"Hes here, hes here!" whispers Jacob to his three good friends as Blaine walks into the run down garage Jacob had asked him to come down to.

It is a small place with a rusty old shutter door that does not work, the only entrance was a really slim threshold that is protected with a large, flat piece of wood. The inside reeks of something decaying, the ground a dirty gravel. The place is bare. The rusted pipes on the corners of the room was leaking with dirty water that suspiciously looks like it came from the boys bathroom.

"Hey guys," greets Blaine was he enters the venue. The boys fall into a horizontal line as they wait attentively for Blaine. "Urm- you can relax you know."

"Oh- okay," says Jacob and the boys ease themselves up but standing in a less frigid line. "So, what are you going to teach us? How to punch? Kick?"

"Id be more interested to learn how to knock somebody out," says the Asian boy Phat Ho.

"Whoa- cool your jets, okay? Im not gonna be teaching you guys how to fight," tells Blaine and a look of disappointment falls upon the four boys. Clearly they thought theyd be masters of death or something. "What Im gonna be teaching you guys are basic defensive acts."

"Defence?" frowns the obese boy, Uranius.

"Yes, defence. See, teaching you guys how to attack someone just feels so wrong to me, and frankly I think thats illegal. Teaching you guys how to defend yourselves should the opportunity presents itself is more-- practical."

"But I want to kick Puckermans ass!" exclaims the lanky Asian boy, Phat. He looks positively outraged at the disappointment but Blaine had carefully taught about it. He himself did not attack people unless they attacked him. Defending yourself is a universal quality and it comes in handy wherever you go in the world- Blaine would know.

"Listen, I know you guys have had enough of Puckerman and his ways but I promise you, when you defend yourself against attackers, it makes you innocent. Nobody can blame you for protecting yourself. I promise, its a much better alternative than teaching you guys how to put Puckerman on his ass," assures Blaine to the group of boys who do not seem convinced.

"I just want to make sure I dont get thrown into a garbage can again," tells Jacob, his tone of dejection.

"And I will make sure of that," says Blaine. "Now, I need a volunteer while the rest of you watch first," says Blaine. The boys glance over at each other, urging each other to go forward until Jacob finally sighs heavily and steps into the mat he had rolled out earlier.

"What you guys need to make sure of is that when you stand opposite your attacker, make sure you have one leg in front, the other at the back- also making sure youre raising your heel," tells Blaine as he remembers his own training.

"Why?" ask the boy, Uranius.

"Because this puts you at a ready- always, and also makes you more stable," explains Blaine in which the boys nod their heads. "Okay Jacob, I want you to charge after me, holding your fist up and beside your face. Get ready to punch me."

"Punch you?" says the boy in horror. "I cant-"

"You can," encourages Blaine. The boy is practically shivering in his place, his eyes swimming with fear behind his cracked spectacles. He does not look like he can do it until he shakily takes a step forward and inhales before sprinting forward, fist raise, but he stumbles on his lose shoelace and falls flat on the ground with a shriek.

"Check your shoelace first, Jacob," exasperates Blaine. This clearly was going to be a long afternoon.

The boy rises to his feet and quickly ties his laces together before resuming his position. He takes a step forward again before advancing forward in an accelerating pace, fist raise in the air. He is about to swing it with the least precision ever but Blaine stops the clenched fist with his palm, wrapping it with his fingers and bending it downwards. The boy falls instantly to his knees with a grovelling cry.

"Let go, let go!" he says.

"How did you do that?" ask the boy Jeremy, eyes wild with curiosity.

"Well- if I explain it to you guys, its gonna be really long winded but what you need to know is to push the fist downwards, back to the underside of the wrist," tells Blaine. "It works every time."

The boys do not look convinced as they stand there, arms by their sides and awkwardly shifting from left to right as if the breeze made them away in that order. Jacob is massaging his wrist as he sits wide legged on the ground.

