somebody tryin&#39; just to stay alive

[Glaring at Kurt is far more important than wondering about the contents of Dean's bag.] I don't always wear it. Here. [By this point, it's part habit and part nostalgia, not that she'd admit that.] I can't let the closet go totally to waste.

[ANYWAY.]

I can't even imagine what kind of job uses stuff like that and salt.

From:

Cheerios?

[He can't really help but snort at that. I mean. Really.]

I eat those for breakfast, I didn't know it was a term for high-kickers and uniformed squads.

[Dean grins crookedly back at Kurt, noticing the abject surprise and winking at him.]

No worries. I'm not gonna kill you. Either of you. This is for the bastards I work with.

[Glancing sidelong at Santana as they move further down the hallway, he adds,]

Salt's a purifying object. Keeps impure stuff at bay, like demons and ghosts. But you're too smart to believe in things like that, aren't you?

[Oh-so-obviously teasing her.]

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[]

Since when? Santana, I don't think I've ever seen you wearing anything else, unless we were in costume for glee club or there was an event causing it.

[]

I wasn't aware salt was effective for anything like that. It sounds like a fascinating profession.

[]

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[I WILL SLAP YOU, KURT.]

We don't spend all day together, Hummel. There are non-uniform things in my closet, you know.

[Ignoring him now.] Anyway, the Cheerios is the name of our squad. We're the best, we always win, and I look hot in the uniform anyway, so. Why not show it off?

[She shrugs at Dean's question.] And I guess I believe in that crap here, since there are like, weird monsters and mirror universes. Back home though, I'd think you needed therapy. [Have yet another flirty smile.]

Edited Date: 2010-10-31 06:33 am (UTC)

From:

[He's starting to get the impression that they don't know each other so well after all, and it's fucking HILARIOUS.]

Chill out, guys.

[Laughing quietly, feeling remarkably free despite being trapped in this house. He hasn't felt the crushing weight of his inevitable drag to Hell touching him this entire time...interesting.]

And I won't argue with that. [Dean nods appreciatively at Santana's uniform, and no he is not getting distracted by legs. Clearing his throat and shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket, the older man smiles back before carrying on to explain the contents of his portable "arsenal".]

Put a line of salt in front of doors and windows to keep shit out. Iron hurts them; we use shotgun-rounds filled with rock-salt. Holy water. Silver knives. Hex bags from hoodoo aficionados. Standard stuff. We're just regular Rambos in a modern jungle.

[Figures that, by now, if they aren't running away screaming it's a goddamn miracle. Kids these days must watch too much crime drama and not enough Casa Erotica.]

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[]

Right. It certainly sounds like your "standard" hunting equipment. []

...Hm. Now that I think of it though, I don't think the zombies here were fond of silver, or holy weapons. I suppose it is pretty consistent. Your expertise might be useful during events.

[]

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[Santana will meet his dirty look with a pretty smug smile of her own. Why should she wear things that won't show off her fantastic legs? She almost wishes she were the one leading, because let's face it, the view's pretty great.

Time to ignore Kurt again.]

That's really weird. But the next time something scary happens here, I'd totally sticking with you. [Shoulder-nudge!]

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[If it were any more obvious now that Santana was flirting with him, there'd be a neon sign flashing above her head. It doesn't necessarily bother Dean, all things considered, since he's not exactly the type to shunt flirtations or play the part of the prude, though he's remaining leery of hitting back since cradle-robbing ain't his style and he still hasn't gotten a verified age. Maybe he can steal her wallet later and find out.]

If you've been here for months and shit's already gone down, I'm kinda surprised you aren't dead yet.

[He gives an honest shrug, hefting the duffel higher up on his shoulder and glancing back to Kurt.]

Standard hunting equipment for hunters like me. Your dad's crossbow arrow-tip might not be dipped in holy water or dead man's blood, but in principle it's the same. Only vampires are faster than deer.

[There are a few moments of silence before he decides to shatter it with something more conversational. He misses his car somethin' awful and it's got all his tunes inside it.]

...so what kinda music do you guys listen to?

