Blaine waited patiently for Karofsky to get a hold of himself. He passed the time reading the increasingly worried messages Kurt was leaving on his phone. He sighed; he couldn't leave him hanging like that. If nothing else, Kurt might go out looking for him, which could cause all sorts of complications. So he tapped out a response:

You were right, I wasn't feeling well. I went home. I'm sorry I didn't reply earlier; I've been sleeping. Talk to you soon! *smooch*

There. Hopefully that would satisfy him until Blaine could figure out... this. Whatever this was.

It was already late afternoon; between the lingering aftereffects of the headache and the insanity of it all, it had taken longer than he'd thought for him to get a hold of himself after what had happened at school. He glanced over at the passenger seat; Karofsky was wiping his nose on his sleeve, sniffling. The despair and panic were gone; now he just looked drained, almost tired. He slumped in his seat, looking over to Blaine. "What the fuck is going on?" he asked hoarsely.

Blaine shook his head. "I don't know."

"My dad... The way he acted, it was he really didn't... And my room...! I'm not crazy, you saw that too, right?"

"Yeah. I did."

"It's impossible! There's no way this could be happening!"

"Well, now you know how I felt." Blaine realized as the words left his lips that they were unfair, especially since he was just a bystander; Karofsky was actually living the nightmare. But he couldn't bring himself to care very much.

Fortunately, Karofsky didn't seem to notice. "If this is some kind of fucking practical joke, you know that you're a dead man."

"Seriously, Karofsky?" Blaine snapped, even though he knew full well that Karofsky really didn't believe it was a joke; he was just a drowning man desperately grasping any flimsy handhold of sanity he could find. Blaine knew this because he'd already been through it — was still going through it. That didn't stop his temper, though. "Conspiring with your Dad to play an incredibly cruel and elaborate practical joke on you. Oh! Maybe I brought in Harry Potter to magic your room in less than two minutes! Brilliant!"

"Well, what the fuck else could it be?" Karofsky said, his jaw set. "Because there's no way my dad would..."

"Well, he did!" Even through his anger, Blaine realized that went way too far the instant he said it. Seeing Dave's face fall only made it worse. "Shit..." he began, "I'm sorry, I..."

"He really didn't remember me," Dave whispered. "I know my dad, even if he doesn't know me, and he... He really had no idea who I was." His eyes snapped up. "Maybe he was brainwashed! Maybe he was drugged or something, and..."

"Then whoever it was must've drugged Kurt and Finn too. Oh, and erased you from the Internet." Blaine waved his phone in Karofsky's face; he had no idea why. "You done anything to warrant a massive government conspiracy, Karofsky? Bad enough to get them to break out the X-Files technology that could change a room in a matter of seconds?"

"Stop fucking around with me," Karofsky snarled.

"You think I'm fucking around with you? Can you think of any rational explanation for what's happening to you, what you've seen? Because I've been trying to think of one all afternoon, so if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it." Only silence answered. "I thought not. If we're going to figure this out..."

"'We'?" Karofsky sneered, trying to puff his chest in a pitifully obvious attempt to regain some high ground. Not that Blaine didn't understand why (anyone in this position would be desperate to get some equilibrium, some iota of belief that life still made sense, no matter how fleeting), but it didn't piss him off any less. "I would've thought you'd be the first one to root for me to disappear forever."

"Believe me, I don't appreciate being dragged against my will into one of your messes again. But since I seem to be the only one who remembers you, I'm a part of this too. I don't like it — I really don't like it — but if I just ignore this, I'll always wonder if I just went crazy or something. I have to figure this out... for my own sake."

"And making sure I exist is just an unfortunate side effect, huh?"

"You know, you could try to not be such an asshole to the guy who wants to help you," Blaine growled.

"No, you don't want to help me; you just made that perfectly clear, remember? You're doing this for yourself."

"And why the hell not? What the fuck have you ever done to deserve my consideration? Or anyone else's, for that matter?"

Suddenly, Karofsky's face was just inches from his, eyes bright, as he hissed the one word Blaine didn't expect in reply. "Nothing!" He sat back again, shaking his head. "I know that, okay? I know I'm a fucking fat, closeted, bullying coward who takes out his anger issues on other people. But I'm trying to make up for it! I know it'll never be enough, but that's not going to stop me from trying! I just... I just need a chance!"

"Oh, will you stop trying to play the martyr? It looks ridiculous on you."

Karofsky threw up his hands. "It's called taking some fucking responsibility! If I don't, I'm a monster. If I do, I'm a martyr. I can't fucking win with you, can I?"

"Maybe if you demonstrated something other than misdirected rage..."

"Maybe if you gave me a fucking chance to..."

