Kurda was in Africa when he got the call from Dean. He'd been living in Ghana for a year or so, teaching evening classes to those unable to afford further education but who were hungry to learn
( ... )
Dean does it for him, despite the fact he's more than a little convinced he's going to be going home alone by the end of the night. Whatever. "It's true. When I told you about Hell, I left out some details. That four months? Down there it was fourty years. I broke after thirty of them. Took up the knife and cut through so many souls I lost count. To go through that and to be able to shift it to someone else? It felt amazing. And I was good at it."
Ah, screw kurda being there, he takes the last little bit left in the bottle, and draws it straight from the bottle. He's going to have to be carried home for sure. That he's even talking about this is a sign he's... a lot more drunk than he might first appear. That fact he's started and now can't stop talking about it? That's the sign he's completely out of it by now.
"....But my point in telling you all of this? It's why I stick to rats and rabbits."
Kurda shuddered involuntarily, feeling a cold chill creep up his spine. He didn't say anything for a while, just sipped at the drink and let this revelation sink in.
He didn't like it and he wasn't ok with it. He wasn't sure he would ever be ok with it - but he pitied Dean rather than hated him for it. He loved Dean with his whole heart and despite what he said he was a good man. Whatever had happened to Dean in hell must have been unimaginable and all consuming to drive someone so focused on saving people to do something so monstrous.
Kurda eventually took a deep breath and looked up - he fixed Dean's gaze and stared at him intensely to make sure he was listening. "Dean, you're still my friend. I love you."
He couldn't forgive himself for what he'd done down there. Hell, he was even going as far as depriving himself from what he really needs in case he slips back. So to say that it's hard for him to accept anyone else's forgiveness for what he did down there would be an understatement.
But the revelation that Kurda knew and wasn't going to just... go, it was... well, it was good.
He kept the gaze, and then said, completely teasing despite the serious tone of voice: "you... love me? Don't tell me that gay rapist gene is transmitted with the vamp bite." Gay rapist? Oops, he'd never actually told Kurda that's what he made all the vamps at home sound like. Oh well, too late now! But with that, he gives a look to the third bottle. "...I think we should... take that one home with us."
Kurda scowled. "You know what I mean, don't be such a child. This may come as a surprise to you but not everyone you meet wants to jump your bones, Dean Winchester.... And they're not all gay rapists." He rolled his eyes and smiled, when really he felt quite uncomfortable. Being the only slim and effeminate vampire amongst dozens of very butch and powerful males had never been easy for Kurda, and when he'd been very young and newly turned some of the less honourable members of the clan had taken advantage of him. He'd learnt very quickly how to hold his own and it had only ever happened a handful of times, but even now he hated thinking about it and he'd never actually told another living soul. Now was not the time to change that, either.
"I think you're right. But you're going to have to tell me where 'home' is on this particular occasion. That is if you can remember."
The impala was home. too big and too empty when devoid of a certain gigantic someone and he'd been travelling alone, but it was still home. and in the more literal sense these days, too, as he'd taken to just sleeping in the car. It made hopping from one job to the next much easier.
"We're going to have to buy one." Or, less drastically and being what he actually means - you're going to have to get a motel room.
"Well we can find a motel or I've got the tent on the back of the Harley," Kurda shrugged. It wasn't actually the tent, of course, the tent had finally given up the ghost in 2032 when a tornado had suddenly come up out of nowhere and ripped it out of the ground with Kurda still in it. The vampire had survived with a little wear and tear, the pole and canvas contraption had been less fortunate. Kurda had bought something more modern as a replacement, it folded down into a bag no bigger than a tissue box and assembled itself in two seconds, popping open into a full sized tent when it was taken out - it even had two bedding compartments so Sam and Dean could share if they so desired. One night Sam had had the brilliant idea of sewing a line of material around the outside edges which held a fine line of salt - it was a demon proof home.
Kurda stood up and shrugged on his jacket, "Come on, let's see how far you can walk before you fall over."
"'m fine, 'm fine." Came the auto- response, as he stood and picked up the bottle. He seems to be walking mostly alright... but the intense look of concentration on his face will probably tell you why.
"Motel. Still don' like Camping." He said decidedly.
"Fine." Kurda let Dean walk in front of him and shook his head in amusement as he watched him trying to walk in a straight line. Kurda felt sober enough to drive, and if they were pulled over then he could just knock the cop out anyway. He mounted the Harley and helped Dean on behind him, placing the other man's arms around his waist. "If you're sick on me I will skin you," he promised.
"Eh, screw you. I know how to hold my liquor." But it was half-mumbled. You're pretty warm, and he's pretty comfortable. That, combined with tonight's liquor intake? He's headed towards sleeping land, pretty hard and fast. Probably... not a great idea on a motorcycle....
They were on the road all of ten minutes before Kurda felt Dean's grip starting to loosen and his breathing become shallower. "Son of a ..." He tutted under his breath and slowed down, then pulled the bike over to the curb and parked it up. "You're going to be the death of me, Dean," he muttered. He got off of the Harley without jostling his friend too much, then put him easily over his shoulder. When Dean started to stir and protest Kurda told him to shut up and go back to sleep. The blonde vampire carried Dean the rest of the way to the nearest motel and then dumped him onto one of the beds before settling down himself in the bed next to it.
