Kurt wakes up to sunlight.

He tries to close his eyes more tightly, but the bright light of the sun follows him even behind his eyelids, red and warm and blinding, and god, did he really forget to pull the curtains over the windows in his rooms again?

He lets out an annoyed sigh and tries to pull the covers over his head, and it's only when his hand meets the unfamiliar soft fabric of the blanket over him that he realizes he's not in his own bed.

Then it all comes back in a rush, as if his mind is suddenly waking up for real – bright colors exploding around him, the feeling of falling for a long, long time until he hit the ground and found himself in a completely unfamiliar place. Huge buildings, blinding lights, people who refuse to help him and instead just walk on by, magic that doesn't work, rain, rain, rain, and even more rain.

... And Blaine. The only one who helped him, who saved him from that wagon-like thing. The man who has such guarded eyes but such a kind look in them as well; who looks like he's constantly holding something back but still makes Kurt feel like everything will be alright with just a small upward tilt of his mouth.

Kurt blinks his eyes open. The ceiling above him has a few small cracks on it, tiny fissures running over the surface. He's lying on a couch, his other hand hanging off it with the tips of his fingers brushing the floor, and the sunshine is coming from a large window right next to the couch, the thin curtains doing absolutely nothing to block it. And it's... quiet. Or at least quieter than he's used to – instead of hurrying steps in the corridors and birdsong in the trees outside his windows, the only things he can hear are the hum of the city outside and the different kind of a whisper of the house around him.

He pushes himself up slowly, looking around the strange apartment. His clothes have been folded loosely over a nearby chair so they would dry better, but his boots are still next to the couch. Kurt pushes his hand inside the boot for his left foot, searching until his fingers find the brooch he dropped there last night after he changed into the clothes Blaine gave him. He usually has it fastened on his tunic, but leaving it in plain sight in this strange place seemed risky.

To everyone else it's just an old golden brooch that's shaped like a small bird in flight, something Kurt's mother gave him years and years ago, but to himself it's so much more than that. He runs his fingers over its surface, frowning when he still can't feel the familiar vibrations of magic underneath his touch. It's like this place is blocking everything magical he owns and knows, and Kurt feels a little lost without it.

In here, his brooch is just a brooch.

He gets up and walks around the apartment slowly, still holding the brooch in his hand. The door to the other room is ajar, and Kurt glances in. Blaine is still sleeping, just the top of his head peeking out from underneath the covers, his hair wild and curly on the pillow, so different from last night, and Kurt smiles to himself before pulling the door closed and padding around the rest of the small apartment. He takes a cursory glance of the kitchen, of the neat and clean surfaces, and then returns back to the window next to the couch. There's some sort of a metal staircase outside, and Kurt pushes the window open all the way, letting the fresh morning air wake him up for good as he looks around.

So this is New York.

There are people and more of those wagon-like things on the streets below, and the hum of the city gets stronger when Kurt steps over the window ledge and sits down on the creaky steps. All the buildings around him are huge, tall with so many windows that he can't even hope to count them all. It makes him dizzy to think about how many different people must live in those houses, how many different lives are going on around him right now, and how strange those lives would probably seem like to him.

He's so far away from home. He feels so different from those people down on the streets, hurrying somewhere in their wagons, and god, will he ever find a place where he just fits?

There are birds soaring high in the bright blue sky, and Kurt automatically whistles out a tune he has known by heart since childhood. One of the birds flies lower after a moment, beating its wings hesitantly, and Kurt whistles out again, his heart thudding inside his chest with hope.

The bird flies further down, making a few quick circles around the staircase, until it settles on the railing in front of Kurt. It flaps its wings before tucking them to its sides, and then looks at Kurt, as if in curiosity, tilting its head from left to right and shifting from one foot to the other.

Kurt smiles and whistles out again, changing the tune into something a little softer. The bird – it looks like a dove, but darker, rougher around the edges, more fitting to this city – tilts its head one more time and then coos at Kurt, repeating the melody back to him with a soft crooning sound, and Kurt can feel his face breaking into a wide grin.