It was a move he had learned from his years of training with the CIA. The instructors had equipped them with the best of moves that incorporated the use of straining peoples veins. It required no muscle strength whatsoever, just playing around with a persons veins. It was a simple move, one even these boys could sure get.

"Now, pair up. Stand on either end of the mat," instructs Blaine. The boys scramble to each other- Jacob with Uranius, and the Asian kid with Jeremy. The boys look so unsure of themselves it was amusing to watch.

"On the count of three, I want those on the right to advance for the ones on the left. Fist raised and be ready to punch. Those on the left, get in your stable positions, one leg in front, the other at the back with the heel raised. Be ready to grasp the others fist and bend it downwards as hard as you can until your opponent falls to the ground, are we clear?" ask Blaine, but he gets an incoherent, nervous response from the boys.

"One..two..check your shoelaces...three," cues Blaine as the Asian kid and Uranius advance for the other two. As they draw closer, the two boys standing at the ready look positively scared, eyes filled with whatever tormenting past they had with getting punched.

The punch is about to come at them, Jacob looks steady and he catches the fist of Uranius and bends it. The boy successfully falls to his knees with a deafening cry. The other one catches his opponents fist too, but he does not bend it and as a result, the two boys fall backwards- Jeremy on top of the Asian kid.

"Well, good job Jacob. Lets try that again," says Blaine. They resume their positions and give it another go but it wasnt satisfactory in Blaines eyes. They needed to time themselves well.

Blaine takes a seat on the ground and watch them do the same thing over and over again for a straight thirty minutes. Although it was mundane, he had to admire the determination these boys had. They clearly were serious about this- serious about having enough of the jocks treating then like dirt and although it was frustrating to watch them fail every now and then, he knew that in the long run they would get it- and finally, they do. At the twelve try or so, both boys manage to grasp their opponents fist, bend it downwards and have their opponents begging for mercy on their knees.

"Good job guys!" congratulates Blaine, in which the two boys have glimmers in their eyes. "Now, lets switch places."

The practised continued on for about an hour or so with the boys hopelessly trying to get it right. The would successfully achieve it of course, only to fail the next time. It was beginning to be dreadful but again, the determination of these boys was truly admirable.

"Okay I think you guys got the hang of it, anybody wants to try it with me before I teach you guys something else?" ask Blaine. The boys look positively terrified. "Im not actually going to punch you guys, you know," says Blaine.

"Ill do it," says Jacob. He steps onto the matt and gets on a ready position.

"Alright then," says Blaine as he gathers himself to advance for the boy. "Count it."

"One...two...three," says Jacob in a shalt intonation. Blaine lunges forward, his fist at the ready and as he draws closer to the boy, Jacob grabs his clenched fist and bends it downwards. The pain was awful as the bones on his wrist and stretched uncomfortable and his veins threatening to explode. He falls to his knees and Jacob releases instantly.

"Im sorry!" he says in fear.

"Nice job," says Blaine, truly impressed with the boy as he massages his wrist. "I guess you guys have got it, but only use that when somebody throws a punch at you, alright? And remember never to bend their wrist downwards too much otherwise youll break it- and you dont want that. The point is to simply stop an incoming punch. Youll also need to put in a lot of strength to stop the fist so I recommend lifting a few weights every day. Should get your muscles strong enough."

The boys nod along as they took mental notes of Blaines advice. He had to admit that he was a little hesitant to come here and teach them fighting skills, but seeing how determined these boys are- it changed his perspective. He was helping these boys become tougher and not take shit from the likes of people like Puckerman. In a way, he was doing his job, he was helping innocent people and for that, he pledged to continue now and made sure these boys were the best fighters they could be.

"I think Im done for the day. I have a ton of Math to get to," tells the Asian kid. "When can we have more practice, Lance?"

"I dont know? When do you guys want more practice?"

"How about Thursday?"

"Sounds good," tells Blaine as the other boys fall into an agreement. The pack their things and bid thank yous and goodbyes to Blaine as they leave the garage but Blaine needed to talk to one of them.

