Salt and Sing

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Spoilera: Glee Spoilers to 2:16; Supernatural Spoilers to 6:12

Warnings: Violence, potentially crude humor, romance

Summary: For 30 years, every Warbler Soloist to perform at Regionals dies. Castiel sends Dean undercover to figure out how to protect Blaine Anderson from becoming a pile of teenage meat. There's also a small problem with a temperamental, pissed Kurt Hummel thinking that Dean's into his... not-boyfriend.

Author Notes: This may be the crackiest thing I have ever written, barred that one moe!Sephiroth fic I wrote at gunpoint. This was so much fun to write because I took one of my favorite pairings (Destiel) and my little sister's favorite pairing (Klaine) and mushed them together. This was just as fun plotting with her as it was writing. Trying to get drama, humor, and good ol' MotW in was so much fun. Also, pretty men making out. It's like a fangirl's dream-come-true.

That chapter is more Supernatural-based, but next chapter will be more Glee-driven. :D

Three-shot

Dean wishes there's a way around this job because it's far worse than the last time he ended up in a high school, hunting something that thinks it's fun to climb into teenagers and make them jump off buildings or drink toilet-bowl cleaner. He wishes Sammy were here, but he's camping up in Toledo hunting a pack of witches who are jonesing for sweet, virgin blood. If he had known when Castiel told him he was needed further south that this trip involved teenagers and singers, he would have switched places with his brother in a second—even with him hating witches with everything he had. Bitches never stayed dead, damn it.

He fully blames Castiel for this; his angel and his freaky mojo-shit and his ability to just know that there's somewhere Dean's needed is a little creepy. (Another creepy thing, Dean thinks, is this thing going on with them, whatever it is that Dean can't really put complete words to yet because it's raw and open and makes him feel like his stomach's gunna cave in at any second. Knowing what to call Castiel right now is a little more difficult than he can spare a thought about. But Dean's regressing from his point.) What's he supposed to do here? The hunter doesn't know yet, but he's sure he'll figure it out soon enough; there are only so many big baddies that can go bump in the night in a damn boarding school.

Here he is, standing in front of a tall, ornate academy wearing a tie. There's a man-purse in his hand, hair slicked back in a way that really just doesn't fit him, and his shoes are even polished. Castiel hasn't just warped him into a nine to five regular schmuck, but made him a damn substitute schmuck. This is already looking like one of the worst hunts in the history of hunting—and considering he chased after a racist truck and got shoved into a Japanese ball-breaking TV show, it's saying a lot.

At least there are no red shorts this time.

Considering Dean's GED and complete lack of knowledge on pretty much anything that wasn't stealing, fucking, or monster-hunting, he wonders what he's going to do in this school for however long he's needed. It was Castiel who figured out everything and instead of letting Dean bullshit his way into the school. He simply implanted an idea into one of the teachers to go on an extended vacation to Morocco. There was supposed to be some big thing going on with some 'glee' group and it was his ticket in. Apparently, they need a baby-sitter and normally the other teachers would be happy to do it except they all thought this club was haunted. There was a fear that whoever ended up subbing for this club would end up with their guts splattered across the school's perfectly-manicured lawn.

That one wasn't even Castiel's angel-mojo.

Something's definitely fishy about the whole thing and it's weird that no other hunters ever worked the case. It reeks of a potential haunting and Dean wonders if the apocalypse wasn't the beginning of the death of the hunting industry. Could they really be slacking that badly for that long?

There were over five unexplained deaths so far, but according to the google, it hasn't happened since the last time this 'glee' thing went to 'Regionals'. Most of the teachers from then were still probably hanging around, giving more room for the rumors to spread about the competition being cursed and with his poor luck, it's just so happens that these kids made it to Regionals this year. It did bring a few questions to light about the mental soundness of teenagers and their prison guards if, even with rumors about death floating around campus, these stupid people still went for it. Why would a group purposely bring around a curse when they knew what triggered it? Castiel didn't know and Dean's sure one of these kids is gunna tell him whether he likes the answer or not.

