"I found it," Blaine announced breathlessly, skidding to a halt next to Wes outside the library.

Wes looked at him, his eyes widening. "You-?"

"I found what we've been looking for: I found a group of people who practice magic in the city."

Wes' mouth stretched into a delighted smile. "That's fantastic!" he said, relief evident in his eyes. "Where did you find out about them? Was it in one of the books?"

Glancing down at the books cradled in his arms, Blaine nodded. "It was just a short passage; we're going to have to learn more about them - find out where they meet and how we can get in contact with them."

Checking his watch, Wes nodded in the direction of the library's doors and they started to walk towards them. "Do you think we could narrow down which books to search in?" Wes asked as they entered the library. "Maybe we could ask one of the librarians? They shouldn't ask too many questions."

"No," Blaine said, shaking his head. "No more books. It's time we started actually talking to people and asking them questions. We'll get much more relevant information than what we'd find in books."

He'd thought about this on the walk over this morning. They'd learned all they could from books; it was time to move on from them. Researching in books was extremely slow and time consuming; they needed to get out of the library and onto the streets where the most current, accurate information was. Last night had been far too close a call; he was running out of time far quicker than he'd thought. There was only so long he could keep making excuses to his parents.

They stopped a few feet away from the library's front desk. Wes gave Blaine a slightly worried look.

"Isn't that too risky? What if they start asking too many questions?" He looked over at the librarian sitting at the desk nearby and lowered his voice. "You can't tell people you're looking for information on time travel; they'll think you belong in an asylum."

"I've thought about this," Blaine said, adjusting his grip on his books when his arms began to ache. "Now that we have something to go on we won't be asking such vague questions. I doubt they will trigger much suspicion or curiosity, less so if we ask in the right places."

"And where are the right places? Wes asked, checking his watch and stepping up to the desk to return his books.

"I don't know yet," Blaine admitted. "I'm going to walk around today and try and figure that out."

As soon as Wes had returned his books he had to dash off to work, leaving Blaine to wander slowly out of the library and down the street, trying to decide where the best place to begin his search would be. He'd never heard any mention of areas of the city where rumors of magic or the supernatural stemmed from, and with a city the size of New York, walking around aimlessly and hoping to stumble upon somewhere relevant by accident wasn't practical.

With not a clue where he was going, Blaine stepped off to the side where he was out of the way of the other pedestrians and leaned against the wall of a small clothing store, thinking hard.

He had no idea where to begin searching, but he couldn't just go up to strangers and ask for help, not with something like this.

Feeling the first prickles of frustration spark inside him, he rubbed at his forehead with his hand, half-hoping the action would jolt some suggestions into his mind.

Nothing. He had nothing.

Realizing walking would be better than standing off to the side trying to think of an answer that wouldn't come, he set off down the street again, paying much closer attention to his surroundings than he normally did. He continued to think as he walked, but no flash of inspiration came to him, so he did the best he could do to come across somewhere he could get the answers he needed.

He took side streets instead of the main roads, tried to only walk along streets he'd never been on before, and kept away from the main, busy areas of the city. He was still holding a lot to chance and he was very much aware that he was riding on the assumption that it would be somewhere old and mystical-looking where he would find information. In other words, he was even more hopeless than he had been back when they'd first started researching in the library, but now he could hear the clock ticking down the time he had left before he was forced into a life he didn't want.

Losing himself to panic, he walked right past the bookstore before he saw it. He had passed a clothing store and a news agency before he realised what he had just walked past. Coming to a sudden halt, making the woman who had almost crashed into the back of him mutter darkly under her breath, Blaine spun round and hurried back the way he had come, stopping outside the tiny bookshop with the heavy, hardback books displayed in the window.

There was nothing mystical or supernatural about the place, nothing that screamed 'magic', but something about the little store looked promising to him all the same. He knew there was a good chance the store would be a dead-end, and he knew it was probably desperation that was drawing him to the place, but he couldn't not try it.

