Blaine was sitting on the curb at the edge of the Breadstix parking lot when Tina's car rolled up. He watched blankly, mind only halfway paying attention, as she got out. The next thing he knew, there she was, arms akimbo, towering over him. "Do you mind telling me what I'm doing here instead of getting the stuff we need to get Dave back into the real world? Where is he anyway?"

"Gone," Blaine said hoarsely.

"I can see that, but what—" Her eyes widened in horror. "You don't mean...?"

"What...? No! No, he hasn't vanished. He's just... disappeared. By walking." He waved out into the darkness. "Like I said on the phone, we... argued. And he stormed out." Blaine held his head in his hands. "I would've."

There was a moment of silence, then a fluttering of cloth. Blaine looked up, and Tina was now sitting on the curb next to him. "So what happened?" she asked gently.

"We... we fought."

"About what?"

"About—" But no. No sense bringing Kurt into this, now or perhaps ever. "A bunch of stuff. I said... I said a lot that I regret. About how everyone would be better off if he actually did disappear." He winced just remembering. "He ran off somewhere, and I have no idea where he's gone or if he's even..." He couldn't bring himself to say "alive." He just couldn't.

"I'm not sure I get it..." Tina began.

"Join the club. It happened to me and I'm not sure I get it either."

"You had a big fight, but you sound like you really regret it now."

"I do."

"But that's a pretty big turn-around, from telling Dave you wanted him to die..." Blaine winced again; that was basically what he said to Dave, wasn't it? That he wanted him to die? "... to calling me nearly in tears over it. Why?"

Fair question. Blaine exhaled, a long, sighing breath. "There were so many times I could've become them..."

"Who?"

"You know about what happened to me at the Sadie Hawkins dance at my old school, right?" Tina nodded. "Before that... I was in the closet. I was pretty good at hiding too; it was a huge shock to everyone once it got out I was planning to go to the dance with a guy. But before then... it was so tempting, and so easy... Just say a few names at a swishy guy. Maybe push him around — just a little, not enough to hurt him. Then no one would suspect..." He let out a low, gargled groan.

"Sounds a little like what Dave said..."

"I know. And what I said to him... It sounded a lot like what they — the guys who beat me up — said to me while they were kicking my ribs in... Stomping on my back..." He shuddered. "I hated them for the longest time. I still hate them for what they did to me... What they said to me... That I didn't deserve to live... And there I was, saying it to someone else... Like I was becoming them, just like I was before I came out... It... was like I'd been tossed into a dunk tank."

Tina regarded him for a long moment. "Sometimes it takes something like that," she said.

Blaine shook his head. "Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this is my cue to get the hell out of this. You can help Dave — you've forgiven him. I... I don't know if I can be of any help to him. I still hate him so much..."

"For what he did to Kurt? Or because he reminds you of what you could've been?"

Just hours ago, even contemplating the possibility would've been laughable. But as it was... As he'd told Tina, hearing himself echoing his attackers' words towards another gay man — one who'd been driven to lengths that he'd been tempted to go to once upon a time — was the kind of epic shake-up that you read about in dramatic biographies. "I don't know... Both? But he's better off without me around. Maybe we're both better off without each other around. There's... just way too much between us."

"Yeah, I noticed. Makes me wonder where it came from. Nothing Dave mentioned should've led to it being that bad." Tina stared; Blaine shifted uncomfortably. "But that's not important right now. What's important is that you find him."

"What? Why me? I told you, it's better if you just—"

"I can't help him alone," Tina said flatly. "And that's just not practicality talking, either. You're Dave's last link to reality. Your memories are the only link keeping him from disappearing entirely, right this second. That's probably why you're on the magician's hit list. Even if that weren't true, the fact that you're the only person who knows him... He needs that psychologically." She paused, resting a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "He needs you, Blaine," she said softly. "That's why it has to be you who gets him back."

"Needs... me?" It was a wondrous revelation. He needs me... Had he ever been needed before? Well, there were the Warblers; that was why he guarded his solos so jealously. Or was it because he knew, deep down, that even if he never sang another solo again, there was more than enough raw talent in that group to keep going just fine? (After all, when he transferred to McKinley, wasn't that exactly what happened?) Did his parents need him, want him? Of course not, not the way he was. His brother? Off to California without a second thought. Kurt? The same, just in another direction. (His chest burned at the mere thought; he tried to tamp it down.)

