"You know, Wyoming is such a breathtaking state for a place no one ever makes a point to actively talk about." Kurt mused out loud, his eyes peering out of the speckled car window. Wyoming truly was beautiful; an oasis of lush green and crystalline bodies of water. The yieldly blades of grass had begun to fade into an array of polychromatic hues. The Rocky Mountains surged toward the skyline, their peaks capped with a coat of snowy white. It was the quintessential scenic vista that all the postcards seemed to boast of. The land seemed of a different time. Other than the asphalt road, this side of the country was left virtually untouched. Kurt hadn't seen a house or any other sign of civilization for what seemed like miles. Only a vast stretch of road that seemed to be a mirage of endlessness sat in front of him.

The only company he kept was himself, Blaine, and the rumbling from the worn pick-up truck.

It was comforting to have such a faithful companion, even if the circumstances were not as ideal as Kurt hoped. He particularly enjoyed sneaking glances at the beautiful man in the driver seat from under his eyelashes. They've been driving for a few days now and Kurt had an ample number of chances to covertly ogle the other man. Blaine's side profile was as easy on the eyes as the picturesque summits that hugged the horizon. Kurt had to admit that the raven-haired man's visage of focus was incredibly arousing. Sometimes he liked to wonder if their paths would have ever crossed outside of this prophecy nonsense and if their relationship would have been any different. Kurt was itching for something more substantial and romantic. He had an inkling that Blaine felt the same as the aura between them seemed to crepitate with electricity. Kurt was certain he wasn't the only one who felt it. He just wanted the other man to abandon his persistent facade of indifference.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Blaine's gruff baritone cut through Kurt's thoughts. "The mountains."

"Absolutely." Kurt wasn't staring at the mountain range. Stunning as they were, his gaze was directed unabashedly at the man beside him. The summit outside simply paled in comparison to Blaine. Kurt could stare at him for hours. Days, even. He could get lost in those two golden orbs of Blaine's. It was frightening how much Kurt wanted to meticulously memorize every minute detail of his face. Blaine's many beauty marks that graced his expression uncannily resembled constellations that were scattered across the night sky. Kurt longed to trace his fingers to keep track of all their interconnected sequences. To Kurt, Blaine was akin to a celestial object; discernible to the naked eye yet so irrevocably out his reach. Blaine was just as mysterious as the vast expanse of space that hung above their heads in the heavens. Kurt wondered how he could possibly bridge the distance that remained between them; to ground the divide between the celestial and the earthly. He pondered if such a union would be even possible at all. Were witches and lycans even permitted to intermix? It was a topic that was never quite breached.

"Does the creature community have racism like humans do?" Kurt presented his question innocently, his ulterior motive disguising itself as curiosity. "Especially considering that race, in humans that is, is a made up social category. But creatures are quite literally different species so to speak." Blaine pondered for a moment, his lips puckering in concentration.

"I'd say so, yeah. There's a quite a bit of bad blood between the different sects. It's an unspoken rule to stick to your own kind." Blaine shifted in the tattered seat, the worn leather wrinkling under his impressive weight. He looked uncomfortable, like what he had said left something personally unresolved. "I don't believe that anymore, though. Not like I used to. I believe we're stronger together."

Kurt inspected his cuticles as he thought of what to say. He settled on another question. He seemed to be filled the brim with those nowadays. "What changed?"

Blaine stiffened, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He relaxed in resignation after a few brief moments. "You. You changed it, Kurt." Kurt's heart soared, his brain beginning to envelop in fanciful waves of pleasure. "When Santana showed me her vision, I knew it was my destiny to meet you. To do so, I had to overcome my own prejudices that were ingrained into me since childhood. And here we are."

