Kurt comes out of the bedroom and almost walks straight into Blaine, who is standing in the doorway, struck dumb by his thoughts.

“Oh!” Kurt yelps, putting a hand to his chest. “Good heavens, you gave me a start. I didn't expect you to be right there!”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, “I…”

Blaine blinks and looks at Kurt, who is dressed in one of Blaine's own short sleeve button-down shirts and the black slacks of his father's that Kurt has been hemming. Blaine smiles, his fears of losing Kurt forgotten for the moment as he appreciates the way the new pants perfectly drape over Kurt's legs.

“My goodness,” Blaine says, stepping back and looking down Kurt's body. Kurt seizes the opportunity to strike a pose as a ploy to cover his self-consciousness. “You did a wonderful job.”

“Do you think so?” Kurt asks, spinning around slowly so that Blaine can see the pants from all sides.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “And I have to add that I like you in my blue shirt.”

“You do?”

Blaine nods.

“Yes, sir. Very much.”

“I'm glad,” Kurt says with a sigh of relief. “I didn't want you to be upset that I took the liberty of borrowing your clothes.”

“Borrow whatever you like,” Blaine says, raising a hand to fix Kurt's shirt collar, even though it didn't need any fixing. “Mi wardrobe su wardrobe.”

“Oh, good grief,” Sebastian mutters, stomping off back to Cooper's bedroom with Abigail materializing suddenly and scampering after him, close on his heels.

“Come on, Sebastian,” Kurt says with a cheerful drawl to his voice. “Get dressed.”

“For what?” Sebastian asks, leaning against the door jamb and staring at the obnoxious pair of fools in front of him.

“Don't you want to come with Blaine and me?” Kurt asks. “If that's okay with you, that is, Blaine.”

“Of course,” Blaine says, plastering a fake smile on his face so wide that it almost makes his lips crack. “The more the merrier.”

“Going with Blaine where, exactly?” Sebastian asks, growing visibly more dubious with each question.

“Back to the house. Blaine has some work he has to do fixing the place up and I'm going to help him.”

Blaine's fake smile softens at the adorable way Kurt puffs his chest out proudly at that, but Sebastian drops his head back on his neck, banging it lightly against the wood of the doorway. The resulting crack noise of wood against wood, reminiscent to the sound a bowling ball makes when it hits pins, is something Blaine isn't sure he's going to get used to.

“Oh no,” Sebastian says, putting up his hands. “I'm not going back to that place anytime soon. No way, no how.”

Blaine bites his lip, giving him time to think before he's expected to try and convince Sebastian to come along, which is what he's sure Kurt wants. Blaine would prefer it if Sebastian stayed at the beach house to sulk, but he's not too thrilled with the idea of leaving a vindictive Sebastian alone to do God knows what.

“Look,” Sebastian says, inferring the meaning behind Blaine's silence, “I might hate you, but I'm not going to bite the hand that feeds me, either. Like it or not, I need you, like Kurt needs you, to negotiate this being alive and shit, so, just leave me the remote to the TV, point me in the direction of a few good books, and I promise I'll be a good boy.”

Blaine looks Sebastian over as the wooden puppet continues to stare up at the ceiling. Blaine hasn't spent as much time assessing Sebastian as he has Kurt, but looking at him this time, he seems burdened, vulnerable. Sometimes it's hard for Blaine to remember that this God-awful thing happened to the both of them – not only to Kurt. Maybe he saw the attack on Kurt through Kurt's eyes because he and Kurt seem to have some special connection, but Sebastian was attacked, too. He was attacked first. He defended Kurt. He took blows meant for Kurt. That has to be worth a smidgen of Blaine's trust.

“I believe him,” Kurt says, slipping his hand into Blaine's, his voice more confident and self-assured. “I don't think he's going to do anything bad.”

Blaine only needs Kurt's reassurance to help him make his decision.

“Alright,” Blaine says. “You can stay.”

“Thank you, oh benevolent dictator,” Sebastian replies, heavy with sarcasm.

Blaine grits his teeth and runs his hands through his hair. He understands Sebastian's frustration. He went from being trapped in one house to being trapped in another, but there's little Blaine can do about that.