Of course, before he even gets into the building he finds out what a Glee club is. They meet him in full uniform, their blue suits and red border an eyesore to Dean already and they circle around him, as if he's a prized piece of meat. It takes a second to realize that these kids aren't trying to scare him away with their squwaking, but are serenading him with a rendition of... the Beatles. "Hey Jude." Full-on singing with hands twisting up and choreography and Dean thinks that he may be back in Hell again because this is the scariest thing he's ever seen.

He should have never told Castiel it was really his favorite song, that angel bastard. Letting an angel take care of the paperwork (even naming him something as stupid as "Nathaniel Jude" ) was the least of his worries, though. He wouldn't deny that they are awesome, a capellaing their way through a Beatles song, but in the same breath, he realized that it was a fucking show choir for a bunch of teenage, pox-marked boys.

Witches would have been easier.

The Warblers, as they call themselves, are some of the best singers Dean's ever heard. Really, half of the kids were going to end up belting out show tunes on Broadway and the other half stuck in pop-ballad hell with a bunch of top-40 music-exec assholes. Especially, he decides, the two boys standing really close to one another—they were gunna end up the next Sonny and Cher, 'cept for the Cher being another Sonny and probably without the divorce and domestic violence.

He doesn't remember most of the kids names, except for those two. Maybe it's the way they remind him a little bit of himself and Cas (and who really knows for sure how that's going, but they're looking at each other like they may have the head start in whatever it is) but their names: Blaine and Kurt. They even sound like they should fit and for a moment Dean thinks it's creepy and a little more than gay (he crossed that boundary a while ago, but with show choirs and all-boys schools and these two kids, it's really driving home this fact.) He doesn't mention it because it doesn't seem like the right thing to do; he's the teacher and one of them he's got to stop. Bad things happen to good people and these two are still young enough to qualify as good people in his book. There wasn't any reason their Sonny and Sonny duo had to be broken up before it even got off the ground.

Dalton Academy has a lot of skeletons in its Glee-related closet. The last guy who died shoved his head into the school's toilet and drowned himself—a week before this Regionals competition. He was the head honcho, the guy with the solos, and it was only a couple years ago. Before then, there was one accidental hanging (accidental because it was his tie and a locker of hell), a broken overhead lamp, a locked freezer, and one particularly nasty one involving a kid's internal organs and the school's swimming pool drain. All of them were the guys who were picked for solos at Regionals and all of them died in freak accidents that weren't as freak as they should have.

For a second, Dean wants to tell these two boys that a stupid singing competition isn't worth this Blaine kid's neck, but he knows these kids won't listen because even he thinks this is just a little too weird. Who'd want a school's show choir contestants to die in horrible ways? Especially something that lasted for over thirty years. Right now, he thinks it's a pissed ghost or curse because there's not much else for him to go on, but surely Castiel wouldn't call him away from witches to deal with something he could roast without even leaving heaven.

He does have to admit that he didn't blame the other teachers for their chicken-shit attitude toward the club. Who could say for certain that it would just go after the students?

Of course, Dean's not really scared of the job; he'll find out what it is, like he always has. He'll salt'n'burn it, gut it, drown it in holy water and maybe even set it on fire again for good measure.

Until he figures out what it is though, he has no choice but to try and get the show-runner to step off and try and quit this competition. He knows the chance of him listening is slim, that he's got a better chance of finding what's killing a bunch of high school boys than getting these Warbler kids to back down from singing their little songs in front of a jury and whatnot, but he's got to try.

There's going to be a lot of trying with this hunt, Dean realizes.

It's not a good thing.

It doesn't go well the first time Dean mentions it to one of the students.

It's one of the kids that reminds Dean of his weird situation with Castiel. He says something to the short one, the one who sings his notes high and carries around a damn bird. Kurt tells him that he's out of his mind if he thinks he's going to get Blaine to quit over some superstitious crackpot mumbo-jumbo (more eloquently put, because that's the kind of kid he is.) Dean went to him first, to try and get the kid to talk his boyfriend out of his solos, but all he gets is a raised eyebrow and a a shotgun round of sarcasm right to the gut.