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[]

I have a wide range of tastes, but my music is mostly concentrated in two basic categories - showtunes and iconic pop music. I have a playlist exclusively devoted to Wicked in particular, but that's just the tip of the iceberg that is Broadway musicals. I've memorized the choreography to every one of Beyonce's videos, unless she's come out with something new since I've arrived here. And of course, Madonna is a legend, and Lady Gaga is the voice of our generation.

[]

What about you, Dean? What do you listen to?

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[TOO BAD, KURT. Santana's gonna jump in, anyway. With yet another eyeroll. Could he be any gayer?]

While I like a lot of the same stuff, I also like a lot of R'n'B, the classic stuff and newer things. It fits my voice awesomely.

[As if Kurt hadn't already asked--] And you, Dean?

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[Following Kurt down the stairs, he tries to wrap his head around the guy's mile-a-minute speaking pattern concerning something about things that are wicked and then mentions of Broadway...that's a street in New York, right? Madonna he knows, but the only Ga Ga in his repertoire is of the Radio variety introduced by Freddie Mercury in Queen. Nodding, pursing his lips, a little lost by Santana's music choice as well, Dean grimaces.]

...way to make me feel old.

[Dean laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He was born twenty-eight years ago, but this is still ridiculous. Half this shit he's never heard of.]

I like metal. Classic rock. Gimme some AC/DC, Bad Company, Led Zepellin, Metallica, Boston, CCR and the Doobies, Foreigner and Kansas...

[He sighs almost dreamily, a lazy smile on his face.]

Nothin' like blasting "Back in Black" while drivin' my baby down an empty highway.

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[]

I miss my baby. Not that I would have much use for a car here. There isn't anywhere to go.

[]

Anyway, it sounds like you might have more in common musically with my father. [] And our friend Finn. He wanted to do Pantera while the rest of the glee club was paying tribute to Madonna.

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[Santana doesn't care about car-talk. Not that she dislikes cars, but people calling them their baby is just over the top.]

You're as tall as Finn, too. Maybe you're related. [She smirks. It seems like Kurt has a clear type.]

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[Holy mother of God, might he actually have something in common with the triangle-sweatered teenager? Dean finds it a little hard to believe that the young man is interested in cars, and that's all he homes in on when it comes to the conversation. Rambling about his own vehicle is one of his favorite things to do, aside from smack Sammy's hand away from the radio knob while he's driving, and singing horribly off-key to piss him off. He shrugs a little at Santana's comment; his height's never phased him.]

I'm only six feet, three inches. My brother's taller.

[The excitement is obvious in his voice as he gets to the important part of the conversation.]

...You like cars?

[Dean gets a stupid, goofy smile on his face.]

What's yours?

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[]

It's a 2009 Lincoln Navigator. My dad runs a garage, and I help him after school from time to time, so you could say I know a thing or two about cars.

[]

How about you? What do you drive?

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[Santana still found it strange that Kurt ever worked in a garage. And she could tell what he was doing, so WATCH OUT. You may find yourself tripping. Down the stairs.

Aaaand she jumps in before Dean can answer.]

I've seen his car. It's huge. Some people would say that's overcompensating for something, but I never would. [Except for how she just did. But she sounds sincere!]

Edited Date: 2010-11-01 03:01 am (UTC)

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A Lincoln Navigator?

[Dean rubs his chin, smiling a little.]

Lincolns have bad reps, I'll give you that, but they're not bad cars. Don't have one myself, but I know a few people who have. S'pretty fucking huge, though. Like a tank. Good that you can get your hands dirty; no offense, you don't exactly look the type.

[For dramatic effect, Dean pauses before elaborating on his own motor vehicle.]

My baby's a 1967 Chevy Impala, smooth black, with the damn nicest leather interior you ever touched. Purrs like a kitten.

[He quirks a little flirtatious grin at Santana, waggling his eyebrows.]

Few things I like better than gettin' greased up and sweaty, workin' for somethin' so sexy.

[He isn't really sure himself whether or not that was a deliberate euphemism for something else entirely. Probably so.]

