Blackness. Where did this come from? What happened? Where am I? The last thing I remember was sitting on the plane bound from Ohio to New York City. And now, it's black, pitch black.

Wait, what's that sticking stuff that's seemingly sliding down the side of my face? *touches it* It's red. Oh Gaga, is that blood? Why am I bleeding? Why am I here? Where's New York? Where's the plane? Where is everybody? Blaine? Blaine are you here? Blaine help me! BLAINE!

*descending deeper into darkness*

Blaine Anderson sat on his bed staring at the wall. He was seventeen years old and he had just completed his junior year of high school. You'd think he'd be excited. But no, not particularly. He was sad. He had just returned home from seeing his boyfriend of over a year, Kurt Hummel, off to New York. The eighteen year old had boarded a plane bound for the spectacular lights of NYC and Broadway. He was going places, Blaine knew that for sure. Kurt was amazingly talented and he deserved this. But then, why did Blaine feel so empty without him by his side?

He knew why. The two of them had never been so far apart in all the time they'd known each other. Well, except for when Kurt had gone to New York for Nationals with the rest of the McKinley High Glee Club. But that time, Blaine had been excited for him and truly happy to see him off. The reason, he'd known when Kurt was going to be back and that he wouldn't be gone very long. Now with Kurt off to live in NYC, neither of them knew when they would get the chance to see each other next. Though neither of them had wanted to break-up. They were so in love, it wouldn't have made any sense.

Blaine wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had just been sitting there. But he was quite sure that Kurt's plane had to have taken off by now. In an effort to make it seem like he wasn't dead to the world, Blaine switched on the TV and stared at it.

The news was on. Boring old news. Weather report, break in at some shop downtown, flight 7693 to New York City crashed just after getting airborne. Wait, what?! Blaine stared at the TV in shock. No, no it had to be a different flight. It couldn't be American Airlines Flight 7693, service from Columbus to New York City.

That was Kurt's plane.

Blaine felt his blood run cold as he stared at the TV, willing himself to have heard wrong. But the reporters on the screen were telling no lies.

"The official report is that the aircraft had a faulty propeller blade that they claim had been serviced just before take off. Apparently, it was serviced by a faulty mechanic, as upon close inspection of the wreckage, it appeared the force of take of blew out that propeller and it jammed it's mate, which in turn caused a riff in the engine, sending the plane down as soon as it had reached it's target height."

The teenager stared at the reporter who was standing on the scene and Blaine felt like he was going to be sick. How could one stupid propeller blade do that kind of damage?

American Airlines Flight 7693 was hard to recognized. The front end of the aircraft was charred black from smoke, fire and sparks that flew up as it collided with the ground. It had split right at the crevice of the wings, causing the nose end of the plane to skid forward several feet and the tail end to come to smash into the ground what looked like an entire football field away from the nose. Blaine was briefly reminded of the sinking of the Titanic.

The most dreadful part was when he and Kurt had been waiting in the airport for his boarding call, they'd been examining the model of the aircraft and Kurt's seat had been right on the wings. He was sitting right where the plane had snapped in half. There was no way that Kurt would have survived. Blaine had to come to terms with it. His boyfriend, the love of his life, was dead.

Hello Kurt.

"Who are you? Where am I? What am I doing here? Why is there blood on my head?"

You've been in a plane crash Kurt. But everything will be okay. The blood is not there. Not really. Your subconscious conjured it up in the state of panic. But you were not on the plane when it crashed.

"I don't understand. Who are you?"

*light chuckling* Never you mind. You will learn soon enough. But Kurt, it was not your time to die. And if I let you stay on that plane, you would have been as good as dead. You're alive. I moved you to a safe place. All you have to do now, is wake-up.

"You mean I'm dreaming?"

Something like that. Let's just say I have the power to make you sleep. I will warn you, your head might be hurt. I think you'll recognize where you are when you wake up. It is time to wake now Kurt.

"Wait! I have more questions!"

All in good time Kurt. All in good time. *fading of a white shadow*

Kurt blinked his eyes open, feeling the dull ache in his skull as he tried to refocus his vision. Trees and grass fell back into focus as Kurt fully awake from his strange slumber. Who was the white shadow? What was it talking about? Plane crash? Kurt's already pale skin paled even more as what little color he had drained from his face. Oh dear God, Blaine must have thought he was dead! That was if the crash had been reported by then. He had to get to Blaine!

Determined to get to his boyfriend and let him know that he was okay, Kurt broke out into a run without gaging his surroundings first. But he was stopped short when he spotted a small boy, about the age of eight, sitting on a swing and staring glumly at the ground. Kurt felt his blood run cold.

There was no mistaking the coifed chestnut hair, the neat button down shirt, or the little bow tie around his neck. And the memory of this very moment was so incredibly strong, even if he wanted to Kurt could not deny what he was seeing. He was looking at his eight year old self, the day he learned that his mother had died.

Swallowing hard, Kurt looked up and stared across the street. Their old house. The house he and his parents had lived in happily until shortly after his mother's funeral, when his dad couldn't bear it anymore and they'd moved out, to the house in which Kurt's room had been in the basement.

"What the hell?" Kurt spat. Did that shadow put him in his own memory? "Is this some kind of sick joke?" he screamed up at the sky.

His words were meant with laughter, laughter that matched the voice he had heard from that shadow. But this time, it did not sound kind. It sounded maniacal. Let's see your pathetic boyfriend find you when you're stuck in the past Kurt! I said you're recognize the place when you woke up. But this is too easy. I think I might have to send you back to a place before your time! were the words that followed the laughter and before Kurt could protest, he saw the scene around him begin to spin.

He felt himself get lifted off his feet and the world swirled into a blend of colors as Kurt was held suspended in the air. "Let me go!" he shouted. All he wanted was to get back to Blaine and maybe try going to New York again on a train this time.

Gladly.

Kurt felt himself slam into the ground, and he groaned at the feel of what could only be a cobblestone street beneath his ass. He blinked and looked around. He was in the middle of a street, houses with straw-thatched roofs lining both sides. There were maidens in what Kurt recognized as clothes from the medieval era and he could clearly see how the corsets uplifted their assets. He tore his eyes away in disgust but what was worse, was the stench. Wasn't it customary in medieval times for people to bathe no more often than once a month? Oh how disgusting!

"Move scoundrel!" shouted a voice and Kurt alerted just in time to see a horse and carriage coming down the street and the squat little man driving it seemingly giving him the evil eye. What the hell?

If Kurt didn't know any better, he'd say that he was back in medieval times!

"Oh dear Gaga, what do I do now?" he whispered to himself. There was no doubt about it. Kurt had been rescued from a deadly plane crash only to get stuck in history.

Getting home was going to be a nightmare.