"Hey Jacob, can I talk to you for a minute?" calls Blaine. The boy strides towards Blaine as his other friends leave the garage.

"Whats up?" ask the boy with the Afro.

"Youre pretty handy with computers and stuff right? And I assume you probably can find out about a students background-- even family background?" ask Blaine, being careful with his words as to not sound too suspicious, which is hard considering his favour.

"I mean- I guess," shrugs the boy. "Why?"

"I need a favour, and I need your discretion and word that you wont tell anyone," says Blaine.

"Sounds very secretive," says Jacob.

"It is," says Blaine. "Can I count on you?"

"With what youre doing for us, of course," assures Jacob.

"Okay good. I need you to get me all information on Puckerman-"

"Thats pretty easy-"

"I need information more specific than just about Puckerman. I need files about his family members, particularly an uncle of his by the name of Lucius Dame. Could you do that for me?"

"Youre not plotting a murder, are you?" ask Jacob.

"Discretion, Jacob. You agreed."

"Fine, fine. Ill try to get as much as I can but I cant promise anything. Files that private Im going to have to hack through a lot of walls."

"Which you can do- I hope?"

"Probably," shrugs the boy with a proud smirk on his face.

"Good then. Thanks, and as soon as possible."

"And I dont even get to remotely know why?" tries the boy.

"Sorry," shrugs Blaine.

"Okay, well I got to go. Thanks again- for today. The guys really are grateful. Im gonna go home and practice it on my mum," he says before he dashes out of the garage for his friends.

It was risky to ask such a favour from Jacob. It might even put the boy at trouble because it was definitely illicit but somehow he had trust on the Afro kid. He was like a mini Carl the way their dynamic were. For some reason Carl could not access a lot of files of Lucius, so maybe from this angle they could get it.

Blaine still could not stop thinking about how all of this could be linked. Was Puckerman part of the plan as well? Or was it merely coincidence that two crooks were related? He needed to know, for the safety of the boy Kurt Hummel.

He throws his stuff into his satchel and make his way out of the garage, through the school and out to parking lot but he halts in his place when he sees a very familiar tall, slim figure standing in front of a car with its hood opened. He looks disoriented as he stands there with his hands on his small hips, probably trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Kurt?" says Blaine as he approaches the boy. He spins around in a startle with eyes fill with surprise.

"Lance? Hi," says the boy. "What are you still doing in school?"

"I could ask you the same, though I have a rough idea," says Blaine as he gestures to the car.

"I dont know what the heck happened. I went to the library to study and I was about to go home when my car couldnt start. I popped the hood but I dont know whats wrong. To make matters worse, my phones battery died."

"You sure have a knack for being stranded," teases Blaine.

"Always a damsel in distress," jokes the boy. "You dont happen to know anything about cars, do you?"

"I do," says Blaine, once again one of the many perks of being a CIA agent. He has acquired a universal set of skills from the training.

"Of course you do," says the boy as he takes a step to the side to allow Blaine to help. "Youre just good at everything, arent you?"

"I read a lot," shrugs Blaine with a smirk on his face. He takes a look into the hood of Kurts car, identifying the problem.

"Youd think I would know this considering my dad is a mechanic," says the boy.

"Oh, he is?"

"Yeah. Hes garage is like the only place in town to get your cars serviced."

"Ill bear that in time if my car ever breaks down," says Blaine as he identifies the problem with the boys car. "You have a flat battery."

"A flat battery? Doesnt that only happen to phones?" ask the boy, a confused little frown on his youthful face.

"You dont spend a lot of time in the garage with your dad, do you?" laughs Blaine. "You need to jump start your car to get the battery running again. I have jumper cables in my car so Ill just charge your car battery with mine."

"Sounds good," says the boy though judging by his face he clearly did not have an alternative.

Blaine arrives back with his car and parks it close with the boys. He has done this a couple of times because everybody knows of flat car battery is a pretty common problem faced their motorist. He had been taught well enough how to charge a dead car battery so it was an easy step. The boy simply stands by the sidelines and watched as Blaine got to work.