“I'm going to go pull the trash bins down to the curb for the garbage men,” Blaine says, turning his attention back to Kurt. “Pick me out something to wear?”

“Sure thing,” Kurt says, leaning in and giving Blaine a kiss on the cheek.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and disappears into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The sound makes Kurt jump, but he doesn't look as wary about Sebastian and his anger anymore.

“Just…give him some time. He'll come around,” Kurt says, eying the closed door. “I'm sure he will.”

“Of course he will,” Blaine agrees, taking Sebastian's tantrum in his stride. “I'm not worried.” Blaine's smile for Kurt is tight but Kurt doesn't seem to notice, too focused on the task of finding Blaine something to wear for the day. Blaine watches Kurt head for his closet, open the door, and then stand with his hip cocked and a finger pressed to his lip as he mulls over the clothes hanging in front of him. Then Blaine heads outside to take care of the trash. He pulls the blue recycling bin and the grey trash bin down to the curb, lifting the lid of the grey bin to bid a final farewell to that despicable suit. It lies draped over rotting food, unchanged except for an army of black flies and maggots surrounding it, summoned by the summer heat.

“Good riddance,” he mutters, slamming the lid shut and giving the container a kick.

Blaine is quiet on the ride down to the project house, but Kurt doesn't seem to mind. He has his head resting against his crossed arms on the sill of the open car window, the wind whipping through his hair, the sun warming his face, thoroughly enjoying the ride.

Blaine, dressed in the blue corduroy pants and the zip stripe pullover Kurt chose for him, feels on a different plane of existence from his content friend, his mind absorbed by his thoughts of finding a spell that can help Kurt. But if helping him means losing him... No, Blaine cannot be selfish. It's not his place to decide for Kurt. Maybe Kurt doesn't want to be a puppet any more. Maybe the time they get to spend together is meant to be temporary.

He steals a few glances at an untroubled Kurt, wishing that wherever Kurt is in his head, he could be with him.

Maybe Blaine is overreacting. Maybe this isn't the end. What if there is a spell that can make Kurt a real human? If there's a spell to turn him into a puppet, becoming human can't be too far a stretch in the realm of belief…can it?

The car is silent except for the sound of wind rushing through the open window, and when Blaine turns to look at Kurt again, the puppet is leaning in close with a hand cupped over his left ear.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks with a laugh.

“Well, you're thinking so loudly I can almost make out a few words, but it's hard to hear over the sound of traffic.”

Blaine chuckles. Kurt sits up, leaning against his chair and staring as Blaine keeps his eyes on the road.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Kurt asks. “Is it Sebastian?”

Blaine's jaw clenches when he tries to smile Kurt's worries away.

“It's alright if you don't like him,” Kurt says, his voice ebbing, expecting an ultimatum. “He was my only friend for a long time, and most of the time I could barely stand him.”

Blaine chuckles again, but this time he sits lower in his seat, relaxing as Kurt talks.

“I know it's a lot to ask of you,” Kurt continues, “to put up with him…and me.”

Blaine turns his head.

“You think I'm just putting up with you?” Blaine asks. He slows down as he takes the exit to Harbor Drive, looking from the road to Kurt. Kurt shrinks an inch into his seat and Blaine notices. “I'm not putting up with you, Kurt. I enjoy hanging out with you. I enjoy being with you.”

“Really?” Kurt asks.

“Really,” Blaine says, shifting nervously in his seat. “In fact, I know we haven't really known each other more than a few days, but I was hoping…”

He turns the corner, looks out the windshield, and stops the car as well as his sentence. Down the normally empty cul-de-sac are parked cars and trucks, back to back, some two deep. A dumpster has been delivered and is sitting at the curve of the curb, waiting to be filled. A U-Haul truck (not Gary's this time) sticks out from the curb at an obtrusive angle.

“Crap,” Blaine whispers, watching as groups of people segregate and form, waiting for his arrival.

“What is it, Blaine?” Kurt folds his hands in his lap, hoping that Blaine will finish what he had started to say before he throws himself into the obvious mob waiting for him.

“Uh…I didn't expect this,” he admits. “I thought we would get here before everybody else, considering all the no-shows from yesterday.”

Kurt watches the expression on Blaine's face change and knows that whatever he was going to say is gone for the time being.

