AN: Sorry for the late posting! I got really stuck, and only just managed to find my way out! I took some liberties with parts of Supernatural lore, but I hope everyone likes it!

How to Save a Life

By Koinaka

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I know how to save a life
How to save a life
How to save a life

-How to Save a Life, The Fray

THEN

At Kurt's no doubt confused look, he continued. "I admit it's a bit unorthodox, but I've always been an opportunist, and since you offered yourself to me freely…Well, who am I to turn you down?"

"Myself? But I didn't—"

"Yes—whatever you want—anything," Crowley said, his voice a pitch perfect impersonation of Kurt's. "Hello darling."

NOW:
Chapter Three

Kurt's eyes widened. "Are you saying that you own me now?" he asked in a horrified tone.

Crowley didn't answer him though. Instead he just moved closer and touched one of his fingers to Kurt's forehead. He caught the boy as he crumpled to the ground, cradling him in his arms. "Tetchy little thing," he muttered as he took first one step and then another before disappearing into the shadows.

When Kurt woke up tucked into bed, he thought that perhaps it had all been a dream—a strangely realistic dream but a dream nonetheless. That idea was proven false the moment he realized that not only was the room he was in definitely not his own, but that there was someone sitting in the chair next to him.

It was the demon.

Crowley.

Kurt let out a strangled scream and scrambled away from the demon, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

"You!" he said, his tone accusatory. "I don't want you near me."

"Now, now," Crowley said. "Is that any way to treat the man—well, so to speak—who saved your father's life?"

Kurt slumped against the headboard of the bed at the mention of his father.

"Well, then, let's get this over with, shall we? You have questions, I assume, and as your luck would have it, I have a limited amount of answers."

Kurt studied the demon across from him for a long moment before speaking. "My father—before you said that he was awake. Is he really?"

Crowley sighed and shook his head. "Your faith in my abilities is astounding. Like I said before, he's awake and currently sitting with your step-mommy—Carole, was it?—harassing the nursing staff as we speak. Not a very good patient, your father."

He closed his eyes in relief. His dad was alive. Whatever came next, whatever torments the demon may put him through, none of it would matter. All that mattered was that his dad was alive.

"And what does this—your ownership—entail?" Kurt tried to keep the disgust out of his voice, but he couldn't.

"Whatever I want as per your own stipulations," the demon gave him a pointed look before sweeping his eyes down the length of Kurt's body. "And oh, the things I want."

Kurt flushed underneath the intensity of Crowley's gaze, from the tips of his ears downward. Surely he didn't mean…that, did he? He flashed back to the kiss they had shared—to the way he felt when the demon touched him, kissed him, bite him. He crossed his arms over his chest. That was definitely not happening again.

"No need to look so scandalized. I'm not talking about your body, though I could certainly have that if I wanted it. We'll talk terms at a later date, but for now, I have a question for you. You said before, back at the crossroads, that you saw a man with wings. What did he look like?"

He shrugged. "He had wings."

"Something I don't already know, ducky. Don't scrimp on the details. Your daddy may not like the results if you do…"

Kurt's eyes widened. "He looked like a regular man," he said quickly. "He was wearing some type of business suit with a trench coat over it. He had brown hair. I can't be sure of anything else. It was dark, and he wasn't exactly close to me. I wasn't even sure I saw him—or his wings—at first."

"And his wings? What did they look like?"

"Like big, white, feathery wings."

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat and leaned closer. "Now, this is the one-million dollar question. When you saw the wings, did you see only the outline or the whole shebang?"

It took Kurt a moment to answer because he wasn't sure. When he had first seen the man, he hadn't had wings at all. It had only been later that he'd seen the wings. He was fairly certain that it was more than a simple outline. With a tremulous voice, he said so. "The whole shebang."

Kurt didn't know what it meant, but he knew that Crowley looked pleased. Far too pleased for it to be anything good. He leaned over and placed a hand on Kurt's arm. Before Kurt had time to react, he found himself—and Crowley—in an entirely different room. It looked like the inside of a security center with wall-to-wall televisions monitoring the comings and goings of Crowley's home.

"Is the man you see there the same one you saw before at the crossroads?" Crowley asked, tapping the monitor in the far corner, the one that overlooked the exterior of the house.

Kurt looked the screen for a moment. "Yes," he said finally.

Crowley's smile was wide and more than a little disconcerting. "Well, well, what have we here? One of the soldiers of heaven is way out of bounds. Whatever shall I do with you, little angel?"

He turned away from the monitor and fixed his gaze onto Kurt. "I think I have just the job for you."

He took a deep breath. "What sort of job?"

"I want you to bring me one of that angel's pretty white feathers."

"You can't be serious," Kurt said, but the look on Crowley's face was nothing if not serious—with a good deal of something else there, some emotion that Kurt couldn't quite differentiate, desire, maybe, longing, definitely, but something more than those.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing," the demon said. "I have a plan."

And then, before Kurt could react, Crowley touched his fingers to his forehead once more, and everything went dark.

When Kurt woke up again—and how was the demon doing that?—there was a blindfold over his eyes, and he was tied to a table of some kind, his body splayed out and so taut that he could not even struggle properly.

Wherever he was, he was not alone. Someone was bustling over to the right of him. He could hear the clinking of some kind of metal. It almost sounded like the sharpening of knives but that couldn't be right, could it? A moment later he felt something cold and incredibly sharp against the skin of his belly and knew that that was right.

At the same time as the knife was dragged across his belly—not hard enough to break the skin but only just—he felt lips against his ear.

"Remember," Crowley said in a barely there whisper. "Stick to the plan or…" he trailed off, but there was no need for him to finish the sentence because Kurt knew exactly what he meant although he wasn't sure what Crowley meant by plan. He hadn't told Kurt what the plan was—only that he had one. How could he stick to a plan he knew nothing about?

"Now, this might hurt just a bit," he warned, pressing the knife harder against the soft flesh of Kurt's belly.

Beneath the blindfold, Kurt blinked rapidly and attempted to jerk away from the knife, away from the demon, to no avail.

A high-pitched shriek was ripped from him the first time the knife actually cut into his belly. The demon cut into him over and over again until the pain was almost too much to bear. He screamed until his throat was raw, until he couldn't scream anymore, and then he begged—a litany of pleas falling from his lips.

He was so absorbed by the pain, by the steady carving of the knife, that everything narrowed down until that was all that existed. When the knife finally stopped, clattering loudly to the ground, the pain-filled fog that he had existed in for what felt like years now lifted only slightly. He could hear a struggle taking place near him, and he was vaguely aware of someone touching him—softly and gently undoing his bindings, starting with the blindfold. His eyes fluttered closed against the harsh light. He cried out plaintively when the last of the bindings were undone, and he was lifted into someone's arms.

"You're safe now, I got you," someone—the same someone whose arms he was now in—told him before yelling to another person. "Come on, Sammy, grab the Colt, and let's go. Place is gonna be swarming with mooks soon."

The last thing he heard before darkness pulled him under was the man telling him that everything was going to be okay.