But now... Dave... Dave needed him. Literally, and in the most important way imaginable. And what had he done with that responsibility? Abandoned it, sneered at it.

Just like Mom. Just like Dad. Just like Cooper.

It seemed that he was more an Anderson than he wanted to believe.

But now... he had a chance. For the first time, he felt needed. He felt important.

This time, he could be the one to not leave.

Even as the thoughts flickered through his mind, he realized that they were a little twisted. Perhaps it said something about his psyche, his life, that they felt like an improvement over what was there before. But there was too much going on at the moment to dwell too much on it. Perhaps later... Perhaps when the world made sense again (because magic really existed and damn if that didn't scare him all to hell when he thought about it, which was why he tried not to)...

He glanced at Tina; she was looking at him and nodding. "I thought I was going to yell at you, but..."

"Really? For Dave?"

"Why not? Like I told him, I don't know who he was, only who he is. And he didn't strike me as all that bad."

No, he didn't, did he? Once upon a time, Blaine might've been able to dismiss it as an act, but not now — especially when one of his most cherished stereotypes about Dave Karofsky was that he was too stupid to tie his own shoelaces, never mind put on that kind of charade.

His mouth felt like it was burning on the hypocrisy... Or maybe that was just bile. His stomach had been unsettled ever since Dave stormed out of Breadstix.

"I want to fix this..." he began, startling himself by how true it was, "but I don't know how."

"We start with this." Tina whipped out her cell phone and tapped at it. Instead of putting it to her ear, she held it in between her head and his. Blaine listened blankly at the trills; they seemed to go on and on and on, until they were finally interrupted by a deep, weary voice.

"Hey."

It was all Blaine could do to stifle his voice; he knew why it had to be Tina who made the call. He reined himself in as Tina spoke.

"Hey. Blaine told me what happened. Where are you?"

"Northgate Park," came the dull words on the other end. "Near the playground. I... I just..."

"Don't move. I'm on my way." Tina switched off the phone. "You heard where he is?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know what you need to do to fix this."

"This" meaning "what I did." That much was clear from Tina's tone. This was a life they were holding in their hands — a life they were desperately trying to keep someone from erasing. This was no time for bullshit or hurt feelings; Blaine knew that now.

"It has to be you," Tina continued. "Me going would just put off the inevitable. I have more work to do anyway."

Taking responsibility... having a sense of responsibility... They were two sides of the same coin, weren't they?

"Go." Tina rose. "I'll call you guys once I'm done. Keep your heads down until you hear from me."

Blaine rose as well. "I've never seen you so... in charge."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It... kinda suits you."

Tina blushed. "Well, I usually don't have much of a chance to be 'in charge' with Rachel and Finn around. Besides, performing is something I do for fun, but magick is my turf." She rested a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "You can do this, okay?"

Blaine swallowed and nodded. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He just ran for his car.

Although he was pretty sure he was only delayed by a few minutes, it still took Blaine a lot longer to find the park than he wanted. Between his nerves, the darkness, and his lingering lack of familiarity with Lima's byways, he was pretty sure he circled the same block at least twice at one point.

He screeched to a halt in the deserted lot, his car overlapping the white lines — a horrifying offense in normal times, but an irrelevant detail now. A cold breeze nipped at him; he drew his coat tightly over his chest. There were lights still on several yards to his right, illuminating an empty playground, the swings whipping in the wind. He walked briskly in that direction.

Blaine saw the hunched figure on the park bench as a blob of darkness at first, a shivering mass of shadow barely caught in the surrounding light. As he approached, it resolved itself into something sharper: head, shoulders, arms wrapped around a barrel chest. Dave.

He was huddled in on himself, his eyes unfocused and staring. Those eyes perked up as Blaine approached, but to his surprise, Dave said nothing — didn't even move. Dave continued to stare, continued to sit stock still on that bench, even as Blaine sat carefully on the other end, a comfortable amount of space between them. (Comfortable to whom, though? Both of them?)

Blaine stuck his hands into his coat pockets and opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came out — which made sense, when he thought about it. What was he going to say? "Gee, I'm sorry that I wished you dead; come with me, I'm gonna help you now, trust me!" It was absurd.