“Kurt?”

The voice startles Kurt from his thoughts, and he glances back inside the house. Blaine is standing in the living room, looking around like he's still half-asleep.

“I'm here,” Kurt calls out softly, trying not to startle the bird. “On the staircase.”

“Oh.” Blaine trudges closer and leans his hands on the windowsill, peering out. “I was just– is that a pigeon?”

Kurt looks back at the bird who has shifted a little further away from them. “It's a bird, yes.” He whistles out another short melody, and after a moment's hesitation the bird – pigeon, apparently – straightens its neck and repeats it back to him. It even adds a few more trills at the end, and Kurt snorts. “Show-off,” he scolds with a smile, and the bird seems to preen.

“You're talking to a bird,” Blaine says slowly. “I'm still dreaming, right?”

Kurt lets out a laugh. “No, in Kingleysia we have whistling or singing competitions with the birds all the time. Don't you?”

Blaine lowers himself slowly on the ledge, keeping his eyes on the bird, and then leans his back against the window frame. “Not really? I mean, I guess some people have conversations with their pet parrots or feed the birds in the park, but I don't think–”

He trails off when the pigeon suddenly ruffles its feathers as if it's bored with the conversation already. Kurt turns to look at it, whistling out a short questioning sound. The bird coos back and then stretches its wings, flapping them slowly a few times before it pushes itself away from the railing and, with one last look at Kurt, flies off into the sky.

“Did I interrupt something?” Blaine asks warily, still frozen in place. “I'm sorry if I did.”

“No, he was just hungry and decided to continue his journey,” Kurt replies and leans his arms against his knees. He looks back at Blaine, at the dark circles underneath his eyes and the mess his curly hair is, and smiles. “Good morning.”

Blaine blinks his eyes and then laughs, shaking his head. “Morning,” he says. “I'm sorry, I was just–” He gestures towards the house with his hand. “I was so sure that you would have disappeared during the night with my money or my guitar, and then the couch was empty and– I'm sorry,” he repeats awkwardly.

Kurt shrugs, playing with the brooch he's still holding in his hands. “No need. You live alone and let a complete stranger sleep in your home. I would've been worried too.”

Blaine hums. “Still.” He looks around the staircase, his lips turning into a soft smile. The air is chilly and it smells different than the air Kurt is used to in Kingleysia, but Blaine doesn't seem to mind as he breathes it in – as if he likes being in this city, as if just seeing it first thing in the morning makes him feel more alive.

Kurt wishes he knew how that felt.

“What's that?” Blaine asks after a moment, nodding towards the brooch.

“Oh.” Kurt stills his hands. “It's a– My mother gave it to me when I was younger. It's a detail from our family crest, and...” He hesitates, taking in Blaine's curious expression. “Well, ideally it should help me get in contact with my dad wherever I am,” he explains, “but apparently something about this city is blocking its magic.” He turns the brooch over in his hands again, staring at it with his brows furrowed. The surface gleams in the morning sunlight, the golden bird looking like it's ready to actually take flight right there and then, just like the pigeon, but the metal still feels cold and lifeless against Kurt's fingers.

“Blocking its magic,” Blaine repeats slowly.

Kurt looks up, and suddenly the strange tone in Blaine's voice makes sense. “You don't believe me.”

“No, I mean I...” Blaine bites his lip and runs his hand through his messy curls. “I believe that you believe everything you're saying, but it just... It makes no sense to me, Kurt. All this talk about magic and singing competitions with birds, it's something that's just not real, not to me, and I don't know what–”

There's a faint ringing sound coming from the apartment all of a sudden, and Blaine glances towards it over his shoulder, a frown appearing on his forehead.

“So you don't believe me,” Kurt says again, an unpleasant twinge of hurt in his chest. “You think I'm crazy, don't you, just because your world doesn't have something mine has? Just because youre not used to magic?”

