddenly sends the wrong kind of shivers down his spine.
Kurt's trembling. He's forgotten about his ankle entirely.
But Dean's...concerned about him? Worried? Clearly distressed, and clearly going to get wrinkles from it, but that's beside the point. He pulls away and Kurt exhales.
And he's supposed to speak, but nothing comes out at first.]
...G-Got it. Loud and clear.
[There's a small sound then, the tiniest of cracks. Then, there is a small light, coming from the floor. The floor itself is slowly cracking under Kurt again, and the light from the floor below them is shining through.]
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