He glanced over at Dave; except for a few flickers of his eyes in Blaine's general direction, he hadn't yet moved or acknowledged Blaine's presence at all.

"You're not still angry?" Blaine asked quietly. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Dave shook his head a little. "I've kinda learned that staying mad doesn't do me any good. Hell, it just makes things worse."

"So now you're just depressed? That's not any better."

"What, you care now?" There was no bitterness in Dave's voice — no emotion at all, in fact. It was lifeless, like the flat 7-Up he'd drink as a kid when he had an upset stomach.

"This isn't about you, okay? This is about me..." Dave snorted, but Blaine continued. "And the way I've acted. The way I've treated you. Others. Kurt." He swallowed, the lump in his throat reminding him of many bitter pills of the past. "I mean... When you beat people up, at least you did that to people you hated."

"I didn't hate—"

"I know, I know. You know what I mean. I just..." Blaine shook his head. "The more I think about today, the more I think about what you've said, what I've said..."

"You don't know when you turned into that guy."

Blaine stared at Dave in something like wonder. "Yeah. That's it exactly."

"I've wondered that a lot myself this past year." Dave leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly as he stared at... what, exactly? A distant memory, perhaps? Blaine didn't know. "Sometimes I wonder... if I've always been that guy."

"Are you?" Blaine wasn't sure why he asked the question — just an hour ago, he wouldn't have bothered, confident that he knew the answer — but he did.

Dave exhaled, the loud breath misting a little in the chill evening. "I... I dunno."

"Well, then, why don't you let me decide?"

"Huh?"

"You wanted me to get to know you? Fine. Tell me about yourself."

Dave snorted, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "You're kidding, right? You think that's the way to get to know me? Shit, dude, you're lousy at this."

"Look, I'm trying to be honest for once, okay? But I'm gonna need a little from you in return. Come on. You already told me about your family..."

"Not all of them. There's my older brother Jack... He's actually pretty cool when he's not being a douche..."

"Lucky you," Blaine said sardonically. "But I still don't know much about you. I know you play football..."

"Yeah. But I'm a lot better at hockey."

"I think Kurt mentioned that once. Why'd you switch?"

Dave shrugged a little. "Dunno. A lot of reasons. I guess one of 'em is that I was starting to feel... you know... even if I didn't want to acknowledge what it meant... and I guess I figured that being a football player would... cover up a lot better."

"Soccer for me," Blaine said quietly. "Manliest sport I could actually get onto a team for."

Dave nodded absently. "Lessee, what else...? I love Italian food — I mean real Italian, not the crap Breadstix serves... Michael Buble is, like, a freaking god to me..."

Blaine's lips quirked in amusement. "Buble? Really?"

"What the fuck is your problem with Buble?"

Blaine threw up his hands in defense. "Nothing! I just didn't think he was your speed."

Dave smirked; then, to Blaine's utter astonishment, he began to sing.

And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you...
Each one a line or two...
"I'm fine, baby, how are you?"

Dave's voice was low, rich, and smooth — not Buble good, but damn good nonetheless. Blaine could feel his jaw drop in an unflattering way.

Well, I would send them but I know that it's just not enough...
My words were cold and flat...
And you deserve more than that...

"W-what...? H-how...?"

Dave's face was practically split in half with his smug, triumphant grin. "My dad loves classic crooners. Got me into Buble, Sinatra, Crosby..." Then he continued singing, as if to rub it in.

May be surrounded by
A million people, I...
Still feel all alone...

Dave swallowed audibly. He seemed to strain to get the last line out of his throat.

I just wanna go home...

Dave's eyes regained the distant, thousand yard stare. Stress once again stiffened his entire body. "So... yeah," he said softly.

"That... that was really good, Dave." Blaine hated how in awe he sounded, but damn — of all the ways in which his preconceived notions about Dave Karofsky had been shattered in the past 12 hours, this was one of the most shocking. After all, Blaine knew little about what Dave was supposedly good at, but he knew music, and that...

"Yeah, whatever," Dave rumbled.

"No," Blaine said firmly, "that was good and you damn well know it. Why didn't you join New Directions?" Of course, he knew it was an idiotic question the moment he asked, but it slipped out anyway.