“So, how exactly am I going to be able to go into the house without anyone seeing…me?” Kurt asks, gesturing down at his puppet body. “I'm sure there're a few things that people are bound to notice.”

“Easy, actually,” Blaine says, pulling his car to the curb a fair distance from the house. He lets the engine idle, climbing out of the car and walking around to the trunk. He pops it open and grabs something from inside, then returns to Kurt with a white bundle shoved underneath his arm.

“What is that?” Kurt asks when Blaine hands it over.

“This is a biohazard suit,” Blaine explains. “I sometimes wear it during demolition, to protect me from dust and mold and all that.”

Kurt looks at the white suit, and then at Blaine.

“But don't you need it?”

“I'll be alright,” Blaine says, waving a hand in front of his face. “Besides, I have a bunch in the trunk. They're one-time use only. Here…” Blaine reaches across the seat to unbuckle Kurt's seat belt, “let me help you. It's kind of confusing your first time.”

“Oh…” Kurt gasps at the feeling of Blaine slipping the boat shoes he borrowed off his feet, his head brushing Kurt's lap as he works to slip the legs of the plastic garment over them. Blaine folds Kurt's pant legs over so they don't get too wrinkled, working clinically, not allowing Kurt's legs beneath his hands to derail him, clearing his mind of every possible thought so that he won't slip into the vision curling at the front of his mind.

But it's a powerful image, and as much as he can push the visual of it away, it's the sounds of Kurt's whimpers he can't ignore, the feeling of his muscular thighs – firm and strong – underneath Blaine's palms, and a new sensation – Kurt's hands weeding their way through his hair, tugging, pulling, tightening as he groans and grunts, that beautiful high-pitched whine filling his ears, “Yes, Blaine! Yes! Yes!”

Blaine gets the impression, as he continues to roll the suit up Kurt's body, with Kurt lifting up to help him maneuver around him, that this won't be the last time he has his head in Kurt's lap in this car.

By the time Blaine reaches Kurt torso, he's out of breath, and sweat has started to bead at his hairline. Kurt stares at him puzzled, but he lets Blaine finish pulling the sleeves over his arms and the hood up over his head.

Blaine doesn't even have to see the full-extent of Kurt's complicated gaze before he laughs nervously.

“Okay,” Blaine says, moving things along, “now we pull on the string-ties, and the hood will scrunch around your face a bit. That way, all anyone will see is your eyes.” Blaine pulls the strings slowly, watching Kurt's face disappear behind the plastic with his blue glass eyes peeking out. Blaine leans back to take a better look. If anyone takes a good, long look at Kurt, they'll notice something is a little off about him, but the likelihood that anyone will care about him one way or another is slim to none.

“There,” Blaine says, pecking a kiss on Kurt's covered nose, “now you're invisible.”

“Invisible, huh?” Kurt asks.

“Well,” Blaine says, running a hand over Kurt's cheek, “almost invisible. How do you feel?”

Kurt lifts his arms in front of him, wiggling the fingers on his gloved hand, the plastic crinking and squicking as he moves his extremities.

“Very well packaged,” Kurt says. “Kind of like a leftover.”

Blaine laughs and puts the idling car back into gear, driving down the length of the street to park in the only empty spot left – right in front of the house.

Dozens of pairs of eyes look his way when he kills the engine to his vehicle.

Blaine turns to Kurt, eyes peeking out from the plastic suit he's wearing.

“Are you ready for this?” Blaine asks, putting a hand on Kurt's knee.

Kurt looks down at the hand. Blaine putting it there is such a simply sweet, nonchalant gesture – nothing insinuated or implied, not searching for more.

But who knew such an innocent touch could be so sexy?

“Yes,” Kurt says, nodding in case the words get lost somewhere between his throat and the cave-like mouth of the suit.

Blaine leans over and reaches into the glove box, pulling out the wireless webcam.

“Okay,” Blaine says, winking at Kurt, withstanding the urge to place one more kiss on Kurt's nose, or one on his upper lip, or the corner of his mouth… “Our public awaits.”