"Turn the ignition on in your car," tells Blaine. The boy does so quickly. Within a few minutes, Kurts car roars to life. "There you go," says Blaine.

"Thank you, so much. You clearly have a knack for saving me," says the boy but he blushes instantly.

"My pleasure," responds Blaine, but he couldnt help but to love that testament from the boy.

"What are you even still doing in school?" ask the boy as Blaine packs away the jumper cables.

"I had- academic practice sessions," tells Blaine, a little tongue tied for a second.

"What is that?" ask the boy, clearly curious.

"Just- a catch up session for students who are lagging behind in certain classes."

"Why do you need that? Youre smart," says the boy in which Blaine couldnt help but to feel flattered by.

"Apparently not on paper," shrugs Blaine.

"Have you given any thought? About Puckermans challenge?"

It was somehow weird to hear the name Puckerman come out of the boys lips, especially after getting that bit of information that Puckerman was related to Kurts mothers possible killer. He wondered briefly what would happen if Kurt found out that the nephew of his mothers murderer lurked the same hallways as him. He wondered if they boy would take vengeance into his own hands, but in that moment Blaine realize something.

Kurt did not know- he could not know no matter how much Blaine wanted to tell him. It was not justice this way, that the boy had to share with a hallway with someone like Puckerman with no knowledge of what his family did to his mother. It was no right, and frankly it made him angry just thinking about it. Kurt could not serve vengeance, but he could- in honour of the boy, and Elizabeth because as he looked at this fragile, timid person, Blaine could not explain it but he wanted to avenge the murder of Elizabeth Hummel, and catching Lucuis Dame was taking too long a time for him.

"I might take him up on that," says Blaine to the boy.

"Im glad," smiles the boy, a very proud grin. "A lot of the underdogs look up to you, you know? That is as much as I know from hearing conversations in the bathroom."

"I just- dont like bullies," says Blaine.

"Everyone hates bullies, not everyone can stand up to bullies. You, on the other hand, much like everything else- youre good at it."

"Thanks, Kurt," smiles Blaine, flushing under the compliment.

"I have to go, but Ill see you tomorrow, okay? Thank you, for the car. The next time I find myself stranded, I know who to wish for to be there," says the boy with a slight shy grin.

"I thought stars are dead and you cant wish on them?" teases Blaine.

"I never said anything about hope. Goodbye," smiles the boy as he climbs into his car, Blaine doing the same. He watched as the boy waved him a subtle goodbye before he drove off out of the parking lot.

He needed to avenge Elizabeths murder, and having to do that means having to take up a challenge to put Puckerman down, he would do it- for the sake of the boy, Kurt Hummel. Even if they boy does not know about it.

-----------

The morning arises for Kurt. He slips out of his bed and goes on with his morning routine of skin regimes and outfit picking. There was something different about him, he felt. Something inside that felt less dreadful, less miserable. Somehow, he felt lighter. He felt a smile coming along naturally now and as the sun rays burst through the seams of his curtains, he does not shy away from it any more, he embraces it.

Though the awful reminder of his mothers absence is still difficult to come to terms with, he felt himself gradually evolving from this- much like a star as it burns for decades and decades until it finally just starts to calm.

It might have something to do with a certain boy by the name of Lance Jackson that has shown him that his life does not need to be a stream of torments and misery, or maybe it is because he had someone to call a friend now and he felt less lonely in a town of cynics. He felt-- like he could live again, and it is a good feeling.

"Morning kid," greets Burt Hummel as his son enters the kitchen donned in a baby blue knitted sweater, denim jeans and black loafers.

"Morning dad," responds Kurt as he takes a seat on the dining table. "Feel like I barely see you these days."