Dave, for his part, fixed him with a look. Not a glare, but a look. "Because I just couldn't take how fabulous their outfits and choreography are," he said dryly.

It was meant to be sarcastic, but in a weird way, Blaine could sense truth in it.

"Seriously, though, that kind of outlet... It's good for you. Trust me, I know." Especially if you get all the solos, right? Blaine was startled that the voice in head sounded so much like Kurt's. But then, they'd discussed that before, hadn't they?

No, not discussed — more like Kurt said something to him, and he dismissed it as irrelevant — or worse, jealousy.

But it wasn't like they were together then, or knew a lot about each other at the time. So it wasn't anything personal, right?

Right?

"Maybe." Dave's voice snapped Blaine out of his thoughts. "But seeing as how I'm being homeschooled right now, it's not much of an option for me. Except singing in the shower and shit, but I already do that."

"I'm surprised Kurt never suggested you come back to McKinley."

Dave shrugged. "Eh, I figure he thought I wouldn't be comfortable there. Maybe he's right. He also probably didn't want to put you and me in the same school together either, considering what happened on Valentine's Day — woulda made it awkward for both of us."

"Yeah, sounds like him. He always thinks of me first." Blaine was stunned at how true that was. He knew that shouldn't have been such a revelation to him, but... it was. He closed his eyes for a moment, putting his mental maelstrom in order, before speaking again. "I... I can be pretty charming when I want to be. Get people to like me. But it never feels like enough, you know?" He didn't say what it wasn't enough for, but he barely saw Dave's small nod out of the corner of his eye. "Kurt... He's special. When I'm with him... I feel like I'm actually worth something."

"Yeah," Dave said softly. "He's that kind of guy, isn't he?"

"And... I don't want to give that up. Ever. I... I need that in my life."

"So that's why you don't want to tell him you don't want him to leave you for New York?"

Blaine nodded. "I don't want to be the bad guy who keeps him from his dreams. I don't want to see how he'll look at me once he sees how selfish I want to be. I want to be the supportive boyfriend. I want—"

"To say what people expect you to say." Blaine whirled on Dave in surprise; he was met with a small, ironic grin. "I have a little experience in that department, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

"And because of that, I know that just saying what other people expect you to say doesn't change how you really feel. It just lets things fester."

"Is that you talking, or your therapist?"

Dave chortled. "You got me." He regarded Blaine with what seemed to be a faintly amused look.

"What?"

"I always thought you were this perfect arrogant prep school kid. But I was wrong. You're just as fucked up as I am. Maybe more."

Blaine chuckled bitterly. "Now you got me. Too bad it had to take a situation as fucked up as this to drive it home."

"Hey, you almost died tonight. That kinda thing tends to focus the mind."

Blaine was about to mindlessly agree when he remembered — that was something else Dave already had experience in, wasn't it? The memory sent a shudder through his spine.

"So now that you know..." Dave continued, a foreign note of hesitancy in his voice, "now what?"

"What do you mean, now what?"

"Now what are you going to do about it? About you... and Kurt?"

"What, waiting for your chance, Karofsky?"

Dave glared, but without much of the heat and rage that informed their previous conversations. "Dude..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay? This... just... You and me... We're..."

"Way too alike?" Dave asked with an evil grin.

Blaine snorted. "I was going to say 'too interested in the same things,' actually." Dave turned away at the reminder. "Still... maybe that's a good thing."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"I mean, everyone in my life is either disinterested in me or thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread." Mostly due to his own methods, of course, but he didn't say that. He didn't even want to consider it. "Everyone in yours probably walks on eggshells around you because of your suicide attempt." Blaine didn't even think about somehow softening the blow; it would've gone against his entire point. Dave, for his part, didn't seem to react in the slightest; Blaine took that as a good sign. "But since we don't like each other, we're honest. We say what we mean, even if — especially if — it's hurtful. And it's often closer to the truth than anyone who likes us will ever give us."

Dave exhaled. "That makes a fucked up kind of sense. It's kind of scary."

"You think I like it any better?"

"So, what, you're my therapist now? Because I like her a whole hell of a lot more than I like you, and she can give me plenty of truth."