"So here we are." Kurt repeated his response, concluding the slight admission from Blaine. It was a tiny gesture of disclosure from the raven-haired man, but it was all that Kurt had needed in this precise moment. Kurt shifted toward the middle seat, intimately advancing into Blaine's personal space. He rested his head on the reserved driver's shoulder, his hair brushing up against the bearded neck. Blaine inhaled deeply, relishing at the scent that Kurt's proximity provided. "Thank you, Blaine. For everything. I'd be lost and somewhere dead in a ditch if it weren't for you." His tone was sincere with gratitude for the lycan.

"You're welcome, Kurt. You've saved me as much as I've saved you. Remember that." Blaine angled his head over and planted an innocent kiss on the top of Kurt's head. His lips seared with unspoken fervor. All the words he didn't want to say yet were infused into that brief kiss. They persisted in that same position for as long as Kurt's neck muscles would allow.

The pale man slithered back over to the passenger seat, satisfied that he enabled another slight crack in Blaine's armor. Sometimes it felt like Blaine, similarly to his massive frame, was all but a fortress. A citadel that vigorously defended itself from displaying any notion of emotional and physical vulnerability. His heart and mind were heavily guarded, and Kurt speculated whether he would ever able to infiltrate Blaine's defenses completely. He was only ever successful at getting in no more than a few cracks at a time. Kurt would continue to do so, piece by piece, until all of Blaine's walls crumbled in their entirety. Blaine was worth it.

Kurt breathed and let the brief conversation stagnate into silence. A sudden desire to continue his research sprang upon him a few moments after. Pale hands grasped toward the bag that sat on the floor of the truck, fishing through its contents for Sarah Wilde's journal. He hadn't touched it since the library, not since he was sucked into that vision. Kurt's hesitant fingers stroked the worn spine of the book as nerves silently crept down his spine. Kurt wondered what he would see again, if anything at all. His pink tongue darted how to wet his lips before his front teeth softly bit into them. Kurt was everything and anything but a coward. Besides, the journal could have information that could prove to be useful. The binding of pages sighed, softer than it had in the library when Kurt first opened the cover.

Nothing strange occurred. Kurt couldn't precisely determine why that disappointed him. The feeling of being afforded a glimpse into the past was scarily foreign yet so exhilaratingly rewarding. Kurt suspected the ladder triumphed over his fear of peeking into history by magical means. The book was still for the moment and did not give way to any more enchanted surprises. Kurt turned the page to read another passage of what Sarah had written all those years ago. What he found was remarkably simple and predictably so.

Met with Bridget Bishop

Traded jam for tobacco

Sewed breaches

Prayed with children

It was a list of actions; a simple and uncomplicatedly straightforward diary entry. Although rare for women of the colonial period to know how to read or write, this type of truncated speech was common. A woman's duty never seemed to stray beyond familial and domestic limitations. Kurt, as knowledgeable as he was in his field, knew that that simply wasn't factual. A colonial woman's work was much more insidious; operating within the shadows to avoid the patriarchal eyes that surveilled their every move. The sheer bravery and wit these witches must have had to even risk their lives for gathering together made Kurt's hands shake. He licked his finger to grip the corner of the page to turn to the opposing side.

What Kurt did not anticipate was the light that caught itself across the aged parchment.

He angled the page toward the window, alternating it back and forth in different directions. The witch had to ensure it was strictly a trick of light. The pit that formed in his stomach said otherwise. The page illuminated itself like holograph; the light flickering texts on and off depending on which angle you held it at. Kurt felt the illumination, wondering what it could possibly be. Had the library used a holographic stamp? It seemed unlikely as Kurt hadn't ever heard of such a tool. He was certain nothing of the sort existed. It's an enchantment, Kurt. Use your third eye. The shadows unfurled from one of the many crevices in Kurt's mind. They had finally decided to reveal themselves once more.

The middle of Kurt's forehead seared in response. He looked at the page to inspect it further. The original text was technically still present but was ultimately faded into unrecognizability. It was replaced by the holographic words that were previously only visible in certain positions of light. It was a palimpsest; but only it's original text was painted over with magic and not simply other words. Sarah Wilde was one cunning witch. To the unsuspecting eye, this specific journal entry looked like any other from that time period. Only it was so much more than mere recollections of trivial actions and pursuits.