Blaine steps out of the car, and right away several men and women come forward, all of them veteran house-flippers, several having already worked with Blaine while he's been in San Diego. Blaine smiles his business smile, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kurt emerges, sketch pad clutched against his chest, looking out of place even though several other crew people are dressed in similar biohazard suits. Blaine switches on the webcam to record the beginnings to the major part of this venture.

“So, this is basically going to be the same as any other renovation…” Blaine starts to the group assembled. Kurt walks up behind him, trying to keep out of the limelight. “I need all the furniture packed up into the U-Haul, all the carpets ripped up, the drywall taken down carefully…”

Kurt watches Blaine command the group of adults, a smile on his face tucked inside the white suit. So young to be in charge of all these people, he thinks. This is a boy who's going places. This is a boy with a future.

Kurt doesn't dwell. He doesn't let it make him feel bad about his current predicament.

“We won't be starting in on the basement until tomorrow. And this…” Blaine says, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder, “is Kurt. He's my assistant for today working on the design scheme and he has no information with regard to the renovation plans, so don't ask him.”

People nod, some smile, others look at Kurt as if they know something he doesn't. The group breaks up, walking back to their individual sections, confident in their assignments.

“Do you know those people well?” Kurt asks, following Blaine as he heads toward the front door.

“No, not really,” Blaine says. “I mean, we talk when we're on a break but we're not, like, friends.” Kurt looks over his shoulder at one group in particular where two women are talking, heads leaned in together, staring at Kurt and Blaine and chuckling.

Blaine pulls out his keys and starts to unlock the door.

“Now, there's going to be a lot of people coming in and out of here, so stick close to me,” Blaine warns him. “I don't want to lose you.”

He feels Kurt press his body against his.

“Is this close enough?” Kurt asks.

The keys stop turning in the door.

“I think that'll work,” Blaine says, pushing the door in and propping it open, clearing a path for people to get in and get to work.

Blaine looks back at Kurt, still hugging his notebook to his chest, watching a swarm of people start tearing apart the house, piece by piece dismantling it, his hooded eyes unable to concentrate on one person, one activity, bouncing around at the organized chaos.

“Did you want me to take you upstairs?” Blaine asks. He watches the furniture movers head down the hallway for the dining room and the hidden staircase to the upper level.

“No, uh…can we just stay down here…for a bit?” Kurt asks. “I'm feeling, maybe, a bit overwhelmed.”

“Sure,” Blaine says, reaching back to take Kurt's hand and give it a light squeeze. “We can for sure hang down here. I'm just going to go ahead and film some of this. Do you mind?”

“No. No. Go ahead.”

Blaine holds Kurt's hand and sweeps the camera around, picking up the flurry of activity – furniture being moved, trash bagged up and taken out to the dumpster, the start of drywall being cut down. Kurt giggles behind Blaine as he circles in place, holding on to keep his balance.

“So, as you can see, we have the first part of the renovation underway,” Blaine says out loud, recording the footage for Cooper. “As per the request of the San Diego Historical Society, we are having the drywall cut down instead of hammered, which will take a bit longer, but insures that the original structure of the house remains untouched.” Blaine spins around quickly and Kurt laughs louder. Blaine trains the webcam on a group in similar biohazard suits as Kurt's heading for the kitchen with blue plastic trash bags. “Here we see our clean-up crew heading for the kitchen to manage the mess in there.” Blaine hears the sounds of footsteps tromping through the living room and turns again. “And here we have the furniture from the attic being taken out of the house for use later.” He follows the group carrying the lamps and Queen Victoria wing chairs as they march out the door. “And here we see…Jesus!”

A pair of wire-rimmed frames and piercing eyes pops into view, startling Blaine straight to the bone.

Blaine turns off the webcam and lowers it, coming nose to nose with the severely distasteful man that he was sure he had seen the last of.

“Alex! What are you doing here?” Blaine asks, forgoing niceties. “I didn't need Gary here today.” Blaine pulls Kurt close behind him, keeping the concealed puppet out of the man's line of sight. “All the toys are gone.”

“I'm not here because of him,” Alex says with a sniffle, scrunching his nose at the rising clouds of dust. He reaches into the front pocket of his stiff three-piece suit and pulls out a handkerchief, holding it inefficiently over his nose and mouth.

“Then you're here because…” Blaine prompts.