“No, I– I never said that,” Blaine argues. “I just–” The ringing continues, and Blaine pushes himself up, an urgent look in his eyes. “I'm– Sorry, I need to answer that.”

He disappears inside, and Kurt follows, closing the window behind himself, leaving the birds and the hum of the city outside. He watches as Blaine snatches a small device from the kitchen table and moves his fingers over its screen in a practiced way before lifting it to his ear. Kurt saw several people using similar devices yesterday when he was wandering around the city, and even when they were walking to Blaine's apartment last night he noticed Blaine glancing at the thing every now and then, as if he was waiting for a message or something. It must be this world's version of Kurt's brooch, and somehow that makes it even more hurtful that Blaine doesn't believe him.

“Nathan?” Blaine is saying to the device. “Are you okay? You didn't call last night, and I was worried that–”

Kurt tries not to listen in, he really does, but it's not like he has anywhere else to go. Blaine's face is a weird combination of different emotions, but then something the person on the other end of the device – Kurt can barely make out a quiet, tinny voice coming from it – says makes his face fall.

“Oh,” Blaine answers, leaning his hip against the table in one slow movement. “You were caught at work. I... I see. No, no, it's okay, I was just worried something had happened and you didn't even text me back, so...”

Kurt moves to the couch, placing his brooch on the small table next to it and trying to busy himself with folding the blanket as neatly as he can.

“Today? I'm... I'm busy today, Nathan. Okay, but do you have time before work on Monday?” Blaine's voice rises, even if it's obvious he's trying to keep it down for Kurt's sake. “Well whats so important that it can't wait until Monday? You were the one who didn't show up last night–”

There are more words from the device, a little louder this time, interrupting Blaine's sentence, and when Kurt looks over his shoulder, he can see Blaine pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired expression.

“I'm sorry, that was uncalled for, I– I know you were at work, okay, I'm sorry. I just wish you would've texted me, that's all.” He sighs. “Alright, alright, I'll see you on Monday then. I love– Okay, bye.”

Blaine lowers the device from his ear, staring at it with a frown, something unreadable but still undoubtedly sad hiding in his eyes. He looks resigned, like he's physically holding himself back from something, and Kurt remembers how weary he looked last night, outside in the rain all by himself.

Yet he still stopped to help Kurt, even though he didn't have to.

“Who was that?” Kurt asks carefully, straightening his back and turning to face Blaine. “I'm assuming that device is some sort of a communication thing.”

Blaine nods, placing the device back on the table. “Yeah, it's a... phone. You can contact people with it, if they're far away,” he says absent-mindedly, still staring at the thing. “That was my boyfriend,” he adds after a moment.

“Boyfriend?” Kurt repeats, and he can feel his breath catching in his throat. It couldn't. It can't be. “Like a... betrothed?”

Blaine looks up, scrunching his nose. “Well, not anything so serious, I suppose, but yeah. Kind of.”

“And he's a... He's a man?” Kurt asks hesitantly. He starts wringing his hands nervously, a childhood habit that his tutors always tried to get rid of but that still never really went away.

Blaine's shoulders tense. “Yes. He's a man. Because I'm gay.”

Kurt swallows roughly, staring at Blaine. He never even thought there could be a place where someone could just talk about it like that, like it's nothing extraordinary. “Is that the word you use for someone who... is a man and also likes men?”

“Yes.” Blaine crosses his arms over his chest, searching Kurt's face. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Kurt shakes his head immediately, warmth flooding his cheeks. “No, of course not. I just never knew there was a word for it. For... me, I suppose,” he adds, almost making the sentence sound like a question.

Blaine blinks and lowers his arms. “You're gay?” he asks, his voice no longer wary or tense, but full of something else, something like understanding.

“Yes.” Kurt's hands are moving even faster, fingers sliding over the sweaty skin of his palm with every nervous thud of his heart. “If that means... Is it okay here?” he can't help but ask. “Is it okay to be like this in here?”