Rather than noting the bookstore's location and continuing on his search, he entered the shop, a tiny bell tinkling somewhere when he pushed open the green-painted wooden door.

The store was just as tiny as it looked from the outside. Shelves packed with books lined the walls and more free-standing ones sectioned the shop floor into narrow aisles. The books on sale were nearly all second-hand, pages yellowing and spines creased and cracked. Blaine examined a few of the nearest shelves and found the books to cover a whole range of genres from fictional crime novels to books on gardening. They didn't seem to be arranged in any real order, displayed in a haphazard jumble of authors and genres. Dust swirled in the air and clung to the covers of the books in the window display. At the very rear of the store he could make out a counter with a till. He made his way towards it.

A middle-aged man in shirtsleeves and no hat on his greying hair sat on a stool behind the counter. He was preoccupied with something on the counter and he didn't appear to notice Blaine. As Blaine got closer, he saw the man was actually folding the pages of yesterday's newspaper into different shapes, the forms of animals and flowers taking shape beneath his hands. He had a little collection beside him of the ones he'd finished: swans and roses and dogs in a cluster by his elbow. Blaine came to a stop a few feet away from the counter and watched the man finish folding up another page from the paper, setting it aside as a little daisy-type flower. Blaine stood watching, fascinated, for a few minutes, all thoughts of why he'd entered the bookstore gone from his mind. Then the man spoke, making Blaine jump as he was jolted out of his trance.

"You're looking for something more than books," he stated, not looking up from the little animal he was making. He spoke in a low voice that nevertheless carried clearly over to where Blaine stood, watching from between two rows of bookshelves.

"I-" Blaine stumbled over his words, the questions he'd practiced earlier on the walk to the library flying out of his head. He was starting to wish he'd waited to have Wes with him before he began asking people for information. What didn't help was that the man's manner and words were unnerving.

"I'm not, no," Blaine eventually managed to stammer out, hoping the man wasn't about to demand he leave his store if he wasn't looking to buy anything.

The man remained silent, finishing the bird he had been making and setting it with its fellows. He pulled another sheet of newspaper towards him. "You're not the first person to come in here looking for information, and I'm sure you won't be the last." The man still hadn't looked up at Blaine.

Blaine shifted nervously. He didn't want to just blurt out all of his questions, but he didn't particularly like the sound of the man's last statement - what if he was assuming Blaine wanted to know about something else; some criminal gang or something?

"I- I'm doing research for college," Blaine told him, trying to imitate the smooth way Kurt had talked to the owner of the coffee shop to get the answers to their questions all those months ago. "I wondered if you could help me by answering a few questions?"

He didn't sound anywhere near as natural as Kurt had done. His well-practiced ability at lying and deceiving convincingly had vanished the moment the other man had spoken.

The man finally looked up at him, his right hand continuing to smooth the edge of a fold he'd made in the paper. He gazed at Blaine for several long seconds, taking him in, and giving Blaine the impression he could tell a lot from simply looking. Eventually, he nodded slowly.

"I'll answer your questions," he said, lowering his gaze again and folding a triangle of paper over another section.

"Um, ok," Blaine said, feeling thrown by the man's odd behaviour once again. He waited for a few seconds to see if the man would look up at him. When he didn't, he ploughed on. "I'm looking to find a group of people in the city who practice magic." He was relieved to note that he sounded more confident than he felt.

The man was silent for such a long time that Blaine opened his mouth to ask him again, but just as he did so the man spoke.

"You shouldn't meddle with magic, especially when you're not familiar with it."

"I-"

"They meet every Friday and Saturday night after 7pm near the entrance to Holy Cross Cemetery in Brooklyn," the man continued. "I can't guarantee they'll help you, but I know you'll try anyway."

Smiling stiffly, Blaine took a step back towards the front of the shop. "Thank you. You've been a great help." He took another step backwards.