At being dropped onto the bed, he stirs again, waking slightly.... but just enough to register that he was in an actual bed. With PILLOWS. It's surprising just how much you can miss that. You get a sleep and drink slurred "Mmm, this is nice..." Before he rolls over on his chest and settles back in, back to sleep in what probably seems like 0.01 seconds of turning. To be fair, it wasn't MUCH more than that
( ... )
Kurda slept peacefully enough through the entire thing, laying on his side with one arm resting above his head and the other across his stomach, his mouth slightly open and the duvet kicked right off.
Eventually he woke several hours after Dean and rolled over with a quiet groan. His hair was a puffy mess and his eyes were unfocused, but he yawned and eventually sat up. "..Mornin'..." He felt lethargic but otherwise had no hangover to speak of, which he immediately saw was more than could be said for Dean. "You look terrible."
He looked up to look at his roommate, and the puffy nest of hair twanged him uncomfortably. Oh sure, eventually, he'll stop thinking about the similarities, and think about the differences, but right now... He goes back to his glass with a grunted "And you look like a goddamned ray of sunshine."
...It doesn't help he's still uncaffinated, between praying to the porcelain goddess and dozing. For the love of God, get the man a coffee.
Kurda had spent a lot of time with Sam and Dean and picked up some of their habits as good friends often do, and he'd done it without realising so he couldn't even consciously restrain himself. He scratched his head and stretched, clicking his back with a groan of approval. "No need to be so grouchy about it, jerk."
Kurda didn't function well after waking without a cup of tea, so his first move was to plod over to the little kitchen unit and fill the kettle. He got out three mugs, put a teabag in one, a spoon of coffee in the other, then looked at the third mug for a few seconds before remembering and putting it away again, hoping that Dean hadn't noticed. A Dean without Sam was going to take some getting used to.
The word hits him like a slap, and he can't help but flinch. And no, he hadn't noticed. He'd risen from his seat, and crossed the room in a few short strides, disappearing into the bathroom with a quick "shower." Somehow, the door being shut with a conscious effort not to slam it, and so just clicking softly shut behind him, made so much more noise. At least to him it did
( ... )
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Ah, screw kurda being there, he takes the last little bit left in the bottle, and draws it straight from the bottle. He's going to have to be carried home for sure. That he's even talking about this is a sign he's... a lot more drunk than he might first appear. That fact he's started and now can't stop talking about it? That's the sign he's completely out of it by now.
"....But my point in telling you all of this? It's why I stick to rats and rabbits."
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He didn't like it and he wasn't ok with it. He wasn't sure he would ever be ok with it - but he pitied Dean rather than hated him for it. He loved Dean with his whole heart and despite what he said he was a good man. Whatever had happened to Dean in hell must have been unimaginable and all consuming to drive someone so focused on saving people to do something so monstrous.
Kurda eventually took a deep breath and looked up - he fixed Dean's gaze and stared at him intensely to make sure he was listening.
"Dean, you're still my friend. I love you."
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But the revelation that Kurda knew and wasn't going to just... go, it was... well, it was good.
He kept the gaze, and then said, completely teasing despite the serious tone of voice: "you... love me? Don't tell me that gay rapist gene is transmitted with the vamp bite." Gay rapist? Oops, he'd never actually told Kurda that's what he made all the vamps at home sound like. Oh well, too late now! But with that, he gives a look to the third bottle. "...I think we should... take that one home with us."
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He rolled his eyes and smiled, when really he felt quite uncomfortable. Being the only slim and effeminate vampire amongst dozens of very butch and powerful males had never been easy for Kurda, and when he'd been very young and newly turned some of the less honourable members of the clan had taken advantage of him. He'd learnt very quickly how to hold his own and it had only ever happened a handful of times, but even now he hated thinking about it and he'd never actually told another living soul. Now was not the time to change that, either.
"I think you're right. But you're going to have to tell me where 'home' is on this particular occasion. That is if you can remember."
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"We're going to have to buy one." Or, less drastically and being what he actually means - you're going to have to get a motel room.
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Kurda stood up and shrugged on his jacket, "Come on, let's see how far you can walk before you fall over."
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"Motel. Still don' like Camping." He said decidedly.
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Kurda let Dean walk in front of him and shook his head in amusement as he watched him trying to walk in a straight line. Kurda felt sober enough to drive, and if they were pulled over then he could just knock the cop out anyway.
He mounted the Harley and helped Dean on behind him, placing the other man's arms around his waist.
"If you're sick on me I will skin you," he promised.
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"Son of a ..."
He tutted under his breath and slowed down, then pulled the bike over to the curb and parked it up. "You're going to be the death of me, Dean," he muttered. He got off of the Harley without jostling his friend too much, then put him easily over his shoulder. When Dean started to stir and protest Kurda told him to shut up and go back to sleep.
The blonde vampire carried Dean the rest of the way to the nearest motel and then dumped him onto one of the beds before settling down himself in the bed next to it.
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Eventually he woke several hours after Dean and rolled over with a quiet groan. His hair was a puffy mess and his eyes were unfocused, but he yawned and eventually sat up.
"..Mornin'..." He felt lethargic but otherwise had no hangover to speak of, which he immediately saw was more than could be said for Dean. "You look terrible."
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...It doesn't help he's still uncaffinated, between praying to the porcelain goddess and dozing. For the love of God, get the man a coffee.
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"No need to be so grouchy about it, jerk."
Kurda didn't function well after waking without a cup of tea, so his first move was to plod over to the little kitchen unit and fill the kettle. He got out three mugs, put a teabag in one, a spoon of coffee in the other, then looked at the third mug for a few seconds before remembering and putting it away again, hoping that Dean hadn't noticed. A Dean without Sam was going to take some getting used to.
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