It was a recipe for a banishing spell.

Met with Bridget and secured herbs for banishing spell

Birch, Cloves, Marigold, Thistle, Witch Hazel and Mugwort

Charmed Charles the blacksmith for Fluorite

Met with rest of coven on night of new moon to enact the spell

Kurt held his hand to his gaping mouth. The marrow in his bones ached; they seemed to be advising him that this was an important development. It wasn't everyday a scholar found such a cleverly disguised account of history. Kurt was briefly saddened that the idea of superstition, the very basis his work was founded on, was a moot academic premise. The women accused of witchcraft in Salem really were bonafide herb-gathering, coven-going, spell-casting witches. It wasn't just the spectacle of rumored witchcraft anymore. It was the cold, hard, and unforgiving truth. Kurt still didn't know how to fully process this. He snuck a glance at Blaine. The lycan was blissfully unaware of the academic existential crisis Kurt was enduring through. His golden eyes were just as focused on the road as they always had been for the past few days.

A glister of light suddenly glimmered from the corner of the page. He closed his eyes, too afraid of what was going to happen. Kurt placed a tentative fingertip upon the sparkles that seemed to jump off the page.

He regretted it immediately.

The air around him crinkled and deflated; like it was being siphoned forward into a vacuum chamber. He felt his limbs stretch as prickles of numbness stabbed at his skin. He tried to scream. The sound waves were absent as they withered away into silence. Kurt opened his eyes and saw a vast expanse of nothing; an abyssal void of immaterial.

Not a trace of life existed here. The only entity that was apparent in this realm was the suspension of time. Kurt was plummeting into nihility. There was no edge of life to grasp onto and no anchor to affix to amidst the sensation of free-falling Kurt was currently experiencing.

He was panicking. The only thing that settled amongst the turmoil of his mind was his last thoughts before this seemingly transcendental experience.

Sarah Wilde's journal.

Kurt closed his eyes and prayed. For what or to who he did not know. A tear escaped out of sheer fear. It suspended itself over his face instead of falling down the apple of his cheek. The teardrop floated and enclosed into a sphere before being swallowed by shadows. The murky tendrils of darkness lapped around Kurt's body, its chaotic energy clawing at his skin. He felt a zap before an unexpected whoosh.

Kurt's body materialized in an utterly unrecognizable place. He was situated in the corner of what seemed to be a rustic log cabin. It wasn't nearly as romantic as the early American mythology suggested it was. The floor was nothing more than packed dirt, with dried clay and grass wedged between the blanks of wood. It was drafty due to the lack of adequate insulation. The only potential source of warmth was the crude, unlit fireplace directly parallel to the door. A cauldron, cast iron by the looks of it, sat on a stand above the cooled coals. A rickety, Windsor rocking chair was nestled into the corner, a pair of knitting needles strewn across a wooden end table. A makeshift wooden platform acted as the basis of a bed, it's mattress no more than hay enclosed in sewn cloth. Herbs hung from the ceiling, the moisture from their stems drying out. Kurt heard an irresistible and gentle hum; a siren's song calling out to the magic that ran through his blood. It was a book. A grimoire, to be exact. It was the same one from the vision he'd seen in the library. It's tattered edges leaking with ancient incantations.

The shaky oak door suddenly opened, dust motes being propelled into the musty air of the cabin. Two women walked in and convened in the meager foyer. They were dressed in cotton petticoats, a style of dress popular for common folk in early colonial America. Kurt blanched, wracking his brain to come up with an excuse as to why he was in their house.

"Look, I don't know why I'm here. I'm not some creeper, I swear. I just appeared out of thin air." Admittedly, he did not sound convincing. Not even at all. He was a stranger in a strange place and these women would recognize him as such. The two women stared at each, their eyes serious. They didn't pay attention to Kurt at all.