"Really busy at the garage," tells his father though Kurt knows that wasnt necessarily the case. He knew his father spent a lot of time at work because it was a form of distraction for him- and normally Kurt would let him do what he needs to do to grief, but he couldnt just sit back and watch his father tire himself out. He has been looking really pale lately- more so than usual. The black heavy bags under his eyes are getting worse and he has definitely shredded some pounds. It was time to confront his father about it.

"We both know thats not the case," says Kurt. His father drops his mug to the table. "I know youre working extra hours these days because you cant stand being at home."

Burt says nothing as he stares out the small window in the kitchen that shows the view of the bare backyard. He knew it was true- he knew it himself- but admitting it to his son made him feel weak.

"Kurt-"

"Dont deny, dad," exasperates Kurt. "I know, I tried doing the same thing staying longer in school. It doesnt change anything. Grief is grief, it follows you everywhere. I dont want you to overwork yourself. You look exhausted."

"Dont worry about it, okay kid? Ill be fine," smiles his father though Kurt sees through that smile. It was a smile of false assurance. He knew his father was trying to be a rock- to not succumb to his sorrow, to not make a spectacle of his own sadness because he was he only parent to Kurt now.

"How has school been?" asked Burt, his trying attempt to change the topic.

"Its been fine," tells Kurt. "A little hectic with all the finals coming out but otherwise I think Im coping."

"Good to hear. Do well, go to Columbia-"

"- like mum, I know dad," says Kurt. He knew that was his route- whether he wanted it or not, it was paved for him already.

"I have to get going. Ill see you tonight for dinner, okay? Ill buy your favourite Lasagne from the Italian deli, okay?"

"Okay," responds Kurt as he watch his father about to leave the house. "Dad, please take my advice."

"Sorry?" ask Burt as he spins around just before he walks through the threshold.

"Youre all I have left now, dad. I just- wish you would watch your health and not work so much. Rest is just as important," tells Kurt.

"I hear you, kid," says Burt though even Kurt knows he was saying them simply to give solace. He waves a goodbye before he is out the door.

The house was not the only thing Kurt felt as though his father was avoiding. He felt as though his father was avoiding him as well. It was a gut-wrenching feeling, but it was a difficult time for both of them and he could not judge how his father wants to mourn and grief. He needed to give his father time, because even though Kurt felt himself gradually feeling better, the same could not be said for his father.

------------

McKinleys hallway was littered with students in cliques pressed in corners. Kurt made his way down to his first class, trying to avoid as many people as possible because the less people he came in contact with, the less vicious words would be said to him. He had one face he was looking for in the sea of people- one face that has grown to be his favorite.

"Well look who it is. Its little miss fag face," says an all too familiar voice. Kurt looks up to come face to face with McKinleys biggest tool.

"Im just trying to get to class," timidly says Kurt because the softer his voice, the less they felt like he was defying him, the slimmer the chances were that hed get garbage all over this sweater.

"To get to your little boyfriend, I assume," says Puck in which his herd of Neanderthals burst out laughing.

"Huh?" says Kurt, confused.

"Dont have that stupid look on your face. Everybody knows you have the hots for the new kid- I dont blame you, considering hes your only friend. Thats how much of a pathetic loser you are, arent you? To crush on the only guy that wants to be your friend?" says Puck.

"I didnt know you spend your days observing me from a far to make that assumption. Maybe you should try to find something more productive to do than keep tabs on my life," says Kurt and he almost wished he didnt. It clear wasnt going to end well for him and it wasnt even half of the day yet, but he did not know what came over him. The boy looks positibe enraged.

"Have you forgotten where you stand in the social pyramid? Maybe we should remind you-"

"Leave him alone, Puck," says yet a familiar voice. Lance appears then, dressed in a tight white polo tee, bright green trousers with a baby blue belt and brown loafers.

"Ah- speak of the devil. Here comes his rescuer now," chimes Puck.

"You got a lot of balls to talk after a video of you getting your ass kicked became viral on the internet," says Lance. Kurt could not help but to chuckle.

"Thats old news-"

"To you maybe," shrugs Lance. "Why dont you just let him get to class peacefully before we have a little repeat of that night at your stupid house party?"

