Fic: Where the lost things are (Demon hunter AU Klaine)
Artwork by: lilylaw8kb
Title: Where the lost things are
Characters: Kurt/Blaine
Words: 120,129 ~ (Ongoing, Chapter 36)
Ratings: M
Author: vlefayne
Genre: Romance/Supernatural
Summary: Kurt Hummel was a demon hunter: was, until a stranger appears at his doorstep late one night; requesting him to hunt down for a certain demon that had once killed his mother and caused his bitter downfall.
The problem is: the demon is not out to kill, but Kurt is.
Read more on ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1745258?view_full_work=true
Hazel brown eyes blinked once.
The pools of rich brown were dazed and weary as he ran a hand down his thick rusty chocolate-colored hair, observing his dull expression stare back at him through the vanity mirror. He let out a sharp exhale and turned to the left of his dim-light round room, gazing out to the window where the evening sun was beginning to set.
It was time to set out.
His eyes wandered over to his messy room – thick books were strewn on the floor, crumpled papers scattered across all the way to his bed. In the middle of the room, pinned on a wall right beside his unkempt cupboard was a huge map of the town torn and circled in places with a bright red ink. He ran a hand down his disheveled hair once more before standing up; his wooden chair making a weary creak as he pushed it away.
He checked his pockets. Bicycle keys? Check. His cheque book? Check. His photograph? Wait, not checked. Stumbling across his cluttered room, he flung the pieces of crumpled paper off his bed, clearing the entire mattress – no sign of that photograph. Crap. He sneaked a glance at the window – it was getting darker and he cursed under his breath; there was no time. He had to leave, photograph or not.
Shaking his head, he headed for the door and sighed once more. Time was of essence; he took a deep breath in and left his small studio apartment.
It all happened too soon.
The winter cold snaked up his pale skin and he shivered in the snow, his hands clutching onto the gun tightly. His eyes darted nervously, watching cautiously for any sudden movements. The night was too bitter, too sinister. Alone, he was vulnerable.
The forest loomed ahead ominously and he took a small step forward. Nothing stirred in the dark woodland, the trees seemingly watching him and the unknown waiting. He stood still, heart racing in his chest, terrified to his wits end. Trees dressed in black towered over him, swaying ever so slightly in the light breeze as he started his trek into the woods.
It was silent. He stepped watchfully into the barrage of trees and darkness, feeling his throat go tight and dry in dread. Snow dripped from the sickly dark tree's like decayed flesh. Deep shadows seemed to ooze, move and threaten of their own volition. Half ready to turn tail and leave, he ventured in deeper and deeper into the wooded area.
Every branch held the promise of something dark, gray and slavering for blood. The wind in the boughs sounded thin, sickly and fearful. As he stopped his tracks to take out his flashlight, a swift movement caught his eye. His stomach turned to ice and he froze; eyes wide, his breathing ragged and heavy.
He stood still for a few seconds. A minute. Probably another. He relaxed a little, guessing it was nothing but a terrified wild deer. Scrambling with a gun on his right and torchlight on the other, he flicked it on and shone it directly in front of him.
His heart stopped.
Fear rose like bile in his throat and he choked back a scream of dismay. It wasn’t a deer after all.
The monster loomed in front of him, just a few centimetres away. He could hear it breathing ever so slightly, and willed his trembling legs to still. Red glowing owl-looking eyes met his own and it slowly bared its sharp yellowed teeth into what looked like an evil smirk.
The creature let out a growl.
He turned and ran.
He cycled with all his might, pedaling on his old bicycle, the road too rough and bumpy as he raced against time. The sky was darkening, the full moon emerging out of the grey clouds, he noted anxiously as he turned into an alleyway, almost knocking onto a black cat that hissed fervently at him. Not turning to see if the creature was fine, he cycled past with a quiet apology.
A light raindrop fell upon his arm and he cursed to himself angrily, he should have gotten out earlier, what was he thinking? He turned into another alleyway – he memorized this place like the back of his hand, he had been frequenting the Warblers far too much lately; a place he would never step foot on years ago. He turned right from the long gloomy alleyway and halted right outside the brightly lit bar.
He glanced at the entrance wearily, panting slightly from cycling so promptly. The words ‘Warblers’ was floating loosely above the door’s entrance and he shivered slightly at the sudden cold breeze. He was running out of time. Quickly tossing his bicycle onto the ground, he entered the bar – an abrupt blast of folk music and bright lights threw him aback slightly as his adjusted to his new surroundings.
Fancy wood furniture, detailed carpentry tables with leather seats, a small dance floor and a large jukebox that stood happily at the corner of the bar, a happy folk tune humming though it. Men dancing and chugging down beers – if only he could be as carefree as the folks here were. Shaking his head, he hastily walked over to the bar table, covering his jacket hood over his messy hair.
Brown eyes met jet black the moment he approached the bar table.
"Care for a drink?” Came the purr. The ivory eyes twinkled in mischievousness and winked playfully at him. He wasn’t fazed, he knew this bartender all too well.
“Not today, Santana.” He rasped out quietly, narrowing his eyes at the slim sleek figure in front of him, coyly cleaning an empty jug of beer. “You know what I’m here for.”
The woman smiled cheekily and shook her head teasingly. “I have no clue what you are talking about.” She turned away from him, continuing drying her jug.
He gritted his teeth forcefully. “Santana, I am running out of time.”
Santana turned back to him, fluttering her long eyelashes brazenly and smirked. “Always in a hurry, aren’t we, Mr. Anderson?” Rolling her eyes, she fished out a name card from her pocket. The hazel eyed man reached out for it in vain but Santana pulled it back swiftly, glaring at the man with a raised eyebrow.