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[]

Oh, well, you know. It gets me around Lima with its plush interior and spinning rims. []

And I suppose I can forgive that. Most people tend to make blatant assumptions based entirely on my voice, appearance, and excellent sense of fashion. Besides, I have a pair of coveralls, so it isn't as though I would be working in this.

[]

An Impala, hm? You must be a vintage car man, I suppose. I'll have to take your word for it, but it's a shame I can't see it for myself. I'd love to hear it purr with my own ears.

[]

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His coveralls have glitter on them. It's very pretty. [I HATE YOU KURT. YOU STOLE MY LINES.]

God, these stairs take forever.

[She keeps her focus on Dean (and the steps. She doesn't want to fall), smiling at him yet some more. It's more than she's smiled in the entire time she's been stuck there!]

Your car sounds super hot. I bet you look good all sweaty, too. Not a lot of guys can pull that look off, you know. And I love leather seats. [Not that she has a lot of experience in the backs of cars with leather seats. No, seriously. They're usually cloth.]

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[Still grinning about being able to rattle off about the Impala, Dean nods in agreement with Kurt. It isn't easy to find people who share his passion for automobiles, particularly if they're younger.]

The Metallicar's been in the family since my dad got it in '73. [He looks ridiculously proud of this fact. It's a sweet ride and still badass at forty years, goin' strong.] Damn shame it couldn't've been thrown into this clusterfuck with the rest of us.

[Santana's getting pretty close to him over on one side. He's had plenty of experience on those leather seats - IF CARS COULD TALK - and the look she's giving him is more than suggestive. It's like an invitation.

...and Hell, he is sexy when he's sweaty and covered in car oil. He will accept that compliment.]

And thanks. [Offers her another one of his signature smiles, figuring that a little light flirting can't hurt for the time being. Particularly when these stairs take FREAKING FOREVER. The older man takes a moment to mumble.]

All this might be worth it, too, if the kitchen's gotta pie and a cheeseburger with my name on 'em.

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They are not glittery. There's no point to that if they're just going to get covered in oil and grease! []

[]

Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to find something there. You can find almost anything there, with little to no effort involved whatsoever. []

[] I agree though - it's a shame it couldn't have come with you. But unfortunately, I wasn't just being facetious when I said there was no where to go. There's forest, an ocean, hills, and miles of fence surrounding this place, and there aren't any roads to be found. It would wind up sitting stationary, and that would be a real shame, since you must have put so much effort into its upkeep.

[] ...Well, maybe if we had a garage it might be worth it. []

[]

Edited Date: 2010-11-01 05:57 am (UTC)

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[SHE KNOWS YOU'RE GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY, KURT. That's all that matters.]

I wonder what would happen if we did try to drive away. Like, would the Queen stop us, or is the fence electric or something? [Hey look, she was distracted from flirting for a second! That won't do at all.]

Anyway, I totally agree. It would be worth it in the end. There are things you can do with a car even if it's not being driven.

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[Stepping out onto the ground floor, he isn't surprised to see that it looks exactly like the tenth floor. Fucking brilliant. Everything's identical. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckles a little at Santana's comment.]

Yeah, there's more than one thing you can do with a car besides drive i-

[Dean stops short, snapping his mouth shut so fast his teeth click. Wow. Wow, okay. He did not just get some interesting mental pictures. He's gotta concentrate on important things, like cheeseburgers and pie and not sex on leather seats with fogged-up windows and Ramble On playing on the radio. Dean coughs.]

...right. So where's this kitchen, anyway?

[Desperately trying to change the subject, he does hazard to pull out his gun, leaning suspiciously around a corner to make sure the coast is clear.]

And that's bullshit about the place. Why the Hell are we here if we can't leave? What is this, the Hotel California?

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[]

This way. It's not far. []

As for this place, it does tend to be "bullshit", as you so crudely put it. Santana and I have been here for months already, and we still don't have a valid answer to that, aside from the possibility that this place really just enjoys torturing us every so often.

[]

It will be good to have someone like you here though. I haven't known you long of course, but seems like you're prepared for, well, almost anything.

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