"First off, Blaine and I are not an item," Kurt says, and Dean feels bad for the kid because it's so obvious in his tone that he doesn't want it to be that way, "he's probably still pining after that boy from the Gap, anyway. And second, this singing competition is important to us and our school. If we win, we go to nationals in New York. Now, I get that you may not have a lot of experience in music or even dressing yourself, from those absolutely obscene shoes and hideous dollar-store tie, but what's in the balance is New York." Kurt's eyes fill up with stars. "It's a big deal."

Maybe telling the kid "your boyfriend singing at this Regionals thing is a really bad idea. You should just give up," wasn't the best way to bring the topic up.

"And don't go telling Blaine this—you're the only teacher we could get on such short notice and we can't have our soloist breaking down from extra unnecessary pressure in the week leading up to Regionals. He's singing all the solos anyway; we don't have any back up singers who'd be allowed to fill his shoes." There's a tinge of something in the boy's voice and maybe Sonny One is jealous of Sonny Two. If it hadn't been going on for thirty years and the kid didn't remind him of a snatched kiss in the back of the Impala with an Angel, Dean would have pondered that maybe Kurt was trying to get a little attention. But he looks more dejected than vengeful.

Kurt saunters down the hallways after their relatively short conversation and Dean thinks there's no way this kid's going to drop his sarcasm and pissiness with him after obviously stepping on the kid's expensive leather shoes.

Dean doesn't do what the kid says. He catches the kid between classes and really tries not to be as blunt. But it's still Dean and he's known for accidentally insulting people even when he's really trying to be nice. He considers it a curse sometimes.

"So, uh, why're you wanting to go to this thing anyway? Haven't you heard about all the bad things that have happened to the people who do these solos before you?"

Blaine looks at him, a little bemused. "You mean those weird accidents, sir? The other teachers have been talking about it, and I did a little research. It's not a curse—just bad timing and too much pressure."

Surely this kid didn't just believe that all this was some kind of coincidence—five soloists in thirty years croaking before the upcoming competition was too much even for a pretty-boy like Blaine to just accept. He has a brain somewhere up there where he keeps his pop collection and hair gel.

Dean doesn't want to be mean, if anything he'd really like to avoid outcasting this kid against him as well, but with how many of these Warblers he's angering he knows it's getting close to the time to back off and soul-phone Cas down to earth for some advice on what to do.

Then again, he was an angel of the Lord and probably has less experience convincing teenagers to abandon their hopes and dreams than Dean did.

For the fiftieth time today, he wishes his brother was stuck in his shoes instead of it being him here. At least Sam was more versed in this music stuff—Dean hasn't listened to the radio since the early 90's when the normal channels stopped playing Van Halen and Metallica on repeat. Dean knows that he's bad with kids and even though he raised Sammy he didn't do that awesome of a job with it considering his baby brother started downing demon juice and became Satan there for a while. This was really just out of his league, more than a little.

"You don't think there's anything weird with that?" Dean asks carefully, gauging Blaine's reaction.

"Of course I don't, Mister Jude. They're unfortunate, yes, but things like curses and ghosts are things in the movies and television shows. What's real is that the Warblers have been rehearsing for months for this competition and we finally started picking songs that we're performing at Regionals."

Dean nods his head. "So, you've never felt," Dean's face pulls a little, as though he's telling a joke only they can understand, "like something's been out for you since you've started practicing?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I wish the other teachers hadn't scared you so badly about the job. There's really nothing going on, I promise. It's just that the teachers need something to talk about because there really isn't much drama that goes on here. We've a zero-tolerance policy, so we don't have the issues most high schools have—the teachers always like to gossip and they must have picked this as something to keep them entertained."

Dean doesn't believe it, but the kid does and he doesn't seem like he's about to change his mind anytime soon.

"So, don't listen to what the other teachers have to say, they're just trying to get a little excitement out of their day by scaring the newcomer." Blaine smiles and clasps his books tighter to his chest. "I've got to go to class, but the Warbler's room is on the way."

Dean follows him because there's not much else he can do until he can scope out more information from the school's library, maybe hit up Castiel and send a text message to Sam telling him he's jealous of witches in Toledo. He's stuck on this campus until at least five—has to stay in an office in the choir room just in case he's needed. According to Blaine, the only thing he really needed to do was be a supervising adult that could sign papers and smile. Everything the club did was at its students hands, so Dean didn't have to worry about anything except keeping his eye out on Blaine Anderson and making sure he didn't die.