"I really- really hate when somebody thinks hes tougher than me," says Puck as he takes a step closer, towering over Lance whom despite his height, does not even remotely look intimidated.

"Newsflash, there are people tougher than you," says Lance.

Puck looks tongue tied, his eyes blazing with hate but no words coming from his mouth. He rolls those dark eyes of his before bumps his shouder against Lance as he walks away- his group of his copycats doing the same.

"Oh, and Puck?" says Lance. "Football field, three oclock. See you then."

Kurt is surprised for awhile. He heard the boys speech about not wanting to succumb that low to Pucks level, and even yesterday he saw it in the boys eyes- he wasnt going to do it but he just straight out called Puck out on his challenge. The students in the hallway heard it as well, and almost instantly, the fall into their usual state of gossip.

"Youre going to do it?" ask Kurt as the boy, Lance, turns to face him. "I thought you didnt want to succumb to his level."

"Well, I guess I just realized-- that itd be for a good cause," tells the boy, a flair of mystery riddled in those hazel eyes of his.

"Which is?" presses Kurt, curious as to what could have possibly changed his mind.

"Justice," smiles the boy.

"Well, you have my full support," tells Kurt and he and Lance walked to their class- because coincidentally he had all the same classes as him. "So listen, do you want to get started on our assignment tonight?"

"Tonight?," says the boy.

"Yeah. Maybe we could meet at the library, or you could come over to my place," says Kurt, his insides shrinking as he invited Lance to his house. It was definitely a first- a first of many these few weeks. The boy wears a small smile, one that is secretive.

"Im not a fan of libraries, but your place sounds fine," says the boy.

"Good then," says Kurt though he does not know if it was too early to invite somebody to his place considering his recent loss, but he was fond of this boy who was so welcoming and so warm to him.

----------

It was lunchtime and Blaine quickly slid into an empty classroom. He pulled his phone out and dialled for Carls number. He answered immediately with a groggy tone. "Hello?"

"Did you just wake up?" asked Blaine.

"I kinda fell asleep in front of my computer," tells Carl, with a long yawn following.

"Okay, well I just wanted to tell you that the kid invited me to his home. I might be closer now," tells Blaine.

"Finally," says Carl. "Now that you can infiltrate his home, make sure to check Elizabeths belongings thoroughly. You might have to sneak around the house a little bit, but make sure the kid doesnt notice anything. We dont want him to be suspicious-"

"I know how to do my job, Carl," fires Blaine. "Anyway, any updates on Lucius?"

"Hes like a fucking needle in the great New York City. Nobody has seen him since the airport," tells Carl. "I did run through that kid, Noah Puckermans file to find out if hes had any contact with his uncle, so far..nothing. Do you think you can ask him?"

"Yeah- were not really in friendly terms to be frank with you," says Blaine.

"Well, that has to change then-"

"Trust me, Carl. That is one gap I cannot bridge. I might be able to sneak through his house again? I heard he is having another house party tonight- a weekly tradition apparently."

"No way. We dont need a possible liable video out on the internet again. Well find another way, for now focus on Kurt," says Carl.

"Any idea what am I looking for exactly? A file, a data chip, a thumb-drive, a disc?"

"Definitely a flash drive. Her colleagues said that she stores all her files into a flash drive so look for any thats lying around the house and get it."

"Noted. I got to go. Keep me posted, yeah?"

"Yeah, see you," says Carl before the line goes dead.

Blaine opens the door to a deserted hallway. No doubt the students are all in the cafeteria. He heaves a sigh of relief and is about to step out of the room when a certain Afro kid slides obstacles his path. Blaine stumbles forward in startled, cursing under his breath.

"Jesus, Jacob. You scared me," says Blaine.

"What were you even doing in there?" frowns Jacob.

"Just-- taking a call. Why arent you at lunch?" ask Blaine, trying to sound as casual as possible to not make the boy suspicious, but he did not know how well he played it to be honest. Something told him that Jacob was a sharp and bright kid.