Blaine shrugged. "Never hurts to have more. Besides, with our common ground, I'm kinda willing to listen, and other points of view are always valuable. Of course, I only listen because it'll help me, not because it'll help you."

Dave snorted. "Same here."

"See? Commonalities. We're the best of friends already."

Dave laughed — a genuine, roaring, full-fledged belly laugh that Blaine found surprisingly uplifting. Perhaps it was because he'd heard so little of it in his life lately. Way too little. "Okay, fine," Dave finally said as his laughter subsided. "You may have a point."

"I usually do."

"You gotta be right all the time, don't you?"

"I guess that's one of those defense mechanisms you come up with when everybody leaves."

"Huh."

"What?"

"You're a little more self-aware already." Dave smirked. "I knew I'd be a positive influence on you."

"You, a positive influence, Mr. Closeted Jock?"

"I'm not in the closet anymore, smartass. Besides, are you any better, Mr. I Need to Be at the Center of the Universe and I'm Never Ever Wrong?"

Blaine raised an imperious eyebrow, a very Kurt-like expression. "Mine was better. Shorter, anyway."

It wasn't even that funny, but they both cracked up, Dave doubled over and Blaine feeling actual tears run down his cheeks. On some level, he knew it was a release of stress, of anger, like the tapping of a pressure cooker. If a nighttime jogger or a vagrant had passed by at that moment and seen this tableau, it might've been a little embarrassing, but no one was around to witness the rather odd sight: two teenagers sitting on a park bench late at night, laughing their guts out in the harsh florescent lighting.

Finally, Blaine felt calm enough to wipe his face dry. "So, uh... You coming with me? Tina will be done with her end soon, hopefully."

Dave took a couple of deep, chesty breaths as his laughter finally died away. "Yeah. I guess. Can't just sit here all night anyway."

"Okay, so let's—" Blaine's voice stopped dead. He'd turned towards the direction of his car, so he was the first to see it: a pair of flashing red and blue lights behind it in the parking lot. From their distance, he could barely make out the silhouette of a man standing next to his car, shining a flashlight into the driver's side window. An unaccountable surge of panic welled up inside him. "Dave..."

"Huh?"

"We have to get out of here."

"What?"

The distant man — Blaine was guessing he was a cop — switched off his flashlight. His head began turning in their direction.

"Get out of the light NOW!" He grabbed Dave's wrist and practically yanked the much larger teen off the bench. He felt a little resistance as he pulled Dave towards the darkened trees, but less than he expected. Blaine swung Dave into the shadows behind the tree, and plastered himself in them too a second later. After a moment of catching his breath, he dared to peek out. The police car's flashing lights were still there, but its driver was nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell, Blaine...?"

"Shhh!" Blaine hissed. "There was a cop in the parking lot. He was looking at my car."

"So? The park's supposed to be closed. He was probably checking to see if you were sleeping inside or something."

"No!" Blaine shook his head violently. "It's wrong."

"What is?"

"I don't know! It just felt... off!"

"Okay, then." Blaine turned towards Dave, startled. "Hey, coaches always tell me to trust my instincts, and they're right most of the time. So what are you worried about?"

"Puck." The single word sent Dave's eyes widening — Blaine was ridiculously relieved to not have to explain himself further. "I don't know if the cop's been brainwashed too, but I'm not taking any—" His words choked off as a shaft of light appeared near the playground where they'd been sitting minutes before. He could see the shadowy outline of the cop waving his flashlight around. Now Blaine could see one of the things that'd set off his mental alarm bells: the cop's arm and hand crooked by his side, as if he were ready to draw his service weapon. It was the attitude of an officer expecting to use said weapon — on a couple of teenagers who'd somehow crossed a magician, for example.

"We have to get out of here," Dave breathed.

"If we try to drive out of here, he'll chase us for sure," Blaine whispered.

"Then what the fuck do we do?"

"I... I don't know."

And God, those words felt painful just in the saying. A feeling of cold helplessness rushed over him, at once familiar and unwelcome.

The flashlight beam suddenly pointed in their direction. His heart in his throat, Blaine grabbed Dave's wrist again and began running. By now, he was completely disoriented; he knew little about this park to begin with, and adding in darkness and fear... He tried to tell himself that Tina said that the magician would only be able to control one person at a time, but his paranoia, his instincts, were still screaming at him that a hypnotized SWAT team would be waiting for them around every corner, in every shadow.