Blaine opens his mouth and then closes it. “Well, not everyone thinks it's okay,” he says eventually, keeping his voice even, neutral, “and the attitudes used to be a lot worse, but these days most people think it's just as natural as... the other alternative. We have the same rights as everyone else and can get married and adopt children and all that. It's not like that in every part of the world, not yet, but it is in New York. And in many other places as well.”

Kurt feels dizzy all of a sudden, and he stumbles backwards until his legs hit the couch. He sinks down on it and lifts his hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing underneath his palm. He never even dared to dream that it could be something... normal, something that most people would accept without a doubt. It was always that one thing that separated him from everyone else, the one thing that made sure he would never fit into his role as a prince, no matter what his dad said or what kind of royal blood was running through his veins.

It was always a problem, something that couldn't be talked about, and to Blaine it's just a natural part of his life.

“Kurt?” Blaine moves closer, sitting down on the couch next to him but leaving enough space between them. “Are you okay?”

Kurt chokes out a laugh and shakes his head, overwhelmed by everything. “You're the second person I've told,” he admits, and he can see Blaine's eyes widening in surprise. “My dad knows, has always known,” he goes on, “and he has always been so supportive about it, has always accepted me just as I am, but it's... It's not something that's generally talked about in Kingleysia.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine asks, his voice confused.

“There's me,” Kurt says, his voice strained, “and I've heard of a few others, people who live in the nearby towns and are apparently free to be themselves, so it's not like it's against the law or something, but it's...” He takes a deep breath. “It's not something a prince is supposed to be,” he recites.

“You're not allowed to be yourself?”

Blaines question is quiet, but somehow it feels like it echoes around the room, filling all the empty spaces inside Kurt's body. Because that's what it has always been about, hasn't it? About not being able to be himself, about not fitting in, no matter how hard his dad tries to make things easier for him. Because Kurt knows the people of Kingleysia would never accept him.

“Like I said, you're the second person I've told,” he replies, looking up and blinking his eyes quickly when he feels the wetness in them.

He can see from the corner of his eye how Blaine reaches out towards him and then hesitates, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air, until he places it on Kurt's shoulder and squeezes gently. Kurt swallows again, trying not to lean into the touch.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you can be yourself around me,” Blaine offers.

Kurt can't help it; he snorts, shrugging Blaine's touch off. “And how's that supposed to happen? You don't even believe me.”

He picks up the brooch and closes his hand around it again, letting its sharp corners dig into his palm. He will never feel at home in Kingleysia because of his... orientation, and in this place, where it apparently doesn't matter that he wants to find a prince instead of a princess, he would never fit in either, just because he's not from around here and everything he says sounds unbelievable to the locals, to people like Blaine.

He senses more than sees Blaine get up from the couch, turning his back on him, and he blinks the last traces of tears from his eyes, waiting for the inevitable moment when Blaine either kicks him out or tells him he's crazy and then kicks him out.

But Blaine only pauses a few steps away from the couch, his fingers flexing on his sides before he whirls around to look at Kurt again.

“That brooch,” he says abruptly, “you said you can use it to contact your dad? No matter where you are?”

Kurt looks up and nods, confused by the sudden change in topic.

“So it's like my phone,” Blaine goes on, placing his hands on his hips, “except right now it doesn't work because somethings blocking it. Right?”

Kurt frowns. “Yes,” he drawls, “that's what I said.”

“So maybe it's not being blocked,” Blaine continues, his eyes starting to shine like he's getting excited. “Maybe there's just no signal. Or there's bad reception, depending on how it works.”

“I'm not following,” Kurt says.

“Look, I know all these things about magic and kingdoms are something I'm not familiar with,” Blaine admits, gesturing with his hands for emphasis, “and I may not believe in them – but I'm willing to try. And I want to help.”

Kurt just stares at him, but he can feel his grip on the brooch loosening, the sharp edges no longer pressing almost painfully against his skin. There's that smile again, that upward tilt of Blaine's mouth that makes his whole face glow and makes Kurt feel like things will be alright after all. 

