A/N: Please don't be too perturbed by the warnings below, the boys do have a happy ending. The fic takes place after Kurt and Blaine exited Scandals(3x05) and is loosely based on an episode of Supernatural.

I've borrowed Sam and Dean Winchester, but you don't have to watch SPN to read this. (but you totally should)

Warnings: MAJOR Character deaths, Homophobic language

8.12 p.m

"…I just wanna make art, and help people." Blaine slurred, his balance wavering.

Kurt hoisted his boyfriend closer to him as they headed towards Blaine's station wagon. On a friday night of September 2011, the couple entered Lima's only gay bar; because Kurt wanted to cross an item off his bucket list and Blaine wanted to be adventurous (but mostly because Kurt can't reject Horse Teeth's outright challenge.) Kurt found it endearing that Blaine's tolerance of alcohol was this low. Two cups of beer had gotten Blaine light headed and loose-lipped. They stumbled out of the bar two hours later, after dancing beside closeted middle-aged men and drag queens (and one not-to-be-named meerkat).

Kurt had planned to be a designated driver, but Blaine successfully coaxed a few sips into him with those killer puppy eyes, albeit a little hazed. While Kurt was still clear and alert, he didn't want to risk both of their lives because of a car accident; He had big plans to leave this small town and had set his sights on New York.

"So sexy, your place or mine?" Blaine said, his triangular eyebrows waggling.

Kurt smiled at his tipsy boyfriend. And he thinks, maybe, Blaine will be a part of the plan too.

He took out his phone and dialed for the cab company, giving the call operator their location's address and his destination's address.

"I'm sorry, sir, none of our cabs are anywhere near your location, I suggest you to walk into a more populated distinct." The call operator droned.

Kurt knew it meant none of the cabbies wanted to take them in, with Blaine's house just 4 miles away and Kurt's just a street away from Blaine's. For any cabbie, this wouldn't be worth the drive.

"Thanks anyway." Kurt said as he hangs up.

He texted his dad to inform him that he will be arriving home later than usual, forgoing to tell him he has a tipsy boyfriend seated on the sidewalk, and had gone underage drinking in the only gay bar in Lima. He was pretty sure he will grounded for a week and mollify himself in the process. Besides, his dad didn't need to know. He received a reply requesting him to be safe and take any necessary precaution in the night.

There are all kinds of people out there, Kurt. Stay safe. –Dad.

He smiled at his Dad's reply. Burt Hummel never stops worrying for his son. Despite his recent heart attack, his dad had never ceased to show anything other than love and concern for Kurt.

He decided to head back to the Hummel-Hudson's instead of going to Blaine's, knowing that Mr Anderson will never allow him to stay a night anyway. Travelling from Scandals to his house, he would have to cut through the edge of town centre, which was the quickest route there, and if they were lucky, they could catch a taxi for the rest of the journey home.

After walking for 3 miles, they had reached the town centre. Pubs and bars lined upon the roads were abuzz with life and bass and parked cars took the sides of the single-lane road. Judging by the lot of them and the lack of pedestrians around; the football season this year is intense: Football easily shuts a small town like Lima. Kurt scoffed at his home town's small-minded and mundane countryside living.

There's nothing in Lima except for their endless field and football craze.

"Lima also has you, you know?" Blaine giggled beside him.

Either Blaine was telepathic or Kurt had just muttered his previous thought out loud, and unless he's as drunk as Blaine, he knew the answer to that.

"Mmm, and Lima has you too,"

Blaine stopped in his track, his eyes scrunched and a frown appearing.

"What's wrong, Blaine?" Kurt fretted; he stood waiting for Blaine to catch up.

"Isn't U2 from Ireland?"

Kurt chortled, "Yes it is, come on, silly." He reached out and draped Blaine's arm across his shoulder and urged him along. Blaine leaned closer to Kurt, his head on Kurt's broad shoulder and eyes snapped shut as they strolled.

"You smell amazing, Kurt." Blaine sighed happily.

"And you smell like booze."

"I'm not drunk." Blaine begrudged, Kurt tilts his head and sees him pouting back at him.

They were too focused on their banter to notice a few men stumbling out from the sports bar across the road, rowdy and upset with their team's loss in a game. One of them called the attention of the others, nodding towards the young couple. With knuckles cracked, and alcohol buzzing in their systems, they tailed the couple.

By the time Kurt realized he was being followed, the street had winded down into total silence, noisy business houses has been reduced to dilapidated office buildings, only a handful of the windows had lights turned on, even so, they were the yellowish glow from hallway lights and the greenish hum of the emergency exits. The night was tranquil enough to hear the occasional cicada, and his own breathing slowly turning laboured as he picked up his pace, dragging his dazed boyfriend with him. He would have shrugged it off as paranoia, if he hadn't heard the harsh sneer not far behind him.