Blaine held up a hand as the other rubbed at his eyes. "Okay, just... just hold up." He took a deep, calming breath; it worked more than he thought it would. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We're obviously both under a lot of stress, and it's not going to do us any good to just yell at each other all day. What matters is that we figure out what's going on, why no one remembers you, and why I seem to be the only one who does."

Karofsky exhaled. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right... Sorry."

"Let's... just keep our eyes on the prize, all right?" Blaine sighed. "First things first: we're obviously not going to figure this out on our own. We're completely out to sea here, and I don't think either of us has any idea where to even begin."

Karofsky nodded. "But... who could help? I mean, besides maybe my therapist, just in case we are both insane..."

"If you're insane, then that means you actually don't exist," Blaine pointed out with a wry grin.

Dave laughed. It was a warm, rumbling sound, one Blaine had never heard before. He hadn't thought the guy capable of anything but anger and despair. Seeing even a flash of humor, of lightheartedness, was kind of startling. "You got a point. Or as Kurt would say, touche." Blaine couldn't help frowning; hearing Kurt's name coming from Dave Karofsky wasn't something he found particularly pleasant. But Karofsky didn't seem to notice his reaction, because he continued. "Seriously, though, this is weird stuff. I mean, if we're not crazy, and it's not a joke, and it's not a big government conspiracy or something, what the fuck is left?"

"Supernatural forces." There it was: the words he was afraid to say, or even think. He felt utterly ridiculous just forming them in his head, never mind speaking them out loud. But circumstances, as they had in the past, had driven him into a corner that he couldn't get out of any other way except direct confrontation. But if that phrase was difficult, the next single word was even harder; he almost swallowed it even has he spoke it. "Magic."

"Dude, you actually believe in that kind of stuff?"

"Like I said, if you have a better explanation, I'd love to hear it." Blaine ran his fingers through his hair; they became sticky with flakes of dried gel. "Maybe I'd still think it was some kind of elaborate hoax or conspiracy if it weren't for what happened to your room. That... that wasn't physically possible. What else is there besides... magic?"

Karofsky shook his head in something approaching wonder. "Fuck me... Magic..." He seemed to consider it for a moment, but quickly spoke up again, as if trying to argue them both out of it. "But if magic really existed, wouldn't we know about it by now? I mean, people would be summoning demons and turning their exes into cats every day or something."

"How the fuck would I know? Maybe it's a lot harder than TV and movies tell us it is. Or maybe they use it to make sure we don't notice it. Beats the hell out of me; I'm not a wizard."

"But even if... magic... did this to me, how'd it happen? Was it random? Or did someone do this to me on purpose? Who'd do a thing like that?"

"Well, it's not like you're short on enemies." It came out a little (okay, a lot) more sardonic than he'd intended. But to his surprise (and it wouldn't be the last time Dave Karofsky would surprise him before this was all over), the only reaction he got was a small nod.

"Yeah... I definitely made a lot of 'em, didn't I? Some I made while I was in the closet, some I made when I came out. But the ones I made before are probably too nice to do this. Besides, they're your friends too, so they wouldn't get you involved." Blaine was about to say something to that, but pressed his lips firmly together, letting Karofsky continue. "And the ones I made after aren't smart enough to do fucking magic." His brows furrowed; he regarded Blaine with an odd look.

"What?"

"You're smart enough, though. You're the only one not affected by all this, and you've got a pretty damn good motive to make me disappear."

Blaine groaned. Despite halfway expecting this since the two first met up, he still found himself personally offended. "Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I come to you and reveal myself I was involved? Why would I be helping you?"

"To keep an eye on me, and to gloat behind my back? Besides, you haven't done anything to help me yet. Just yell at me."

"Only because you...!" Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting angry won't help. Getting angry won't help. Getting angry is what Karofsky does. Not you. It took a long moment before he trusted himself to speak. "Okay. I'll admit you have a point." The words seemed to surprise them both to some extent. "If I were you, I'd probably be thinking the same thing. We certainly don't trust each other enough to think otherwise."

"You've got that right," Karofsky snorted.

"I'll tell you right now: I had nothing to do with this. You may not believe me, but I don't see that you have much of a choice. If we're going to figure this out, we're going to have to trust someone. And it might as well be each other." He looked at Karofsky; the other teenager seemed lost in a way that Blaine didn't think possible. Oh, he'd heard about Kurt's visit to his hospital room, but what he was told didn't jive at all with the ogre he knew (or, perhaps, built up in his mind, to be perfectly fair — it wasn't like the two had all that much personal interaction, which was one big reason why this, now, was so difficult). This, though... This was starting to change his mind, just a little. Or at least make him consider his preconceived notions a little more carefully. "It looks like you'll be a stranger to anyone else you try to talk to. And because of that, they'll think that I'm a lunatic too if I try. We're alone in this boat, Karofsky, so we're gonna survive together, or we're both going down with the ship."