“I mean, if you came here from Kingleysia, we could assume that the signal would be stronger at the place where you arrived,” Blaine explains, his eyebrows looking like small triangles from the force of his excitement. “Because it must have been something magical that brought you here, right? So maybe the... whatever it is that makes your brooch work–”

“–might work there as well,” Kurt finishes for him, something warm blooming in his chest. “So if I went back there, I could maybe get in contact with my dad and find out what's going on.”

Blaine grins. “I thinks it's worth a shot.”

---

They get quite a few curious stares when they step out of Blaine's building and start walking towards the spot where they met last night – Kurt figures he'll be able to remember his way back from there – and when Kurt takes a look around and then at himself, he can guess why. He's the only one wearing a cape and a tunic, and he sees no one else with a sword hanging from their belt either.

Which kind of makes him wonder if this city has no dragon or goblin problems.

Walking next to him, Blaine is wearing a pair of well-fitting pants made from a thick dark blue fabric, something a lot of people in New York seem to like to wear, and a grey coat that looks quite good on him. Actually, Kurt has seen a lot of good-looking clothes in this city ever since his arrival, and a part of him wishes he could try some of them on. He has always liked clothes, has always gotten an excited thrill when he gets to combine different articles into one impressive look, and even though he has made some of his clothes himself ever since he was young, he can't unfortunately experiment as much as he'd liked to as a prince.

There are so many things he can't do because he's the prince.

“I have to say,” he comments when they've been walking for a while and his neck is starting to hurt from the way he keeps looking at the city around them in curiosity, “that I find it kind of funny that you don't believe in magic when that water thing you have in your apartment is obviously magical.”

“You mean the shower?” Blaine corrects him, and Kurt can hear the grin in his voice. “I told you, the water comes from the pipes. It's basic technology.” He shrugs. “Nothing magical about it.”

“But what if all that technology is just your world's version of magic?” Kurt argues. “What if it's the same thing, like with your phone and my brooch, but it's all just based on different things?”

Blaine laughs. He has a lovely laugh, when he's laughing genuinely and not just trying to be polite. “Calm down,” he chastises with a smile. “We're almost there.”

“You're happy,” Kurt observes, grinning back at him. He can't help it. “Even though you obviously didn't have a very nice conversation with your true love this morning.”

Blaine's smile falters, and Kurt immediately regrets his words. He almost asked more about the man that's obviously Blaine's true love, about Nathan, when they were still at the apartment, just because he's never met anyone like him before – anyone who's gay and can also act on it – but then he was allowed to use the magical shower and needed to get his clothes in order, and it slipped his mind. But he is curious. It's just that the expression on Blaine's face makes him feel like he shouldn't ask.

“It's not like that,” Blaine says eventually, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I don't really... believe in true love, or anything like that, I suppose. Isn't that the sign you were talking to last night?” he changes the topic.

Kurt halts in his steps and then rushes after Blaine, cape swishing behind him. “You don't believe in true love?” he repeats incredulously. “Are you joking? I can sort of understand that you don't believe in magic if it's something your world doesn't have, but I've only been here for less than a day and I've already seen people on the streets who are clearly in love,” he says, staring at Blaine, even though he can tell he's closing off already. “How can you not believe in love, Blaine? Thats insane!”

“It's... Never mind.” Blaine stops next to the palace-shaped sign and looks around. “Where to now? Do you remember any landmarks you passed on your way here?” 

“Blaine,” Kurt tries, trying to meet his eyes.

“It's complicated,” Blaine replies, his forehead creasing into a frown. “Now, seriously. Which way from here?”

Kurt looks at him for a moment, horrified that someone could say that they don't believe in true love, but eventually he sighs and gestures to the left. He does want to talk to his dad, and getting into an argument will only slow him down. “That way. I came from there.”