"Disgusting fags."

His body tensed. He's heard far worse derogatory remarks than that, but it always surprises Kurt that hate is present and crippling in the world. Surreptitiously, he scanned his surroundings. Just his downtrodden luck. There was not a single soul except them around. He planned to walk back to the nearest pub just to seek help, but that would lead them closer to the men. He needed to call the cops, and if they see him dialling 911, he's not sure what will they do if they had been aggravated.

A split second decision was made. Kurt rounded the corner and walked into an alleyway. The alley was dingy and bleak, wedged between two decrepit apartment buildings, designed with fire escapes dangling. Two Green dumpsters lined the brick wall on both sides and puddles of stagnant water next to the dumpsters gave off a putrid smell.

"This isn't my house." Blaine pointed to the blind alley around him. Kurt shushed him with a smooth rub on his shoulder.

This will have to do. All he needs to do now is to dial 911…

"Whatchu' doin' fairies, calling Prince Charming to save you?" A brusque voice spoke out. Four other men lumbered into the alley behind the first. They cackled in expense, effectively blocking out Kurt and Blaine's only escape.

Their shadows grew larger with every step they took, obstructing the glow of street lights. His eyes' adjusted to the weak lighting, brought only by transformers in the streets.

8.34 p.m

They were surrounded.

He could tell the men were intoxicated. They were swaying from where they stood. Kurt is known for his sharp tongue and even sharper wit. But these people were not school yard bullies. He wished for locker checks and dumpster tosses any day than this: unadulterated hate balled up in closed fists. Kurt wasn't sure he could talk sense in them, hell, he don't even think they could spell the word 'sense' right now. Panic and fear radiated throughout his body, he needed to get him and Blaine out of the alley, fast.

"Why can't you people see that we aren't so different from the others?" Blaine retorted, Kurt's grip tighten on his shoulder, signalling him to stop. Blaine shrugged it away and staggered forward. "Why can't we walk hand-in-hand in public, and kiss and hold hands like any other couples do?"

"Blaine, please," Kurt begged, pulling Blaine back to him.

"I think they got the picture, guys, let's just go." One of them urged, the alley wasn't brightly lit and Kurt could only distinguish large silhouettes of the men, that was probably thrice the size of Blaine and twice the weight of Kurt and Blaine combined.

"Shut the fuck up Rueben, they should be burning in hell, not standing here waving their freak flag around." The first snarled, his glare unwavering.

"Ed, let's just all head home and sleep it off okay?" Rueben whined, conscious and a little afraid of what will happen next.

"You're just like 'em fags, huh Rueben? Why don't you run on home and suck your wife's dick and let the big boys handle this." Another one of them hurled. Rueben immediately kept silent.

All at once, they approached the teenagers, Rueben trailing unwillingly behind them.

"You boys should be taught a lesson, so which of you wanna go first?" the fourth piped out.

"No volunteers? Ladies first then," Ed smirked, eyeing at Kurt.

Blaine attempted to shove Ed off, but five men had overpowered him easily. Before Kurt could do anything, he heard a sharp crack and blacked out.

2.09 a.m

Kurt woke up to the harsh fluorescent street light glaring into his eyelids. His head felt like a split coconut and his sides radiated dull ache. He blinked open his eyes to see his world fuzzy before it orients itself into its rightful position. The night seemed colder than before; he was still in the same alley where he and Blaine got beat up by the inebriates…

Blaine.

Kurt shot up too quickly. His vision covered by spots as blood rushed up his head. He held his head in his hands, wincing at the sudden loss of orientation. How long was he out of it? He reached out to his pocket for his phone when he realised his phone and his wallet was missing. He assumed that the assailants must have taken it. Slowly, Kurt scanned his surroundings. There were no signs of a scuffle or any indication they got bashed up, no traces of blood, nothing. Kurt was relieved when he didn't see blood, but a thought sent cold chills up his spine.

Blaine was nowhere to be found.

"Blaine?" he tried, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Maybe he had gone to get help. He reasoned as he stood up shakily and stumbled out from the alley, bracing the walls for support. His heart stopped when he didn't see Blaine on the streets.

It was all his fault. If he had stopped Blaine after the first beer he downed. If he had driven the station wagon back to Blaine's instead of walking. If he didn't suggest to cross things from his stupid bucket list. If he had not taken on Sebastian's challenge. He should have kept Blaine safe. What if Blaine…

No. He must have been looking for help.

