auth note: I've had this story in my head for a while now but recently found some muse to get it out. Here is a prologue for it. More to come soon! Also, I will be taking many liberties with angels in theology. Namely one aspect in particular; the Grigori. I recognize that everything I write may not be accurate but as I said I wanted to morph it into something else.

The air was stale. Kurt's throat burned and ached for water. The entire mansion had been this way but the air almost felt thicker in this room. He brought his arm up to cover his mouth as he tiptoed through the darkness. The moon was only granting so much light through the windows at the other end of the room. They reached from the floor to the ceiling, the curtains drawn back on either side. There was so much dust caked on the glass that it prevented most of the moonlight from shining through.

His heart rate was still trying to regulate after the escape. This room was safe for now, at least that's what he had hoped. From the dim light, Kurt could see books covering the walls. This was the exact room Kurt had been searching for. The room was grand, and probably once very elegant and beautiful under the thick sheets of dirt. Kurt resisted the urge to cough. He had to remain as silent as possible for now. He had seemingly found the library too late. There wasn't enough time to search and Kurt wasn't even certain what to look for. If he had the time, Kurt would have liked to spend time seeing what secrets lay hidden away in these books. The ones on the shelf closest to him had foreign symbols on them. They did not look like any language known to mankind. He was in the right place without a doubt.

Kurt jumped as he heard footsteps outside in the hall. His heart started to pound faster and he froze and waited for the door to open and for his hiding spot to be found. Not that he was doing a good job at hiding what with standing out in the open in the library. After a few moments the footsteps continued down the hall and out of earshot. Kurt sighed and lowered his arm so he could turn back to the bookshelf and remove one of the text.

He rubbed his thumb along the spine of a particularly thick volume trying to clear away the dust in order to get a better look at some of the symbols. There were few that recognized but that had only been recognizable to him due to the events of the last few weeks. And while he was familiar with a handful of them, it certainly did not mean he could read them or understand what they meant. Kurt brushed his hand across the cover and tilted it toward the moonlight. The title of the book was written in this language too as were the pages, Kurt noted, as he flipped open the book.

Great. Even if there was something useful in here, Kurt would have absolutely no way of knowing. He replaced the text back to the shelf and walked slowly along the wall, eyes squinting and struggling to see properly in this light. Kurt ran his fingers along the dusty spines as he went. The other end of the room sat a fireplace with two rather large and practically ancient looking wingback chairs on an ornate rug.

Kurt, distracted from the books, moved over to the chair and small octagonal shaped table that sat between the twin chairs. Kurt stared at the empty fireplace and tried to image sitting here on cold nights with a room full of books and a roaring fire to keep him warm. It was a nice image. Something right out of a book itself. It seemed normal and what Kurt wouldn't give for normal right now.

He walked around to the other side of the chairs and ran his hand on the soft upholstery of the arm as he went. Kurt stopped almost immediately. He had to do a double take at the chair, wondering if it was the ill light that was causing him to imagine things. The chair was clean. No dust, no dirt. It looked brand new from this angle, or at least compared to everything else surrounding it, the chair was well taken care of if not recently sat in. Why else would there be one chair in all of the room that was saved from dirt.

Kurt's brow furrowed a little. He stepped forward, the moon currently providing a direct beam onto the chair. Maybe against his better judgement, Kurt lowered himself into the chair. It was angled away from the door at the opposite end of the room. He ran his hands on the arms of the chair and his lips turned up in a small smirk. He'd love to have this for himself.

He looked around at the room from this position, the shelves of books towered over him and even at night it was almost intimidating. Kurt's eyes fell last back to the table between the the chairs. A few books were haphazardly stacked. He would have paid them no mind, except that the top book, much like the chair, was clean of dust. Kurt sat up a little straighter and reached over for the book.

This book was smaller than the previous one he had examined. It was still old, and the binding, while still intact, showed great wear. The symbols were still on the spine and front of the book. He opened the book to the first page and Kurt's eyes went wide immediately. Among the non human language written there, Kurt was able to identify one symbol in particular that held a great meaning to him. It was a name or phrase that Kurt had become very familiar with and had even come to love. Well, he had come to love one who was associated with the symbol. Even if he hadn't been able to verbally confess that love, it was there. Kurt thought both fondly and bitterly about that love he felt for a moment.

Kurt flipped through the pages. In the corners of the pages were noted both in English and in that language. This was it. This was what they had been looking for. At the very least this would be able to help them. And how fortunate it was for Kurt to stumble upon it like this. Kurt hated the word fate and the idea of it. He was in charge of his own destiny, but this was just another thing he could not ignore.

A hopeful smile played on his lips but before he could get up and tuck the small book away inside of his jacket, a long steel blade came from around behind the chair and pressed itself gently, but threateningly, against Kurt's throat. Kurt stilled, freezing in place. He hadn't heard the door open or anyone coming toward him from behind. Curse himself for sitting in this chair away from the door and for taking his attention off of the situation at hand.

"Got you."

Kurt, still too terrified and virtually unable to move without sending the blade slicing through him, felt the warm breath of the other on the shell of his ear. It sent a shiver down his spine. He gripped the book tighter making a silent vow that they would have to pry this book from his dead hands. Which, Kurt thought shortly after, they most certainly wouldn't have much of a problem with.

"Now tell me, where the Grigori is and I might be able to find the mercy somewhere inside of me to let you leave with your life."

The side of the blade pressed further into his skin making Kurt sit as far back as he could into the chair to try and get away. There was no place to go though.

"Go ahead, kill me." Kurt did not feel as confident as he words had sounded. He was even surprised at the tone in his voice. "Except you can't. You need me, remember? Without me, you're all screwed."

Kurt prayed this would buy him sometime while his mind raced trying to think up a way to get out of this.

"Maybe." The blade pressed further, cutting into his skin ever so lightly. Kurt gasped at the stinging. "I can still have fun with you. And there isn't anyone around to hear you scream so I encourage you to. I'm looking forward to it."

Kurt clenched his jaw and slammed his eyes shut and he prayed again, imploring for someone or anything to help him. He did not want to be left here for torture. Kurt, possibly through no will of his own but not without putting up a fight first, would most certainly give them all the information they were looking for. He did not want to betray the man he loved. He was powerless and for the first time, he felt the full weight of that crashing down on top of him.