“A word of caution,” She whispered; her voice serious and her eyes glowing a little, “The last I heard, they stopped hunting.”
He nodded slightly and reached out a hand for the name card. Santana huffed boredly and dropped the card onto his palm. “You owe me one, Anderson.” She purred, back to her normal tone.
“We owe you one.” He replied curtly and dipped his head before getting out of his seat and leaving the happy atmospheric bar. Halfway out from the bar he heard his name being called. He froze in fear, a sudden chill up his spine and he inhaled a sharp intake of breath.
“Anderson!” He relaxed. It was just Santana. He turned back and glanced at her questioningly.
“When you meet him, tell him I said hi.” She called out to him, laughing.
With a brisk nod, he left the bar. Outside it was cold and night had fallen, sneaking a peek at his watch, he hoped it wasn’t too late. Hurriedly he got upon his bike and took a glance at the name card - time to head down to the western side of town.
The night wasn’t getting any younger. This is his last hope, he chanted in his head as he pedalled furiously through the town, almost bumping onto an old lady who clicked her tongue angrily at him when he turned around to say sorry. He was getting careless but he had to find them – it was his last hope.
He slowed down at the next turn, a row of shop houses and quiet cottages caught his eye. It was undoubtedly quiet peaceful unlike the southern side of town, the crowded city area, where he lived. He got off the bicycle, tossing it away and walking through the long deserted road. Shop houses on his left were all closed – all except one.
A glimmer of hope sparked his heart and he sprinted over to the largest shop house at the far end labelled ‘Hummel Tires & Lube’, wait, an auto repair shop? He looked into the big shop, looking like a garage, filled with tools and cars – not what he expected. He dug up for the name card again for a second look. It was written Burt Hummel, so he guessed as much this was the right place but –
A shout to his left interrupted his thoughts.
“Hey kiddo! What can I do for you?” Came a gruff voice.
Emerging from underneath a Ford Mustang, an older man with the most piercing grey green eyes appeared with a crowbar on his left hand and a large grin on his face. “Here to pick up something?” He greeted, approaching the younger male.
“You are Burt Hummel?” The hazel eyed man looked at him then back at his own name card. The older man nodded his head and reached a hand out for a shake but froze when he saw the name card on the other man’s hand.
“Who gave you that?” Burt retreated, his eyes now unfriendly and his mouth in a frown.
“Santana.” Came the worried reply. Taking off his hood, he revealed his unruly curls of hair and large wide pleading eyes. “Please Mr Hummel, you have to help me.”
Burt shook his head, puzzled. “I know of no Santana.” He blinked a few times, scratching his chin. “We only do automobile repairs here.” Burt turned away from him, shaking his head once more, “Nothing else, son. I’m sorry.”
“Please, I’ve been searching for years; nobody else can do this better than you can.” He pleaded digging his pockets for his cheque book. “I’ll pay. I can pay whatever you want.” He walked up to Burt, who retreated back some more.
“I said no.” Burt sounded tired.
“Burt please –“
“Burt.”
Another voice interrupted the conversation. Turning behind, he saw a pale boy in overalls, holding up a paintbrush and glaring angrily at him. “Is he giving you trouble Dad?” The boy folded his arms, eyeing the newcomer before looking at Burt.
“Kurt.” Burt greeted quickly, nodding at the chestnut haired boy. Kurt glanced swiftly at the strange brown hair male who was staring back, eyes beseeching for help.
“Santana sent me here.” He spoke quietly, looking up at father and son. “I need your assistance and you will be greatly rewarded.” After a moment of silence, he added, “Please.”
Ice blue eyes glared fiercely at him. “We only do automobile repairs. If you aren’t here for that, get out.” Kurt hissed coldly, pointing a paintbrush angrily at him.
“I lost someone in the woods.” The hazel eyed man whispered, “You are my last hope, please.
The father and son pair exchanged glances.
“The Smythes do hunting too. Why don’t you go to them instead?” Kurt snorted after a moment of silence. “They love money; they’ll do anything for money.” He grumbled to the stranger.
Hazel eyes fixed onto the ice blue ones. “They can’t do what you do.” He told Kurt quietly. He turned to Burt sadly, “It’s my fault he is gone, but I’m trying to make amends. Please.” He gazed back at Kurt who seemed to be deep in thought.
“I was reckless and stupid.” He mustered up, glancing at Burt again, “I cared more about myself than anyone else. I lost him that night and I’ve been trying to find him ever since.”
Burt let out a sigh. “Kurt?” He turned to his son, who looked nonchalantly back.
“We expect fast and good payment.” Kurt snapped curtly, glaring at the stranger, who nodded eagerly, eyes twinkling in a wild daze. “Follow me.” Kurt beckoned to the hazel eyed man.
Kurt led him up the steps. Spiralling staircases and a scent of lavender caught his nose as he followed the boy up to another small room. They stopped in front of a wooden carved door, dust covering the surface as if it hadn’t been used in a long time.
Kurt seemed to have read his mind. “We stopped hunting years ago.” He excavated out an ancient looking key from his back pocket and pushed it in the door lock. Turning it, it opened with a loud click and a creak as Kurt pushed the door wide open.
Silver bows and arrows hung on walls like trophies caught his eyes. Guns, axes and long katanas were all on display and in the middle of the room; right in front of the windows was a wooden table, a dashing silver bow on the table, almost covered by stacks of paper.
“I will need you to fill in a contract.” Kurt commented stiffly, swatting a dust particle away from his face. “But before we do continue,” He turned to the man with questioning eyes, “I never got your name.”
The hazel eye man raised out a hand.
“Anderson. Cooper Anderson.”