The man looked up at him again, briefly, and Blaine fought down the urge to run. There was something about this man that set him on edge.

"Magic always sounds appealing, but it's never the answer," the man said warningly. "It doesn't produce the happy endings people think. It ain't like the fairytales."

"I-" Blaine looked around wildly, his foot sliding back another step. "I'm just looking for information."

The man didn't look as though he believed him, but he said nothing more, and after a few more seconds, Blaine turned around and scurried from the store.

He marched quickly along the street, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling that had been clinging to him since the man in the store had first spoken to him. It was only when he was a few blocks away that he realised he didn't know where he was going. He spun round and headed back the way he'd come, feeling slightly foolish when he hurried past the bookstore again.

He knew he was in the wrong to be returning to the future, but he also didn't see why it should be right for him to suffer a life of lies and misery. Perhaps he was foolish to use magic to solve his problems, but he had no choice. The man in the bookstore may have unnerved him, but he certainly wasn't going to back out now.

He headed back home to wait for 7pm to arrive. He called Wes at his work and told him what he'd learned and where they needed to go tonight. Wes said they were lucky today wasn't a Monday meaning they would have to waste some of the little time they had waiting. Wes agreed to meet Blaine at his house after he'd finished with work so they could go to Brooklyn together, and then Blaine hung up, at a loss of how to spend the rest of the day.

He wasted away the afternoon listening to some of his records, feeling quite content until his father arrived home from work and called him downstairs. With a feeling of dread, Blaine took his record off the player and turned it off, before heading downstairs to see what his father wanted.

He found him standing by the fireplace in the living room, his back to the door. He looked round at the sound of Blaine's footsteps.

"Blaine," he greeted tersely.

Blaine smiled politely and gripped the back of the couch, too nervous to sit down. He knew without his father saying anything that this was about Anna.

"I trust you are not busy tomorrow?" his father asked. There was a note of disapproval in his voice. Blaine knew his father wanted him to return to work and didn't approve of all the time he was spending doing very little, but he was still too heartbroken from leaving Kurt to focus properly, and now he needed all the time he could get to find a way back to the future.

"I, um-" Blaine met his father's gaze, his response of maybe spending time with Wes dying in his throat. "No, I don't have any plans."

His father nodded approvingly. "I've arranged for you and Anna to have lunch at the country club tomorrow."

Blaine's body seized up in panic; panic that must have shown on his face for his father frowned at him, his eyes hardening.

"I want you to propose to her tomorrow. I can't see why you've been holding off all this time."

Blaine's mouth opened and closed silently, his brain flooded with fear, rendering him incapable of saying any sort of excuse.

"I don't know what your problem is, Blaine, but people are starting to talk and your mother and I don't like hearing rumors about our family."

"T- Talk?" Blaine stammered nervously.

His father's frown deepened. "You're a twenty-two year old man who isn't married or engaged, and is rarely seen in the company of an eligible young woman. Of course people are talking."

Blaine had no idea what to say. He wanted to defend himself and argue how he didn't want to conform to society's silly ideas about when people should get married, but something was sticking his throat shut.

"You know how damaging talk like that can be to one's reputation," his father continued. "Don't add fuel to the fire by not proposing tomorrow. If you come home from lunch with another pathetic excuse of why you haven't done it, you'll be sorry." His father glared at him for a moment longer, before nodding at him and striding from the room.

Blaine stared blankly at the place where his father had just been standing, his heart racing, his breathing shallow, and his stomach twisting in fear. Even if the people he was meeting tonight agreed to help him travel he would still end up engaged to Anna. He swallowed thickly. And what if they couldn't help him? The thought made his blood run cold and he shivered where he stood.