Karofsky's forehead furrowed in thought (don't strain yourself too much, Blaine thought uncharitably), as if trying to find a hole in the logic. After a few moments, his shoulders sagged. He sighed audibly. "Yeah. You're right. Dammit."

"My sentiments exactly. Now, back to someone who can help us..."

"Again, do you know anyone, anyone at all, who could possibly know anything about freaky magic shit? Because I sure don't."

"No, I don't think... Wait. Maybe..."

"Hey, Tina."

Tina Cohen-Chang frowned, one hand akimbo at her side, the other resting on the edge of her front door. "Uh, hi, Blaine..." She glanced over his shoulder at Karofsky, framed in the initial wispy fingers of oncoming dusk, then returned her gaze to Blaine. "What's up?"

"We need to talk. You're the only person I can think of who might be able to help us."

"Sure... But I thought Kurt said you went home because of your headache."

"I lied. Look, I'll explain everything, but can we come in?"

"I guess..." She stepped aside as Blaine and Karofsky entered the house, shutting the door behind them. "Are you gonna at least introduce me to your friend?"

Karofsky twitched; Blaine didn't think he did as well, but if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised. "This is Karo— uh, Dave. He's sort of the reason we're here." It was only then he noticed a pair of adult heads turned around over the nearby couch, the TV in front of them declaring "D, final answer."

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen-Chang," Blaine said with a friendly wave. He turned back to Tina. "Could we talk in private?"

Her brow still furrowed in confusion, Tina nodded slowly. "Okay." She led them down a hall to a door tied in yellow crime scene tape. She opened it to reveal... well, his literary side would've called it a "den of iniquity." He'd never known Tina when she was full out Goth (or at least Goth enough for the principal of McKinley to think she was a vampire — what the hell that was all about he still had no idea), before Mr. Schuester gently asked her to "tone down" her "unique style" to better blend in with the rest of New Directions. (Kurt still held a small grudge against the man for this; it had something to do with Dalton, another thing Blaine only half understood.) But here was a reminder of where her heart lay.

On the walls, between black posters of bands dressed in equally black clothing, hung various medieval weapons and torture instruments, including two pairs of rusted iron manacles (Blaine couldn't help but remember seeing Mike rub his wrists on more than one Monday morning; he quickly repressed the memory with a shudder). Tina's bed was, of course, dressed and trimmed in black sheets and comforters, her desk spotted with human skulls of various sizes. Several bookshelves were stuffed to overflowing with hardcovers and paperbacks of wildly divergent heights, ages, and conditions. But what gave Blaine the most hope was the pentagram drawn in what he hoped was red paint on the wall over the headboard.

Tina noticed Karofsky's jaw-dropped expression, which fortunately seemed to draw attention away from his own. She shrugged. "It's my space. I can do what I want with it." She gestured towards the bed; the two boys sat on the edge of it while she planted herself in the plush chair in front of the desk. "Okay, Blaine... Dave, was it?" He nodded. "What's this all about? We hardly talk in glee club, so I'm not sure what you want from me."

Blaine took in a breath; this was going to be the hardest part: getting Tina to believe them. "This is going to sound really weird..."

Tina smiled a little. "I like weird."

"That's... why we came to you. What we're going to be telling you, you're not going to believe. But you have to. Please."

Something in his voice or face must've struck her, because Tina's expression turned concerned, serious. "I'll at least listen. Go ahead."

And so they told her. Per previous agreement, as the person she actually knew (or remembered knowing), Blaine did most of the talking, with Karofsky only cutting in with more detail or confirmation. Tina's face remained neutral as they did their best to exude sincerity, sanity. It took them hours (or so it felt like), but finally, they finished. Tina's eyes flickered between their faces, as if searching for any hint of deception. Finally, she spoke.

"This is a joke, right?"

Both Blaine and Dave let out the same soft groan. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "No, I swear, this is all true," Blaine said, a note of pleading creeping into his voice.

"You said I know him..." Her hand waved towards Karofsky. "But I don't. And you say that's because I've been... magicked into forgetting him? Who is he, then?"

Blaine and Dave glanced at each other. They'd agreed that not going into detail about Dave's past with the glee club would probably be best. They'd just decided to hope that their avoidance of that past wouldn't be noticed. No such luck, of course. "I... played on the football team," Karofsky replied. "With Finn Hudson. And Sam Evans. And Mike Chang. Your boyfriend after you broke up with Artie Abrams."

Tina raised an eyebrow, but nothing more. "You could've told him all that," she said to Blaine.

"Ask him about something that happened before I came to McKinley."

"Kurt could've told you, and you could've passed it on."

Great, Blaine thought, the last thing we need right now is rationality.

"And even assuming you were telling the truth, and I did believe you... Why did you come to me?"