“Because you're tearing out walls,” he says, looking around in disgust, “and I'm still interested in the whereabouts of Sammy. If he's here, I want to be on hand to see him.”

Ugh! Blaine scoffs quietly, thinking of a way – any way – to get Alex off the property. But not coming up with a single method that wouldn't require numerous phone calls and more time than he has to spare, he groans.

“Fine! Just…stay out of the way.”

“Of course,” Alex mutters. Kurt peeks over Blaine's shoulder and sees Alex glaring, but then his eyes find Kurt and he stops. He stares. He leans forward, eyes centering in on Kurt's glass eyes, which Kurt averts down and away, leaning his forehead against the back of Blaine's neck in an attempt to hide.

“Interesting,” Alex says, trying to circle Blaine for a better view. “Very interesting.”

“If you don't mind,” Blaine says, turning his body swiftly and cutting Alex off, wrapping both arms behind him protectively, “we have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes,” Alex says, looking the two boys up and down, “I can see that.”

Alex turns, walks off into a cloud of dust, and disappears.

Blaine shakes his head. On top of taping the demolition and keeping Kurt from getting hurt, now he has to keep an eye out for Alex.

What else could possibly go wrong?

“Dear God in heaven, what is that!?” a man from outside yells.

Blaine rolls his eyes to the heavens.

Did he have to ask?

“It looks like a mummified baby!” another man calls.

That certainly gets Blaine's attention. He switches on the webcam – repulsed with himself that that's his first instinct, but he knows that a mummified baby is something Cooper is going to want on film.

“Don't touch it!” a third voice yells.

Blaine grabs Kurt's hand and races outside, pushing his way through the forming crowd with Kurt close on his heels. From what Blaine can tell before the crowd in front of him closes ranks, two men carrying a trunk dropped one end and the thing toppled over, spilling its contents onto the street. Blaine weaves through the group with muttered apologizes and a raised, “Excuse me! Coming through!” here and there. When they come to the center of the commotion – the over-turned chest with a body lying on the asphalt – Blaine has to take a step back.

The thing sprawled out on the ground definitely looks like a mummified baby.

“Sammy!” Kurt chirps from inside his biohazard suit.

Blaine looks away from the pseudo-corpse and stares at him.

“Really?” Blaine turns back to the puppet on the floor. “That's the puppet everyone wants to see? That's Sammy? Are you sure?”

“Of course, I'm sure,” Kurt laughs. “I'd recognize that horrid thing anywhere.”

“Really,” Alex's snide voice cuts in. He wedges his way between Blaine and Kurt, separating the two boys as he tries to get a better view at the priceless puppet lying in the street, but he seems more intent on keeping his eyes on the plastic gap that exposes Kurt's eyes. “That's very interesting, especially since this puppet went missing long before you were born.”

Blaine looks at the man and raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Internet,” he says, reaching around Alex and taking Kurt's hand, pulling him toward the puppet. “You're not the only person in the world with an interest in Vaudeville culture.”

While everyone ooo's and aah's over the disturbing puppet, Blaine rights the chest that it was kept in. It's heavier than Blaine expects now that it's empty. He sets it upright, examining it front to back, top to bottom. He hadn't come across it during his initial investigation of the house, and it has Blaine fascinated. It's a large trunk - much larger than necessary for the size of the puppet kept in it – but shallow. Blaine puts his hand in, pressing down on the floor of the chest, which seems to be secure, but when Blaine looks at it from the outside, it looks as if his hand is only sunk into the trunk a third of the way. Blaine pushes down hard, but the bottom of the chest doesn't budge. He knocks on it. The chest sounds hollow…though not entirely.

“What do you want to do?” a voice asks as Blaine continues to consider the dimensions of the trunk.

“About what?” he asks, without looking up.

“With the puppet,” a snarky voice asks. It's Alex – Blaine knows. But he's had enough of cynical interlopers for a lifetime. He couldn't care less what the man wants. He just wants to finish for the day and spend the evening out with Kurt.

“Put him back in the chest…for now,” Blaine says, summoning some men on the clean-up crew wearing white gloves to handle the puppet. He waits for Alex to object, except Alex's interests seem to have flipped from Sammy to Kurt – more so than Blaine feels comfortable with.