A small stone building came into view — the bathrooms. Blaine knew better than to try to hide inside; the dead end would probably become literal for them both. Instead, he flattened himself against one of the walls, losing himself and Dave in the shadows. There was garbage all around them: stale chips, empty bottles of Bombay Sapphire, even an empty keg that some drunken partier forgot to take with him. Blaine's nose wrinkled; the smells of vomit and stale piss were muted, but mixed together into a nauseating miasma that felt like it was physically surrounding him.

In the distance, the flashlight beam swung back and forth, jogging up and down. And it was getting closer. The park was relatively small, so staying would mean running the great risk of getting caught, even if they separated. Yet trying to escape on foot would mean no car, making them bigger targets for whoever else the magician could brainwash.

"What do we do?" Dave's voice hissed in his ear. "We can't hide forever, and he sure isn't the fuck giving up."

"I don't know!" Blaine whispered through gritted teeth. "If you have any idea, now would be a great time to come up with one!"

He turned; Dave was pale in the dim light, his fingers clutching at his coat. "I..."

Blaine took a nervous glance over his shoulder, at the beam of white light dancing closer and closer, reminding him oddly of the beginning of the Cell Block Tango in its deceptively quiet menace. "Kurt always says you're smart. Time to prove him right."

Officer Nicholas Deacon felt like he was in a fog. Thinking was oddly difficult — except for a singular thought that blazed so hot and bright in his mind that it was hard to focus on anything else. He was looking for a couple of boys, both extremely dangerous — that much he knew. He knew what they looked like, and the car indicated that they were here somewhere in this park. But he couldn't exactly recall who'd given him the order, or when. Or why it was so important that he shoot to kill the second he found them. Wasn't that against... protocol? Something? Well, it didn't matter; it was what he had to do, so he was going to do his duty to the utmost of his capability. That was what being a cop was all about, right?

They're here. Just kill them and everything will be fine.

He thought that, yet he didn't. The words formed in his head, but he didn't form them — didn't even consider them, until they sprang full born in his brain. He didn't quite understand it, and made no effort to understand it. Nothing changed the fact that he had to find and kill those two boys at once, or terrible consequences would follow.

His fingers twitched, brushing the butt of his service weapon. The boys would be unarmed, so killing them would be a simple matter. But he still had to be careful; they were tricky. They would try to stop him. Well, he wouldn't be stopped. He was a cop, one of Lima's finest, and he had a job to do, even if it was unpleasant.

A shadow twitched to his right. Deacon drew his service weapon, whirling towards the movement. A low-hanging tree branch vibrated in the cold wind.

His shoulders, bunched with tension, began to relax. Then came the sound of a snapping twig, the rapid crunch-crunch-crunch of footsteps against fallen leaves.

His gun still raised, he stepped carefully in the direction of the sounds. Remember there are two of them. Don't let them get the drop on you. It was a good thought — one Deacon wished he'd actually had.

More footfalls behind him... Deacon turned on his heel, training his gun... on nothing. Leaves rustled to the right; he turned the gun in that direction too. Still nothing.

He picked his way through a maze, one whose walls were defined by shadow and bark and leaf. He felt as though his senses were heightened by the darkness, by the adrenaline, picking out the tiniest incongruous sounds, the least movements that could've been made by humans... Yet every time, it seemed, he was greeted only by nothingness.

Deacon was starting to get frustrated... Or, at least, he was feeling frustration. The two seemed to be completely different concepts at the moment, though he couldn't say why. He had no idea how long he spent picking his methodical way through the park, but he did know he'd covered the entire area, making sure to cut off the footpaths out, just in case. But there was no sign of the two boys.

This was getting him nowhere. He should've caught sight of at least one of them by now. Did that mean they'd tried to run? No, he was pretty sure he would've spotted them if they had. So what if they'd—?

A car engine roared to life nearby. Deacon turned to see the boys' car's headlights blaze on; it lurched up onto the curb, making a tight turn that maneuvered it around his squad car. The car's body bounced as it returned to the blacktop, then pulled away with the screech of rubber against asphalt.