It takes them a long while, but thanks to Kurt's memory and Blaine's local knowledge, they do eventually find the secluded alley where Kurt found himself last night after falling down for a very long time. The walls around the alley look dirtier in daylight, and Kurt wrinkles his nose at the garbage cans lining them. He really hopes there aren't any rats running around. You can't have nice singing competitions with rats.

“This is where you arrived?” Blaine asks, kicking a small piece of something unidentifiable further away from them. “Your magic has a rubbish sense of humor,” he jokes, glancing at Kurt with a grin that makes him look like a little kid who made his very first pun.

“It thankfully looked better when it was dark,” Kurt sniffs and rests his other hand on his sword. “And I guess this was inconspicuous enough.”

Blaine purses his lips and takes a few steps down the alley. “Well? Is your brooch finding any reception?”

Kurt clasps his hand around the brooch, now fastened on his tunic again. Its surface does feel warmer, but it could be just from the sunlight. He follows Blaine, taking slow steps around the alley and focusing on his brooch and– there, right when he walks past the third garbage can he can feel a faint humming against his palm, and he could cry from joy. He thought this was a long shot, but it is magic, his mother's magic, faint but still there, traces of it lingering to the alley's air after his arrival.

He takes the brooch off and holds it in front of his face, the metal practically trembling now. “Dad?” he calls out, ignoring the desperation in his voice. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Blaine turns to look at him, his face thankfully not showing any signs of disbelief, and Kurt moves the brooch up and down, left and right, trying to find the place where the magic is the strongest. The golden bird is vibrating against his skin, the energy crackling and stuttering around it, but it all evens out into a familiar constant hum when Kurt moves the brooch a little closer to the ground.

“Kurt? Son?”

His dad's voice suddenly echoes faintly around the alley, almost breaking up, as if it was coming from the brooch and the connection wasn't still strong enough. The metal whirs with it, and Kurt holds it more tightly, letting out an overwhelmed laugh.

Blaine jumps back, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god,” he breathes out. "You heard that as well?"

“Dad?” Kurt calls out again. “Dad, it's me!”

The air around the brooch crackles once more, the metal getting warmer, and then a small ball of light forms right above it, above Kurt's hand, radiating warmth and magic. The light heaves and ripples gently until Kurt can make out his dad's face from it, and god, just seeing him again after less than one day makes him feel more like home.

“Holy shit,” Blaine gasps on the other side of the light, taking another step back. “I'm in Star Wars.”

“Kurt, thank goodness,” his dad is saying, his face breaking into a relieved smile that shines almost as brightly as the magic. “I was so worried, are you alright?”

“I'm fine, dad, don't worry.” Kurt laughs again, the sound ending in a hiccup. “Except I'm in a strange place and I have no idea what I'm doing here and want to come home, but...”

The magic ripples again, his dad's face disappearing for a moment and then appearing again, but now Kurt can clearly make out the embarrassed cringe on his face. “Well, about that...”

Kurt sighs and rolls his eyes, his shoulders slumping. Of course. He should've known. “Please don't tell me this is another one of Rachel's experiments gone wrong.”

His dad won't meet his eyes, and it makes Kurt frown. “Not... gone wrong as such.”

Kurt glances at Blaine over the magic's lights, sees him with his back against the wall and his eyes still wide and bulging, looking like they're about to pop out of their sockets.

“Dad,” he says slowly. “What do you mean? Why am I here?”

His dad rubs the back of his neck. He's not wearing his crown, so he must be in his private chambers where only family members and the oldest servants are allowed. It doesn't make sense that he's being so careful with his words.

“Look, Kurt,” his dad starts, “you're over twenty-four already. It's high time that you went on your own adventure, to gather some experience and to find your own path. Maybe even find your true love. We've talked about this before. It's a tradition in our family.”

“We have talked about this, but in those conversations it was never mentioned that I would be dropped into some unknown place that doesn't have magic,” Kurt argues, his voice rising. “What is going on, dad? Why am I here?”