“Kurt, why don't you head to the car and get started on those sketches?” Blaine suggests, stepping in front of Alex and again blocking his view.

“Alright, Blaine,” Kurt says, heading off toward the car with Blaine walking beside him, holding his elbow. Blaine looks back when he hears an aggravated Alex bark, “Pardon me!” but the man is already lost to the crowd, and Blaine can't say that he's not relieved.

“And Kurt…” Blaine adds, opening the door for him.

“Yes, Blaine?”

“Keep the doors locked.”

Blaine calls it quits at six o'clock, when the rented dumpster is full to bursting with drywall, and the clean-up crew has bagged their last load of trash. He watches the U-Haul containing the furniture, Sammy in his trunk, and various collectibles from the upstairs bedrooms drive off to storage.

Slowly but surely the house is being gutted, but it doesn't feel as sad as it did before.

Blaine waits until the last straggler climbs in their car and drives away before he starts peeling the plastic suit off Kurt's body.

“What…Blaine!” Kurt giggles.

“Hurry up, hurry up,” Blaine mumbles, tearing the elastic around the ankles so Kurt can step out, rolling it up into a careful ball, and tossing it into the dumpster. “Let's get going.”

“Why the rush?” Kurt laughs as Blaine steers Kurt toward the car, opens the passenger door, and lightly shoves him inside.

“Because we're going to be late for our second date.” Blaine hops into the driver's seat and buckles in.
“And I happen to know the perfect place.”

Blaine steers the car down the street, which isn't quite as dark or quiet as it's been on previous nights. He sees a neighbor walking a dog meeting another at a mailbox a few houses down. Blaine waves at the two men, who smile and wave back, and Blaine thinks that it would be nice to see this neighborhood come alive.

He drives through the small labyrinth of streets and merges onto the highway, mostly without thinking about it, his mind engrossed with a bevy of confessions that he needs to find the words to say.

“Kurt…” Blaine clears his throat and puts the car on cruise control, “there's something I've been meaning to…well, something I need to ask you.”

Kurt tilts his head to look at Blaine.

“What is it?”

“If there…” Blaine rolls his head on his neck, subconsciously stalling, wishing that he could make this thought that's nagging at him go away, that he could pretend that it had never entered his brain. He looks into Kurt's eyes – sees his affection, his trust – and his heart crumples. It wouldn't be fair. Kurt has to know. “If there was a spell to make you…not a puppet, would you do it?”

Kurt's eyes brighten at the question.

“Definitely,” he says, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“What if it meant, not becoming human though?” Blaine asks, detaching himself from the words. “What if it meant…you know…moving on?”

A heavy silence crowds the car.

“Wow,” Kurt says, staring out the window. “I…wow, I…why are you asking me this?”

Blaine's teeth lock down around his tongue. He was kind of hoping he could get away without admitting this part.

“Kurt…there's something I need to tell you. Something I probably should have told you earlier.”

“Okay, well, please tell me quickly,” Kurt says, kicking off his shoes and bringing his legs up beneath him on the car seat. “You're kind of scaring me.”

“I'm sorry.” Blaine reaches over and pats Kurt's hand. “It's nothing dire. It's just that…I have his journals.”

Kurt's expression goes completely blank.

“Whose journals?”

“Andrew's.” Blaine says the name like an apology. “I've been reading them, which I probably shouldn't have done and I'm sorry. But I was thinking that maybe the secret to undoing that spell might be written in there somewhere. But then, what if reversing the spell meant freeing you to…you know…”

Kurt stares down the length of the highway, eying the lights of the passing cars speeding by, before he answers.

“I know you think I'd jump at the opportunity to be free from this body and move on, and I probably should.” Kurt sighs. “I miss my mom and my dad, and all of my friends. Here on earth, I'm so unsure about my life…” He turns to look at Blaine, whose eyes don't leave the road as he listens to Kurt speak. Blaine – this beautiful boy who came to him from out of the blue, from out of a dream, and who is so willing to give Kurt anything.

Kurt doesn't look forward to leaving him yet.

“But then again, I didn't really get to live my life,” Kurt says. “It might be nice to take another stab at it. So, to answer your question, it's something I'd need to think about long and hard before I was sure either way.”