"I had another premonition last night, Sarah. The bonds are weakening with each waking day. The coven needs to do something. And fast." The woman with the auburn hair sounded shaken. She turned towards the table where the grimoire rested.

Kurt gasped. She was a spitting image of his late mother. Apart from the brows, Kurt resembled her wholly. It was like looking in a mirror.

"I agree, Bridget. Something doesn't feel right. We'll have to gather up the girls and do a ceremony."

"This is no time for idle ceremonies, sister. Time is of the essence and it is a luxury that we cannot afford to have." She snapped her fingers, the pages of the tattered tome spinning to life. "There has to be something the ancestors left us in this wretched book."

Sarah placed a gentle hand on Bridget's shoulder. "There isn't. No one knows who placed the old god in chains. Or how for that matter. He was imprisoned long before our people even set sail for this god-forsaken land." She paused, trying to decide how best to manifest her thoughts into words. "The magic involved is too ancient for any of us to comprehend, let alone replicate. I'm afraid the only thing we can do is attempt to prolong the inevitable." Resignation hung heavy in the air as both woman's shoulders hunched forward in defeat.

"Where there's a will, there's a way. And I'm nothing if not a willful bitch of a woman." Bridget had a scorching spitfire that laced her sharp tongue. Kurt liked her. She was the type of women feminist historians dreamed of. He leaned in toward the women. Bridget glanced up from the grimoire and squinted. It was as if she knew Kurt was there somehow, like there was some disturbance in the air that the pale man had brought with him. Her perceptive sea-stained eyes glanced around the room before settling back into the pages of the tome, her desperate hands searching for a spell that would work.

Kurt let out a breath he wasn't aware his was holding.

"This could work...although we'll have to tweak it. We have the herbs for it." Sarah Wilde leaned over, her black hair spilling over in curls. Her green eyes lit up.

"I'd be obliged to agree. Good work, Bridget. This is going take the whole coven. Every ounce of witch power we've got, I reckon." Sarah was concerned, her hands wringing in trepidation and rightfully so. A spell of this magnitude was bound to attract a host of unwanted attention; human and creature alike. She briefly wondered if the astronomical risk was worth the consequences that were bound to occur. Bridget eyed Sarah's calculative posture.

"It's worth it, Sarah. You know it is. Deep down in the pit of that thing you call a soul." Bridget poke her finger at the crevice between Sarah's breasts for emphasis. "It may only hold for a few centuries, but so be it. I've already devised a contingency plan as we speak." She tapped the grimoire. "It's our only line of defense against Nal'ga-."

"Don't." Sarah held up her hands, a silencing spell rolling off her fingertips. Bridget's lips slammed shut, her eyes peeved. "Don't speak his name. It only gives him more power. And that's the last thing any of us need right now." Bridget nodded reluctantly. This was no time for her stubborn streak to rear its ugly head. "Now tell me about this contingency plan." Their conversation fell to a hush, their heads crammed together in concentration as they poured over the grimoire. After a few moments they began to write with a quill stained with black ink. Sarah took out a journal, her journal, which was fresh with supple leather. It looked much newer than the one Kurt was currently in possession of.

Before he could peer over their shoulders, swirling tendrils of darkness unfolded from the corner. Their coils wrapped around Kurt's limbs, pulling him backward. Before he could process what was happening, the shadows of time siphoned him through the portal of void; away from the cabin and away from any perceptive sense of space or time.

He wafted in the darkness and let the paralysis consume him. Kurt thought of one thing and one thing only. The only person in his current life who protected him; the only person who made him feel both whole and at home.

He thought of Blaine.

Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot less dark than the previous one. And yes, Kurt did technically time travel. I thought it would be cool and add some drama for the next chapter. As for the next chapter, I don't know when it will be up. School starts back up in a few days, so I'll be super busy. I'll try to write when I can. Anyways, reviews and critiques are always welcome.

P.S. don't judge me for the commentary on Wyoming. I'm sure it's a lovely place. Are the Rockies even visible from the highways? Lol