Burt sighs. “Well, that unknown place sort of is your adventure. We discussed it with Rachel, and she said she had an idea for a place that would be perfect for your journey, and–”

“And you didn't think to include me in these talks?” Kurt exclaims. He can see Blaine flinch on the other side of the alley, but he doesn't care.

“That's where the experiment part comes in,” Burt says, rubbing his neck again, looking genuinely distressed. “I was going to talk to you about it at first, but it was very experimental, bud – Rachel wasn't sure if she would even be able to send you there and she said she would do some tests and... Well, apparently one of her tests worked before I got the chance to talk to you about it. You know she's still getting used to her strength.”

“Dad.” Kurt can hear his own voice break. “Dad, you've got to make her bring me home. This place is completely different from Kingleysia and–”

Burt face turns sad, and Kurt can feel a weight drop down in his stomach.

“She doesn't know how to bring me back, does she?” he whispers.

“She's working on it,” his dad promises, “and as soon as she figures it out, we'll pull you back. But I need to be honest with you, Kurt – it could take a while. Rachel's not even sure how she managed to send you there, and...”

“So I'm stuck here?” Kurt spits out. The magic heaves and pulses again, the warmth against his palm starting to fade, and he knows the connection is starting to break, that the distance between Kingleysia and New York is just too much for a simple magical brooch, but he can't say anything else, too upset by his current situation. “I'm stuck in this place for god knows how long? Dad, that's not an adventure, that's madness!”

“Kurt,” Burt says slowly, obviously trying to calm him down, “trust me, Im not happy about this either. Rachel has done nothing but apologized and cried ever since you disappeared. But I also know how miserable you've been here for most of your life. I know that you haven't been able to be yourself and that you hate your court duties–”

“I don't hate them,” Kurt counters angrily.

“– and that you've felt like you haven't gotten the chance to spread your own wings,” his dad goes on. “I know this is sudden and unexpected, but this adventure – that strange place you're in? That's your chance, son. Rachel thought you could really enjoy being there, and sometimes I think she knows you better than I do. You've gotta give it a chance. Give yourself a chance, at last.”

“But dad–” Kurt tries, but the magic starts crackling around the brooch again, and his dad's face disappears from view for a long moment before it flickers back again, the edges of the image rolling and pulsing.

“I love you, Kurt,” his dad says fiercely, reaching out his hand towards him even though there's no way he could actually touch him. Kurt can barely make out his eyes through the fluttering magic, but they look worried. “Stay safe, have your adventure, and we'll bring you back as soon as we can. I promise.”

The ball of light shudders like it's about to explode, and Kurt closes his hand tightly around the brooch, feeling something wet falling down his cheeks.

“Dad,” he calls out weakly. “Please don't–”

“I know you'll make me proud,” his dad says, and then the light pulses one last time before it shatters into tiny flecks of magic, the image disappearing completely.

The brooch is starting to feel colder again, but Kurt can still feel the faint connection, can still feel his dad's presence in the dirty alley. The magic makes the air around him crackle and twist, wind howling in his ear even though he knows it shouldn't be possible, but when he looks around he sees Blaine shielding his eyes with his hands, his coat flapping in the air, and he can feel his own cape pulling against his neck.

There's a small pull from the brooch, the magic trying to push itself out one last time, but then the connection shatters, specks of magic collapsing around Kurt until they fade out and disappear into the air. The brooch gives one last hum before going cold, and the last traces of Kingleysia, of everything Kurts familiar with, disappear completely, fading into the alleyway and leaving nothing behind.

Kurt blinks his eyes. Blaine is standing a few feet from him, swaying on the spot, and when he lowers his hand he's staring at Kurt like he can't believe what he's seeing. The wind isn't blowing anymore, and Kurt's own hand falls down, the brooch cold and lifeless against his palm.

“... Kurt?” Blaine asks after a moment, taking a hesitant step closer.

“I guess I'm stuck here then,” Kurt says, his voice breaking, and when Blaine carefully places his hand on his shoulder, he lets himself lean into the touch this time.