It was the tell-tale glow of car lights that stopped Kurt from his spiral of guilt and self-hatred. Without much thought, Kurt ran towards the lights. He waved frantically at the car before it screeched to a stop. He could barely distinguish the driver inside the black 1967 Impala when he rolled down the window.

"Excuse me, but what's the time now?" Kurt inquired, trying, but failing, to calm his nerves.

The driver raised his eyebrow and gave Kurt a once-over before he looked at his watch. "2.10 a.m."

Kurt felt like his legs were going to give out. Five hours. He had been unconscious for five hours. Blaine could not possibly be looking for help and hadn't returned.

"Please, you have to help me, my bo- my friend is nowhere to be found and he might be in trouble…" Kurt spluttered, his hands trying to articulate what his words could not.

"Woah, hey hey take it easy," The driver exited the vehicle and stood at a distance; his arms outstretched as if Kurt was would hurt him if he broke down crying now.

"I'll help you find your friend, okay? Just tell me what happened."

He told the Samaritan about what happened last night. How he was just trying to bring his friend back home when those idiots tailed him and he made a stupid mistake by rounding into the corner and his tipsy friend was giving them a piece of his alcoholic mind which riled them to beat the crap out of them. He was so focused on his story and guilt that he didn't notice the frown appearing on the driver's features.

"Look kid, you don't look too good, I'm going to get you to a nearby clinic. You really shouldn't be out here alone in the night." The man instructed.

"I'm fine." Kurt snapped back.

"No you're not, how can you help your friend if he finds you worse for wear?"

Kurt is wasting precious time. Every single second might constitute to Blaine's life or death. He is not going to clinic unless he sees Blaine safe and sound; at least he owes Blaine that.

"You don't know that." Kurt seethed, "if you're not going to help me then I'll look for him myself." Kurt was prepared to turn away when he heard the man say,

"I do know." He paused, as if considering his words very carefully for the next sentence. "For the past month, 4 people had died in alleys along the same street, and right now, adding yourself to the casualty is not gonna help your friend."

He felt his paroxysm of anger deflate. The man sounded sincere, Kurt turned on his heel to see his eyes blazing with determination.

"My partner and I are looking for the culprit, and I promise we won't let him hurt your boyfriend, or anyone for that matter."

"Then I'm coming with you." Kurt stated, his chin jutted out haughtily. The undercover cop, Kurt assumed, looked as if he wanted to object, before he could, a blood-curdling scream was heard.

2.08 a.m

Ed Menken knows he was being followed. Standing 5"12 and with a high flying football career in the past, he was still afraid. The night was unnecessarily too cold and eerie. He pulled his leather jacket close to himself. He's just being paranoid, he reasoned to himself. With every step he took, unease grew within him. Every time he turned, there was nothing except for the empty streets and parked cars. He increased his pace and his tightened his grip on the pocket knife stuffed in his jean pocket.

He was sure he heard footsteps this round.

"Who's there?" Ed barked, whirling his head around for the final time.

Ed was no coward; since he was a boy, he's been in fights with kids twice his size and bullied the weaker ones. He made sure his quarterback is backed up when he was a linebacker during his football days, which resulted his early retirement when he was too 'rough' to other team's linebacker, on multiple occasions.

And whoever that's sneaking up behind him definitely was one. In Ed's book, and right below gays, cowards should be punished. He rounded the corner and entered an alley, waiting for his stalker to appear.

2.13 a.m

"Did you hear that?" Kurt announced, his head turning to the direction of the scream. He felt like someone had gripped and stilled his beating heart.

Oh dear god, he hoped it was not Blaine. He would never forgive himself if something happens to Blaine…

"I should check it out, it doesn't sound like it is far from here," the officer replied calmly, walking towards the origin of the scream. Kurt ran ahead, partly because he didn't want to hear the cop's suggestion to stay in the car.

They stopped outside a dim alley two blocks down, alike the same one Kurt woke up in except it stretches to cut an opposite street at the end. As he arrived at the alley, his mind thought up several possible scenarios: Blaine dead, Blaine unconscious, Blaine conscious yet bleeding badly. As much as he wanted to find Blaine; He hoped, wished, prayed, that this wasn't Blaine.

They found a body in the middle of the alley. It was broken and spread-eagled, fresh crimson blood spilling from his head and dull blue eyes staring into nothing. A stray pocket was found next to his slack hand.

"Oh god," Kurt whispered as he turned away and upheaved the contents of his stomach. He accepted the proffered handkerchief from the stranger. Smiling his thanks, he wiped his mouth using as little area as he could. The officer went back and examined the body, probably doing up routine police work.