"Well... we thought you might know something about magic..." Blaine didn't even realize he was waving his arms at the decorations around the room until he felt them drop afterward.

Tina frowned in annoyance. "What, you assume that just because I dress in black and have a slightly macabre taste in decor that I'm interested in magick? You just assume that because I like reading about the supernatural that I think it actually exists?"

Both boys stared at her.

"Well, do you or don't you?" Karofsky said.

Tina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine." She got up, put on a pair of cloth gloves, and took a large book from one of the shelves. It was bound and covered in cracked, faded leather carved with intricate filigrees. She carefully opened it; Blaine swore he could see a puff of dust rise up from its faded, yellowing pages. "This is a French grimoire from the 13th century. Found it at a used bookstore in Cleveland. One of only five left in existence. And I have it." The girlish, gleeful grin that came over her face was one Blaine was more used to seeing on someone who just got hold of the latest World of Warcraft expansion or the hottest new skirt for spring. "I haven't broken this out for I don't know how long... Don't want to damage it or anything, but..." She frowned. "Huh. I could've sworn it'd been longer, but..." She shrugged. "Whatever. This is why I started taking French," she remarked to no one in particular as she began flipping pages. "So I could understand this thing. Kurt helped too. Why couldn't it have been written in Chinese or Hebrew?" Tina abruptly stopped turning pages; she brought the book closer to her face, squinting. "Huh."

"What is it?" Dave asked eagerly. Blaine had to admit that he too was leaning forward in anticipation.

"There are spells of forgetting here... Mostly to purge yourself of bad memories... Invoking the waters of Lethe..."

Karofsky frowned. "The what?"

"Lethe," Blaine supplied. "It's from Greek mythology. One of the five rivers of the underworld. Drinking from it was supposed to remove memories of life from the dead." He winced at his own tone; he wasn't usually that supercilious, was he?

Tina merely nodded in his direction. "Most of these memory spells are pretty simple, though. To affect more than one person... To affect so many people... The magician has to be either really powerful or really talented."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Karofsky asked.

Tina shook her head. "Power means control. It means knowing and understanding exactly what you're doing every step of the way, and never allowing anything different or unexpected to happen. That takes study and practice and dedication. Sort of like singing, actually. Talent... Well, anyone can be talented. They can accomplish more and do it all more quickly than those who study, but they lack control." She looked at them both, her face set and dead serious. "They usually end up destroying themselves. Sometimes they take others with them."

There was a silence as the two boys absorbed this.

"So in Dave's case... Which of the two would apply to what's happening to him?"

"No idea. Could be either. We'll have to investigate more to figure that out."

Blaine perked up; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dave light up in a painful kind of hope. "You mean...?" he began.

Tina nodded. "If you two are making a fool out of me, I'm gonna make sure you pay." She cast a look at Blaine. "You in particular. You know all I have to do is have a word with Kurt."

Blaine swallowed. "Right."

"But why?" Blaine glared at Karofsky, but the big oaf continued opening his mouth. "I mean, you don't sound like you believe us. So why...?"

"Because while I'm still not sure this isn't just some big joke, I believe you just enough. You really sound like you at least believe yourselves." She paused, staring at Karofsky so long that they both started to shrink. "And, when I look at you... I dunno..." She cocked her head. "Maybe it's nothing. But the Blaine I know..." She paused to look significantly at Karofsky before continuing. "... isn't crazy. Besides..." Here she got a sharp, almost crazy grin on her face. "If there's the slightest chance that magic exists... that it's all real and possible... I have to be a part of it. I have to see it for myself. What if we could get evidence and show it to the world! Can you imagine? It'd be, like, the find of the century! We'd be famous!"

"Right now, I'd be fine with being remembered, thanks," Dave cut in. "Besides, I'm not sure I wanna give anyone else ideas..."

"Why?" Tina asked with genuine curiosity. "Do you have a lot of enemies?"

Dave rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, well..."

"So what does the book say about the big memory spells?" Blaine cut in before Karofsky could continue digging his own grave.

"Just give me a few minutes."

As she delved deeper into the tome, her lips moving as she translated, Dave leaned close to Blaine. "You really think this is gonna work?" he whispered.

Blaine glanced at Tina, at the dusty book in her lap. "A lot more than I thought it would just a few minutes ago," he replied.

About ten minutes later, Dave left to use the bathroom. Tina paused in her work, regarding Blaine for a long moment. "He seems nice. Kinda quiet, though."

"Who? Dave?" Blaine sputtered.

"I wish I remembered him. He must be a good friend of yours... uh, ours... if you're helping him, though."

There was so much, so much, Blaine thought of saying, wanted to say. Instead, he choked out, "Well, let's concentrate on getting him back to reality, huh?" Tina shrugged and returned to the book.

By the time Karofsky returned, Blaine's mask of neutrality was firmly back in place.