The clock chiming half past five jolted him from his frozen, horrified state. He hurried upstairs to get ready to leave for when Wes arrived, making sure his clothes weren't wrinkled after lounging around all afternoon, and smoothing down a few stray hairs that had escaped his slicked-down style. Turning away from the mirror, his gaze landed on the bowtie lying on his nightstand. He strode across the room and picked it up, his left hand already working at the bowtie he was currently wearing, untying it and tugging it free from the collar of his shirt. He wanted to wear the bowtie Kurt had given him tonight; it may give him some luck. Walking back to the mirror, he put on Kurt's bowtie. He then traced the tied bowtie with his finger, the familiar aching, wistful pain that came with missing Kurt filling him.

"I hope going to see these people tonight is worth it, Kurt," he whispered, gazing at his reflected hand touching the bowtie in the mirror. "And no matter what happens with Anna tomorrow, I won't stop fighting to return to you, I promise."

The doorbell rang and Blaine turned away from the mirror again, lowering his hand from his bowtie. Wes was here.

He made to hurry down the stairs, but something stopped him when he reached his bedroom door. He glanced back over his shoulder, his attention drawn to his bookcase. Without thinking, and with no idea of why, he jogged over to it, knelt down on the floor, and tugged one of his records from its spot on the bottom shelf. Slipping his hand into the sleeve, he pulled out all of the neatly folded letters he'd written to Kurt and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. Satisfied, and still without a thought as to why he wanted to carry the letters on him tonight, he put the record back, got to his feet, and ran downstairs, where he pulled open the front door and stepped outside to join Wes.

"Nervous?" Wes asked as they set off down the street, Blaine nibbling on his bottom lip and trying to ignore the nauseating churning in his stomach. Blaine could only nod. He felt like he would vomit if he opened his mouth. Plus, talking distracted him from the important task of focussing on trying to control his nerves.

They reached the end of the road and headed in the direction of the nearest train station, heads bowed against the brisk wind coming off the river. Wes glanced over at him a few times, before speaking again.

"It'll be alright," he said, sounding more confident and reassuring than Blaine thought was possible. "You said the girl who helped you travel back here wasn't really sure of what she was doing and she still managed."

Blaine made a small hum in agreement. While what Wes had said was true, it didn't reassure him any that everything would all turn out ok in the end.

The train journey out to Brooklyn was silent. Wes made no further attempts at reassuring him, instead staring unseeingly at the opposite wall of the train with a small frown on his face; an almost identical position to the one Blaine was in. They rose in silent unison when their train reached their station, stepping out onto the chilly platform and looking around curiously. Blaine had never been to this part of Brooklyn before.

"I think it's this way," Wes said hesitantly once they'd left the station, pointing down a road leading off to the right.

Having no idea which way they should go, Blaine shrugged agreeably and followed Wes across the street and down the road he had pointed at. His nerves increased with every step he took and he started breathing deeply and slowly, trying to calm himself down before he did something stupid, like spinning around and sprinting back home. He desperately wanted to meet these people and find out if they could help him, but at the same time he was terrified about what they might say and of having his only hope crumble to dust.

The part of Brooklyn they were in was quiet for a Friday night, only a few people were walking the streets, most of them turning into the houses lining either side of the road. They were walking through a typical residential area; Blaine couldn't see how this could possibly be where a group of people met to practice magic.

Wes was obviously thinking along the same lines as him.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked, looking up at the brownstones they were passing. "What if that man just made this address up?"

"He didn't," Blaine replied firmly. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was this.

Wes looked across at him, both curiosity and worry in his eyes, but before he could say anything they rounded a corner in the street and came in view of the cemetery entrance they were looking for.

A small group of people - less than a dozen - were clustered in an overgrown grassy area in between two buildings near the arched entrance of the cemetery. Waist-high weeds competed with scrubby grass for space and the blackened rubble of what was once probably a building similar to those on either side of it lay in a scattered heap in the middle of the square block of land. A couple of the people were sitting on some of these piles of crumbling bricks, but the rest were standing around in small groups nearby, talking. There was no sign of magic or anything out of the ordinary.

Blaine hesitated, coming to a stop two buildings down from where the group was gathered. What if the man had been lying to him? What if this was some sort of gang?