"Cas, what am I supposed to do here?"

Castiel may be an angel of the Lord, running wars against other heavenly dipshits and whatnot, but for some reason whenever Dean calls him down to Earth he just looks plain confused. Dean really doesn't mind this; Cas's obliviousness to everything and everyone is one of his more endearing traits (unless it's just being a pain in the ass at that moment, and God knows how many times that's happened) but right now that's not what Dean wants to see on the angel. He wants answers.

"There is something murdering children in a supernatural way; as such, there is a need for those who understand how to deal with it and I know of no other hunters."

Castiel, always so honest and to-the-point.

"You know that's not what I mean," Dean replies and yanks of the knot in his too-tight tie. He wasn't used to being stuck in a tie for longer than it took to talk to a vic' and jump back in the Impala. "You know I'm bad with kids—awful. I almost took off Ben's head when he snuck into the shed and I wasn't even hunting then."

Castiel smiles, though it's a more of a thin line than a smile, but that's the only way Castiel knows how to so it speaks of normalcy and genuine emotion. For an angel that only recently came into feelings and other Hallmark-esque things, it was an improvement to stark BATTLE-mode. "I think you lack faith in yourself," Castiel says, but it's not something Dean really cares about either way. "And to answer your question: I have sent two of the Heavenly Choir to investigate this incident and neither could sense spirit nor curse. If had been that, I wouldn't have bothered sending you and would have taken care of it myself. As is, we do not have a lead." Castiel's lips purse and his nose twitches.

"Why'd you pick up this hunt?"

"There were... many prayers by the students wishing for the protection of their friend. There's one particularly important boy whose prayer went directly to the higher echelons—one of the few archangels."

"'n you being the big Sheriff with the buddies down south, you sprung it on me." Dean wasn't mad about it, but damn if it wasn't something he wanted to do. With hunting it doesn't matter if you like it, someone still needs to do it.

Dean looks at Castiel's lips when he speaks next; Dean's not sure if he does it on purpose or if it's just another one of his tics, but Castiel bites his lip on occasion (and only if you look at the right time.) He's not really sure what it says about him either, for that matter. To anyone else, it would look like Dean's just staring at the guy's lips. (He has to squash down a memory of Boston because he can't deal with that on top of everything right now. His nerves aren't strong enough.)

"So, this isn't just a bad case of the ghosts?"

"Doesn't seem so. Look into more information about the victims; perhaps it'll shine some light on the circumstances surrounding their deaths."

When they finish talking, Dean doesn't know if he should lean in and kiss Castiel or not.

He decides against it because his tie's a little too tight and he's expected in the choir room any minute and a guy who can disappear without using the doors can get very confusing if one of the kids tries to find him—never mind their teacher sucking face with a dude.

It starts with a broken riser and an inch from a broken neck.

Dean's just sitting in the choir room, head resting on his shoulder and the highest desire for nothing more than a little catnap when he sees it in the corner of his eye: A bending metal pipe. He doesn't do anything at first, mostly because it takes him a moment to notice that the metal wasn't supposed to be moving like that, and he even looks away before something drops in the pit of his stomach and he knows that the risers they're standing on is going to break and like Humpty-Dumpty, they're all going to tumble down.

And Blaine is on top, dancing around without a care in the world.

His hunter instincts are what gets him off his ass and rushing toward the twisting metal spires. It's not tall, only a few feet off the ground, but it's more than enough to satisfy whatever's trying to kill the kid. Dean knows that a fall like that into spikes would even kill him and it would completely be a waste of his day (and would piss off Castiel very much) if this hunt went sour.

The metal gives out the second the other Warblers move off the middle section of the risers, proving that even if Castiel's angel-dar couldn't detect something, there was an evil sonofabitch gunning for the death of Blaine Anderson. There's not a lot of time to do much as the teenager steps forward only for the metal to buckle under his weight. There's panic on the boy's face as he tries to reach for some kind of sturdy, solid footing, but he's already tumbling forward and—

Being a hunter Dean's used to things getting flung at him.

Teenage boys, not so much...

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