Swearing under his breath, Deacon holstered his weapon and sprinted to his squad car. He threw himself inside and twisted the ignition on. He backed up, and immediately felt something wrong... The car wasn't handling as well as it should've. He forced the thought out of his mind; he had to catch them! He slammed on the accelerator, and peeled out of the parking lot. But just as he hit his lights and sirens...

Whumpa-whumpa-whumpa...

The squad car decelerated and actually lowered, jolting as it made its painful way down the road. Deacon was forced to stop. He saw the problem as soon as he got out: all four tires were almost completely deflated. How...? When...?

Them.

Goddammit! Those fucking...! You! You stupid idiot! How could you have let them do that?! How?!

The recriminations echoed in his ears, blasting through his brain with concussive force. Tears came into his eyes as he sank to his knees.

You worthless dolt! You let them get away! You're nothing, you hear me?! Nothing!

His fingers were trembling as they scrabbled at his sidearm. Weeping convulsively, he drew his gun and held it to his head.

You moron! You incompetent dimwit! You—!"

Deacon's trigger finger twitched.

... No. You know what? You aren't worth it. You just aren't worth it.

Officer Nicholas Deacon blinked. He'd been pulling into McDonald's for his meal break, and all of the sudden...

Where the hell was he?

It was only then that he was conscious of the cold metal in his hand. He nearly literally jumped when he saw that he'd drawn his service weapon. He turned towards his car and saw that the tires were flat.

What the fuck was going on?

"Car nine, come in," the dispatcher's voice said from his radio. "Report. Where are you?"

He groaned.

Dave exhaled sharply as he turned back towards the front of the car. "I think it worked. He isn't chasing us."

Blaine nodded, trying to keep himself from laughing hysterically in relief. "Oh, God, that was..."

"Close. Yeah. It was a good idea to keep him busy while I let the air out of his tires."

"It was hard, drawing him away from the parking lot while making sure he didn't see me. I swear he almost spotted me a couple of times."

"But you did it." Blaine felt Dave's hand rest on his shoulder; he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the gesture. They weren't friends... were they? What did you call "someone who you were thrown to because otherwise you wouldn't survive"? "That was pretty ballsy of you, man."

Blaine tried to keep his shrug casual. "Yeah, well... It's pretty amazing what you can do when you have to."

When Blaine's phone burst out with the first few bars of "Teenage Dream," both boys jumped. Willing his heart to calm, Blaine grabbed the phone and answered the call. "It's me," Tina's voice said. "I'm ready."

"Okay. Where should we meet you?"

"There's an abandoned house at 451 Pine. I've used it before for magick rituals. With Dave there, I should be able to undo the magician's spell."

"Got it." He turned a little towards Dave. "451 Pine." Dave nodded. "Okay, he knows where that is. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll be on the second floor. Just get there as soon as you can."

"Right." Blaine turned off the phone and made a right turn.

"Hey... Pine is the other way."

"I know. We're making a quick stop at home first to grab something."

"Home? You mean Westerville?"

"No, where I'm staying here in Lima, with my friend Trent's family. You know, he used to go to McKinley before he transferred to Dalton."

Dave frowned. "Really? Do I know him...?"

"I dunno, but he knew you. Said you were kind of an asshole."

Dave chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, well, I was."

"Yeah, you were." Blaine was conscious of the fact that he agreed that Dave was an asshole... But if Dave didn't notice it, didn't remark on it, he sure as hell wasn't going to point it out.

Tina picked her way through the brush, wincing as a stray branch slapped against her thigh. She was almost done gathering, though... Then she could finally meet up with the guys and give this mystery magician what-for.

She wondered how they were getting along; she hadn't had a cell phone signal for at least half an hour, so she had no way to communicate with them until she got to her car.

Well, hopefully they weren't getting into too much trouble...

Somewhere, someone chuckled.

"I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

"Even if their charms are keeping me from possessing or scrying them..."

"Their phones aren't safe from me." The voice sounded exactly like Tina's for that brief moment.

"Why was I spending all that time chasing them?"

"Now I can just wait for them to come to me..."

AN: Ah, finally... By the end of the next chapter, the mystery will finally start to be revealed. I for one can't wait. :)