He then walked back to the Impala, his phone out of his pocket as he dialled a number. Kurt followed thus, glancing back at the lifeless body again. He seemed familiar somehow, yet Kurt can't seem to put a finger on it. He willed himself not to stare, in case he throws up again.

"Dean, this is Sam. That's the fourth I found dead in the alley, we have to stop this thing before he kills Dothan or someone else." The cop, Sam, stated to his phone.

A pause.

"Well at least try and keep Dothan safe, okay? I'm on my way."

Sam pocketed his phone and headed over to the trunk of the car, Kurt blinked.

"Shouldn't you radio this one in?" He pointed out.

"We don't have time for that, someone will ring him in tomorrow when they dump their garbage." Sam waved him off dismissively. He then opened the car trunk and rummaged through his possessions .From where Kurt was standing, he could the amount of arsenal in the hidden compartment. It was definitely more than his Dad's hunting collection in the attic. The lid held at least ten different forms of shotguns and handguns while the trunk was loaded with hunting knives, a diverse range of bullets, and coloured canisters.

"You're not really a police officer." Kurt asserted, slowly backing off from Sam.

Kurt shouldn't have trusted this man, now he's probably a psychopath/ sociopath and Kurt will never find Blaine. His heart hammered against his chest, and he wasn't sure if the fear was more for his own sake or Blaine's.

"Please let me try to explain, okay?" Sam said as he loaded the shotgun.

Honestly, Kurt doesn't think he's sounded convincing with an armed shotgun.

"It's loaded with salt, alright? We don't have time for this, someone is going to be killed again if I don't find my brother."

"This doesn't even make a lick of sense! I just needed to find Blaine and I–"

"Wait, wait, wait, did you say your friend's name is Blaine Anderson?" Sam interrupted, using his free hand scrubbing his face, "Ah dammit, why didn't I see the resemblance earlier!?"

"What?"

Sam climbed back into the Impala and tossed the shotgun in the backseat. Kurt blinked his eyes, wasn't he trying to tell him Blaine was missing?

"Kurt! Come on' I know where Blaine is." Sam hollered as he started the ignition.

Sam knows where Blaine is.

Blaine is alive.

However.

Was Kurt going to trust his life with a man who wields a sawn-off shotgun loaded with salt, not to mention, his questionable sanity? On the other hand, Sam was the only person that knows where Blaine is. The boy who helps the elderly with their grocery bags, the boy who stops crying toddlers in public places and makes babies howl in laughter, the boy who dedicates himself to art and performing. The boy who Kurt is deeply in love with; the boy who Kurt plans to spend his entire life with.

"Okay."

2.20 a.m

Every passing second felt like an hour. Kurt fidgeted on his seat, his nerves getting the better of him. They need to hurry in case this spirit thing gets Blaine. The Impala screeches to a stop and Kurt lurched from his seat, he pulled the door open and before he could get off, Sam slams it back shut.

"Kurt, hear me out, Blaine might not be the same person you know," Sam advised.

"Look Blaine's in trouble, can we carry this conversation later on?"

"The thing that's killing people, it is Blaine."

Kurt was stunned to silence. "Y-You're crazy."

"The bashing you've told me about? That happened in 2011. Today's September 14 2012. Kurt, you've been dead for a year."

He must be lying; because Kurt saw Blaine with his very own eyes just hours ago, dancing along with that meerkat and shooting Kurt a dopey grin on the dance floor. He felt Blaine's warmth when he leaned on his shoulder as they walked the empty street back to Blaine's. It's not possible because the smell of Blaine's cologne still lingered in his memory. He does not feel any different, he glanced down at his hands, they were pale just as usual, he can feel his heart hammering against his chest. He is alive, and Sam is lying.

"Kurt, I know this is all very hard to comprehend but spirits latched themselves to the world, their beliefs firm, hence you don't feel like you're dead." Sam pulled out a newspaper clipping from the driver's sun visor and showed it to Kurt.

"You were killed in the bashing, head trauma. Blaine survived and had gotten help, but when the paramedics arrived, they declared you dead on scene. The newspaper had gotten your photo from the yearbook in sophomore year. And you've changed so much since then, there's why I couldn't recognise you, and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. But right now, you have to accept that."

His head was spinning with all of the information, he closed his eyes and he gripped the car seat for support. His mind wandered to his funeral, and how his dad had to watch someone he loved being lowered to the ground for the second time of his life…

"You said that I," Kurt opened his eyes and gulped, as if he was trying to swallow down his comprehension to the news, "died a year ago, what happened to Blaine after my death?"