It took Wes placing a hand on his elbow and tugging on it to get him to move again. His legs seized up so much with every step he was surprised he was capable of walking. What would he say to these people?

When he and Wes stepped onto the patchy, winter-browned grass some of the people broke off their conversation and looked round. They looked curious and wary, but mostly they looked suspicious. A tall blond man narrowed his eyes at them as they drew nearer.

"Good evening," Wes greeted them politely. The rest of the group turned to stare at them, some whispering to the person standing next to them. "We were told to come here to find some people who practice magic."

The blond man's eyes narrowed further. "You have come to the right place."

Wes nodded and glanced sideways at Blaine, urging him with his eyes to explain his situation to the man, to ask the questions he desperately needed answers to.

"I need to travel into the future," he blurted out, startling two women sitting on some rubble who had been whispering to each other.

The man's eyebrows rose. "Time travel?" he repeated, sounding stunned. "It's impossible."

Blaine shook his head. "It's not. I recently travelled ninety-one years into the future and came back again."

"You-"

The man and the woman standing by the blond man backed away from Blaine, looking both scared and in awe. Blaine's hands were trembling so violently he had to tuck them into his pockets to hide them.

The blond man had got over his surprise quickly. He frowned. "Then why-?"

"Do I want to travel again?" Blaine finished for him. He licked his dry lips. "Because I've made a mistake - a big one. I need to go back to that time I was in."

The man shook his head, actually looking a little sorry for Blaine. "None of us know- We've never done it before; never thought it possible-"

"Is there nothing you can do to help?" Blaine interrupted desperately. "Please."

The man swallowed. He cast a quick look over his shoulder at the people gathered behind him, listening. One of the women nodded once.

He turned back to Blaine. "You realise none of us know how to do this; we are experimenting with the unknown here."

"I know," Blaine said simply. He didn't care. This may be his only chance and he was going to take it.

"You would risk it?" the man asked. "You would risk your life for this?"

"I would risk anything."

Dear Blaine,

2015 has arrived and I rang it in by watching the fireworks from my apartment window and thinking about you. I did go to a party with Rachel and Finn for a little while before, but left when I couldn't stand it any longer. I hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but Rachel asked, so I went.

The strange thing about that night was how I felt hopeful as I watched the New Year fireworks. I don't know if I was just finally getting into the spirit of things or if I was putting too much stock in the thought of new beginnings, but I felt that this year would be good to me; and for this year to be good to me it has to involve something positive concerning you; I can't see myself feeling good about moving on from you.

Rachel mentioned something that may relate to this: she'd read some newspaper articles about you from 1923 saying that you had gone missing and then later ones stating it had been concluded you had moved away to begin a new life. She took this to mean you are going to return to this time, to me. I wonder if this is the reason behind my hope, but I also can't help but feel doubtful about this. What are the chances you want to come back? You returned to your own time for a very valid reason after all. And what are the chances you actually can come back? Kayleigh made it sound like it was a bit of a chance event that you travelled in the first place and that your return was the universe setting things right again. That doesn't make it seem very likely that you can come back here. I still can't completely crush my hope, though.

Whether you come back or not, remember that I still love you. I want you to choose the life (and the time) that makes you the happiest. I'll love you no matter which you choose.

Happy New Year, Blaine. I wish you all the-

Kurt broke off in the middle of finishing the email at the sound of a knock at the door. Annoyed at the interruption, he set his laptop down on the coffee table and got to his feet, walking over to the door.

He had no idea who it could be. He wasn't expecting anyone - with his and Rachel's busy schedules none of their friends ever came over unannounced, and they didn't really speak to any of their neighbors so he couldn't see why it would be any of them. Feeling curious, he opened the door.

Shock flooded him. He swayed on the spot, flinging out an arm to brace his hand against the doorframe to stop himself from falling over. He blinked several times in quick succession, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Blaine?"