Blaine lets out a long breath, unaware that he'd been holding it this whole time.

Kurt's answer is a good one – more than Blaine had hoped for.

Blaine knows it's unfair for him to have expected a definite no, I don't want it. Let me stay a puppet.

What Blaine needs to do is find a way to make staying with him longer worth his while.

It's another long ride back to the beach house, with Kurt listening to the radio while Blaine occupies his mind with far too many thoughts and far too many rationales. Kurt has stumbled across an AM station that plays mainly music from his era. He sits, fixated on a spot in the joined headlights of the car, letting the familiar melody transport him back to a time that brings him some peace and comfort, which Blaine can tell from the smile on his face.

But Blaine's mind has no peace, only questions that have no answers. Yes, logically, if there's a way to reverse the spell that Kurt and Sebastian are under, then they would move on, but what about Blaine's visions? Nothing he's seen has happened yet, and they almost all take place (as far as he can tell) with a human Kurt, not a puppet Kurt. It was human skin Blaine kissed in those dreams, human lips gasping his name.

Most of those visions came to him before the idea of reversing the spell was even a possibility, so there has to be another solution to this problem.

There has to be another out.

By the time they reach the beach house, Blaine has convinced himself of this.

There is a way to make Kurt human. That has to be the answer, and one of Andrew Smythe's old journals might have it.

Blaine is eager to find it, and as they walk into the house, Kurt breaks off toward the bedroom while Blaine zeros in on the dining room table.

“I'm going to go get dressed,” Kurt says with a smile, walking backward toward Blaine's bedroom. “Do you want me to lay out something for you?”

“Would you?” Blaine asks, his hands sliding into his back pockets as he watches Kurt head for the bedroom. “I'll be there in a minute.”

Kurt nods and spins around, doing a tiny dance as he enters the bedroom, and Blaine feels his heart lighten. When Kurt is completely out of sight, Blaine heads for the journals. He speculates that a spell to make Kurt human has to be hidden in those pages somewhere. Otherwise, how can he explain all of his visions of a human Kurt – visions that Blaine is positive speak of the future?

Blaine lifts the cloth on the dining room table and peeks underneath, excited at the thought of finding the answer.

There's nothing there – only empty space and hard wood floors.

The boxes with the journals are gone - every single one.

Blaine feels his heart race with panic, and suddenly all of his visions, his daydreams of a future with Kurt, begin to dim.

What the fu---

“That was quite a bit of interesting reading you had stored under there,” Sebastian says, his bare feet clicking against the floor as he walks across the living room.

A shudder of prickly cold flashes through Blaine's body. He stands up and faces the accusing stare of Sebastian Smythe – hating him…judging him.

“What did you do with them?” Blaine asks, not even ashamed now for having them and keeping them secret.

“It looked like you had every journal my father ever wrote in his lifetime,” Sebastian says, starting to circle Blaine like a jackal.

“Sebastian…”

Blaine hears a door open.

“Hey,” Kurt says, stepping in among the two, wary of the looks being shot back and forth. “What's going on in here?”

“What made you think you had the right to invade my family's privacy?” Sebastian continues, avoiding Kurt's question.

“Sebastian?” Blaine asks, feeling dread seize hold. “What did you do with them, Sebastian?”

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, looking down on Blaine like he's no more important than an insect, that this argument they are having is inconsequential.

“I put them where they belong.”

Blaine rolls his eyes at Sebastian being purposefully vague. His eyes sweep the room. He eyes Cooper's open bedroom door and ponders whether or not Sebastian would actually drag all those boxes into that room.

If Blaine knows anything about Sebastian it's that he would want those journals – and any other reminder of his father - as far away from him as possible. He'd probably throw them in the East River if he could.

Blaine's eyes stop on the window with the curtains pulled open and their unobstructed view of the curb outside. Blaine usually keeps the curtains drawn, but there they were – thrown open and facing the street. He squints at the view from where he stands and Sebastian smiles wide. Blaine rushes to the window and the first thing he sees are the trash cans lined up against the curb.

“No,” he mutters. He couldn't have…could he? Blaine races out of the house, riding a violent wave of nausea out to the curb. He throws open the lids, tipping the grey trash bin over onto the ground. He bends over to peek inside, to make absolutely sure.