"I have the files you asked for," whispers Jacob, and Blaine instantly pulls him into the room by his collar. The boy shrieks in surprise as he stumbles inside.

"Tell me," says Blaine.

"Well, I didnt get much because most of the files were protected under the government and to bypass that wall is close to impossible-"

"What do you mean protected under the government?" ask Blaine.

"The recent files of Pucks uncle. His career, his criminal records. I couldnt retrieve them because they were locked under governments protection."

That did not make any sense in Blaines mind. Why would the government hide those files if they were deemed important for this case? They were in-charged of those files after all- the Central Intelligence Agency handled most of criminal records threatening to the government. It was definitely peculiar to think about.

"Anyway, I did get his old files though. Lucius Dame was born 1968. He actually went to school here-"

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, William McKinley High School, though he wasnt much of a student because he was expelled in junior year for assaulting a teacher. Did not went to college, moved to New York City when he was eighteen. He was arrested but I cant see why- protected files," tells Jacob.

"Do you happen to know if he has contacted Puck recently?" ask Blaine.

"He does not have a traceable phone line. I reckon one of those prepaid phones, but I checked Pucks files too and it says here that he recently got a call from a New York City number."

"When was that?"

"Yesterday," says Jacob.

Blaines heart felt like it sank into an abyss. He had no doubt in his mind who called Puck, the bigger question was why. Did Lucius ask about the Hummel family? He needed to know, but there was no way to know. The uncertainty was scary, but all eyes are wide open for Lucius Dame. If he was coming into Lima again, they would know about it.

"Lance, you okay?" presses Jacob.

"Yeah, just fine. Thanks Jacob. Nobody can know about this, understand? Its imperative that you never tell anyone."

"Not that even I know what this is about, but you have my word that nobody will know," says Jacob with an assuring smile. He knew he could trust Jacob, he did not know why but the boy seemed trustworthy. "Speaking of Puck, the whole school is talking about the big showdown later."

"What showdown?" ask Blaine.

"The big Jackson versus Puckerman showdown of course. I heard the football team are charging tickets to watch the match."

"That sounds stupid," says Blaine.

"Maybe, but this is the biggest event since the Sadie Hawkins dance. Im rooting for you, just so you know, and so is a lot of people," tells Jacob.

"Thanks, I guess. You should get to lunch," says Blaine.

"Okay, well good luck later. A friendly tip, Puck has a reputation for being ruthless in the field. He once broke somebodys leg and the boy hasnt been able to walk since. Be careful, okay? You dont want to be spending the night in a hospital or something," says Jacob.

"Ill bear that in mind. Thanks again Jacob," says Blaine as the boy leaves the room.

The mission was of course his priority at the bit about a New York number calling Puck did worry him, but like Carl said- they had things on watch in New York. If Lucius remotely steps into a park to fly a kite, they would know about it. He would do his part of the mission and not worry about the rest- retrieve the Elizabeth Discovery, keep a watchful eye of the Hummels.

For right now, however, his biggest worry was this stupid football match with Puckerman. He took up the challenge to put justice, to avenge Elizabeth Hummel by defeating the nephew of her killer and to do it for Kurts honour as well, but he could not help but to be nervous. He had never played football in his life- not that he had much opportunities to. It was mostly CIA training in his childhood. He prayed he knew what he was doing from the football matches he would sometimes watch on television. That is as much experience he has with football.

-------------

It was two thirty when the bell went, and the students poured out like an angry river down the hallway and to the school football field. Blaine could not swallow down his nerves. He knew it was going to be a spectacle, and as much as it was to believe-- he never did well with so many eyes watching him. He needed to this, for so many reasons. He took the slowest walk ever down to the boys locker room where Puckerman had told him to be at. He did not know how it was going to go down, and the uncertainty definitely scared him.

"Lance!" bellows a familiar, gentle voice. He turns to find the boy, Kurt Hummel, barrelling down after him. He halts and breathes heavily. "I just wanted to wish you luck."