Sam looked at him; and Kurt saw his answer in his features: how his Adam's apple bobbed and his mouth worn a small frown, and his eyes had a depth of sadness in there; the sympathy, the sorrow and condolence. And Kurt nodded in understanding.

Kurt left the black Impala. He hears the scuffle between Blaine, Sam's brother: Dean, and Dothan first. Blaine had his back toward him, with a shove, he sent a man with short dirty blonde hair crashing to the wall, dropping his shotgun when he landed with a thud on the ground. Calmly, Blaine proceeded to walk towards the other man, terror and panic evident in Dothan's wide green eyes as he stared up at Blaine.

"Blaine!"

The dark haired boy froze, his fist halted in the air. His head snapped quickly at his direction. His hazel eyes widening as a range of emotion flashed across: anger, surprise, uncertainty and finally settling on what Kurt calls it 'heart eyes'.

They met halfway; Kurt flung himself at him and gripped him tight. Blaine cannot help but plant a dozen kisses on Kurt, he needs to know this is his Kurt and not an illusion. Kurt was dead. Blaine witnessed his body being lowered into the Hummel's family plot. But now, Kurt is here. Standing in front of Blaine, his chin dipped and pressed on his shoulder blade, his hands clutched Blaine like a life line. Tears stained his jacket, as he mumbled Blaine's name over and over again.

"But I thought you're dead," Blaine breathed out, he was still overwhelmed with the sight of Kurt again, after 365 days of not seeing Kurt, for one whole year Blaine had to accept the fact that Kurt was dead. Yet, here he stood, still as dazzling as he was from his memories. His eyes roamed all over Kurt, trying to prove to his senses that Kurt wasn't dead.

"I know," Kurt soothed, "but I'm here now, and you need to stop hurting people."

"But these people killed you, Kurt. They walked away without punishment!" Blaine spat, his eyes darkened in outrage.

"They've murdered you, beaten you up like you were nothing, Kurt! The world has lost someone who deserves something better because you are perfect," his eyes softened at the last word.

"I lost my closest friend." A ripple of sadness washed him under, the memory of his friends' features; nothing but pity, helpless to Blaine's grief. He recalled his parents' cold and unfamiliar comfort. He had to stay alive to see through Kurt's trial. To ensure those homophobes would never harm anyone again, but reality was cruel. "All I ever wanted is to make you proud, but I can't even stand to be apart from you. They had to take you away, and I can't handle the world without you," Blaine broke, he remembered the bottles of pills and farewell letters written to everyone he knew. The shame of what he did, made him look away.

"But you have me now," Kurt smiled, "and that is all that matters."

He smoothed over Blaine's gelled locks, his head bowed so that their foreheads touched, "You have to let go all the hate and anger, Blaine. It's killing me to see you like this, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Okay," Blaine relented easily, his eyes filled with pure love and trust. He would give up anything for Kurt, he would do anything.

They broke apart, smiling at each other, Kurt looked at their linked hands; how perfectly well they fit each other and even in separate worlds, they found each other.

In his peripheral vision, Kurt sees Sam pulling up Dean from his place against the brick wall, Dothan stayed rooted to the spot in the middle of the alley. Watching with his mouth agape at what occurred then.

"Thank you," Kurt says to the brothers. Only Sam was quick enough to wave in response, Dean was busy trying but failing to wipe off his unshed tears.

Kurt sees the Light outside the alley, with Blaine right beside him, they walked into the unknown.

Epilogue

It had been three years since Rueben Dothan walked out of an alley alive and unharmed. The federal marshals, Sam and Dean, never appeared in Lima ever again. He still drinks in the same sports bar and walks home in the same street, although now he drinks stag. (His buddies are all dead, God, he needs another drink.)

But before he stumbles out of the bar with his wife's alimony gone along with his sense of balance and controlled tongue, he tells everyone within earshot what happened on that exact day. His stupor surfacing after two rounds of whiskey, and every single time, he never fails to spew every detail of what happened that night.

Word spread first through bar talk, ("Did you hear that drunk old Rueben last night?") and town gossip. ("Poor mechanic, lost two sons within three years… you didn't know of the story of Kurt Hummel?") then it became stories told around the campfire, ("Bodies laid spread eagled and lifeless, Blaine Anderson did it again.") and hushed whispers("Do you think the legend are true?)

Yet, the morale of the story stayed no matter how the story changed: It was about how two soulmates finding each other.

Like many small towns in the country, Lima had its legends and ghost stories, and like the best of stories; the Legend of Kurt and Blaine stayed for centuries.

A/N: sorry Castiel wasn't in this, I'm still at season 3 and I'm afraid I will get his characterisation wrong...

Edited: 11 Feb 2015