Empty. Both of them empty.

He turns back to the house, where Sebastian watches him from the window with a smug grin on his painted, wooden face.

A face Blaine would love to bash his fist into.

He trips over the lid of the grey bin but leaves it lying on the ground in his rush to get back inside.

“You threw them out?” Blaine growls, slamming the door behind him, feeling guilty when he notices Kurt jump.

Blaine wonders how many slamming doors were there in the Smythe household when Kurt was growing up.

“Oh, I didn't just throw them in the trash, tiger,” Sebastian sneers. “I tore the pages out of the bindings and ripped them up into little pieces. Some of those pages were no bigger than confetti when I finished with them.”

Blaine stares at Sebastian, completely floored. He doesn't know how to react. He feels betrayed. He feels like a confidence has been broken - an understanding they had reached, shattered.

Why does the price of helping Kurt – of potentially falling in love with Kurt - need to be Sebastian?

“Why did you do that?” Blaine asks, storming up to the puppet. “How…how could you do that?”

“They weren't yours to read, Blaine,” Sebastian counters in an equally disgusted voice. “Those were my father's private thoughts.”

“Bullshit,” Blaine bites, nearly spitting in the puppet's face. “You could care less about protecting your father. You and I both know it.”

“What about protecting me then, huh?” Sebastian yells. “Don't I matter?” He crowds into Blaine, pushing him back toward Kurt with his body, with the invisible force of his rage. “What did you read about in those journals? Did you read about the way he taught me to be a ventriloquist? How he hit me on the bare back with a switch to keep my lips from moving when I talked? Did you get to the part where my mother went crazy and killed herself? Or let's think - how he paid a five-dollar hooker named Lacey-Sue to take my virginity because he couldn't handle having a fag for a son?”

Blaine sees Kurt take a step back, his eyes dropping to the floor. Kurt knows. He knows about it all.

“No, I didn't read about any of that,” Blaine says, refusing to be pushed any further, “and I'm sorry. I really am, but some of those journals were dated after the fire. What if those journals had the answer to making you guys human, Sebastian? What if I could have used them to set you both free?”

Set you both free.

Sebastian doesn't miss that bit of word usage.

Nice touch.

He wants to curl his lip at it, bare his teeth at it. Blaine is some piece of work - a far better con-man than his old man ever was, and he's got Kurt wrapped around his little finger.

As if Blaine even cares an inch about Sebastian. Blaine is simply using him as leverage. Poor little Sebastian – poor little abused and damaged Sebastian. Kurt might never love him, but Sebastian is still one of Kurt's sore spots, and Blaine is using that to split him and Kurt apart.

Sebastian has no intention of rolling over for the charms of Mr. Blaine Anderson. He has a harder shell than Kurt ever did.

Sebastian's posture doesn't change. He's defensive, hurt, ready for the fight he expects to follow. But his eyes – widening imperceptibly – betray his every emotion. He messed up and he knows it, but he's not about to give Blaine the satisfaction of feeling superior.

If Kurt believes that Sebastian is fine with throwing their one possible chance at true mortality in the trash, then so be it. He'll play the monster.

But Kurt's hurt stare breaks whatever wooden heart Sebastian has, and he looks away.

Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders and squeezes gently. His hands shake, hard porcelain fingers trembling, pinching Blaine's muscles too hard, but Blaine ignores it. He's worried about Kurt. Blaine doesn't know what emotion exactly is causing those tremors – anger, fear, disappointment?

“You said you'd take me out tonight,” Kurt says, pulling at Blaine's shoulder, hiding whatever is coloring his voice by working to calm Blaine down. “So, let's get dressed and go. What do you say?”

Blaine's body settles at Kurt's touch, muscles relaxing until nothing of his anger remains but a knot in his chest - a dull ache that gets tighter with every beat of his heart.

“Glow in the dark mini-golf?” Blaine asks over his shoulder, catching a peek at Kurt's expression as it changes from concern to relief.

“That sounds like the bee's knees,” Kurt says, pecking Blaine's cheek and tugging him backward. “Now let's go find something to wear and hit the road. What do you say?”

Blaine nods, glowering at Sebastian, hazel eyes burning as he lets Kurt pull him away to the bedroom.