AN: Hiya, guys! Long time no see! This Chapter was a bit difficult to write, as I'm sort of stuck and 60.1 degrees west, 42.35 Degrees North is somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean-(It was supposed to be somewhere in Pennsylvania, But I suck at trying to find Coordinates on my globe.) Anyways…Here is this, and try not to hate me if it sucks. Onwards to the show, Allons-y! Oh, and a very, very happy Christmas to you all (If you celebrate that. If not, happy Monday.)
Chapter Eight

"Alright," Sighed Dean Winchester. "We've got a crowd of people who all believe we traumatized and nearly killed a kid, a somewhat-remembering Cas, and Crowley to deal with. Anything else?"

"Don't forget his father, boyfriend, and stepbrother! And the fact they don't remember the demons." Sam called from the other room.

"Yeah." Dean mumbled. "Great."

The brother akin to a moose stepped into the cramped motel bedroom. "Okay, so I've been doing research on this Kurt kid-"

"Cas," Corrected Dean with a stubborn resolve. "It's Cas."

"I've been doing research on him," Sighed Sam. "You know, looking to see if there were any place connected to him where Crowley might scavenge next, see if there were any sightings of a meteor nine months before Kurt's birth."

"Alright," The elder Winchester said. "So were there?"

"Not anywhere particularly near here." Sam informed. "But there was one in the Atlantic Ocean, somewhat near the coast of New York…Where Burt Hummel and his wife Alice were on a cruise celebrating their fifth anniversary."

"So basically to find the poor kid's grace we have to go deep sea diving."

"Kind of, yeah."

"Wonderful." The shorter one of the pair frowned.

-=OOO=- Meanwhile, in the Atlantic Ocean -=OOO=-

Rrrhh, Rrrrhh.

"Come on boys; put your back into it!" A Scottish voice called from the boat to those operating the drill. "It's only a few thousand feet underwater, can't be too hard! You, Talbot," Crowley pointed to a young woman standing next to him once the drill stopped.

"Yes sir?" Her eyes flicked black.

"Put on a wet suit, you're going to go and collect it." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Can't risk letting the Winchesters get to it, eh sweetheart."

"Of course not, Mr. Crowley," She smiled a sickly sweet grin at him; he laughed and turned away. "And Mr. Crowley?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'm nobody's sweetheart."


The hospital door shut softly.

"Hiya, Kurt," Blaine's voice was pleasant, calm and careful. "How've you been?"

Blaine-happinesslovegood-BlaineDean-Nonono, Blaine. Just Blaine. "Hey." Croaked the countertenor. "I'm…doing alright." Given the circumstances. A thousand memories flashed by. Are you alright, Cas? Dean. Dean.

"That's good," He smiled weakly. "I brought you flowers," He gestured to the bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

"Thanks," Kurt smiled at the bow-tie clad man. "It means a lot to me, it really does." Nochickflickmoments- Stop, He told himself. My name is Kurt Hummel, I'm eighteen years old…

"Kurt? Kurt?" Blaine's eyes were wide and worried.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry. You were saying?"

"It's not the same without you, Kurt. Everyone in Glee is really worried." He bit his lip. "I'm worried. Your dad is worried. What…Happened to you, Kurt?"

How didn't he know, wondered the teen in the hospital bed. About the demons that were there. About Dean and Sam and Crowley-

No, Kurt. He reminded himself. That never happened, remember? You fell off the Cheerio pyramid when two men barged in and you got a concussion. You're not an angel, you didn't know those men. Though they were rather attractive… "I don't know, Blaine. The nurses say I have a concussion from falling off the cheerio pyramid." He shrugged. Yet when did concussions give people false memories, was his last thought before the world went black.

"Kurt? Kurt?!" Called Blaine as his boyfriend fell limp. "Nurse! Somebody get a Nurse!"

It's moving. They're moving the grace…My grace.

AN: So…Rather small, but it's still something. A Christmas present, if you will. Or … a present to help you through your Monday, I suppose.