"Oh- thanks Kurt," smiles Blaine.

"No, really. A lot of the underdogs really look up to you, and for you to do this- stand up to Puck like this- it sort of gave everybody some semblance of bravery to stand up to the popular kids. At lunch earlier, that Asian girl Tina stood up to Quinn by calling her a self indulgent little slut. Everybody was shocked because we barely hear her speak. I think that was your influence," tells the boy.

"I dont actually know if I want to take credit for that," says Blaine in which the boy laughs.

"Well, you should be proud. Really. Good luck, okay? Im rooting for you," smiles Kurt before he strides down the hallway and makes a corner to the football field. He could not help but to smile at how many good responses and encouragements he was getting for doing this. It was like his drive to take Puckerman down.

Blaine pushes the door open to where the football team are assembled at. Their eyes dart to him the second he walked into the smelly room. He almost had to hold his breath from the stench of sweaty jock straps and jerseys. Puckerman steps forward, eyeing him like a pest.

"You sure you wanna do this, kid?" ask Puck. Blaine had almost wanted to chuckle in his face. He did not know if he was offended to be patronized like that, or be flattered to be thought that young.

"Im sure. How is this gonna go down?" ask Blaine.

"You dont even know how to play football, do you?" snickers Puck, his colony doing the same.

"I dont need to know how to play to take your ass down, again, Puckerman," says Blaine.

"Mister confident. Take a load of this bullshit, guys," says Puck. "Were playing two quarters- fifteen minutes each. Team with the most score wins. Youre going to be teamed with Azimo and those guys, but you have to score."

"How will I know if theyre not there to sabotage me?"

"You dont, you guys just gotta win," says Puck. "Otherwise, well know whose the true man here."

"Hate to break it to you, Puckerman, but winning a high school football match makes you as much of a man as taking out the trash at Burger King, but if your self-esteem is easily boost who am I to judge," shrugs Blaine.

"I cant wait to see you flat on your ass," says Puck as he takes a step closer, his face right in front of Blaines.

"I cant wait to see you eat your fucking words," says Blaine.

The boys put on their football gears and begin to prep. Blaine could not help but to wonder if this is all a trick- a plan device by these bunch of baboons to keep their superior status by humiliating the only person that has ever stood up against them. He did not know, but he knew he had to be vigilant and made sure he score as much as possible- in two quarters. He got familiar with his team, though none were too keen to be teamed up with him.

As they walked out of the locker room and out into the open field, you can hear the loud cheers and jeers too from the bleachers. Practically the whole school had turned up for this unofficial match- at least it was bringing people together, so that was a plus for Blaine. He wondered briefly how much did the football team make if they actually charged people to watch Blaines execution.

"You suck!" yells somebody from the bleachers. No doubt it was for Blaine, nobody else had the guts to yell that to the great and almighty Puckerman.

"Hope youre ready for your death, Jackson," mutters Puck as they fall in line. He knew something about their team being the offence team. He knew he would be passed the ball and he would have to make the score, while trying his best not to get tackled. That was as much as he could gather from what his team mates told him. He would have to make the score, and no one else.

They fall in line, and Blaines heart is pumping like an overworked engine. He turned to the crowd of students in the bleachers, but his mind was searching for one in particular- somebody he was doing this for the most, but knows nothing about it. He sees those cyan eyes then, even from a far. He sits at the far end of the bleachers, alone with his bag on his lap. He must have caught Blaines sight because he pulls an encouraging, innocent smile- and that was what took it. He knew that boy did not deserve his mother to be taken away so brutally, he knew he wanted to bring justice to light- and there was only one way to do that.

He never in his life understood the concept of football- his knowledge to that subject was to the extent of that somebody had to get the ball to the endzone to earn the point. He hears some mutterings going on in his team before a whistle is blown, and the crowd screams in excitement and the ball lands in Blaines hands. He stumbles backwards momentarily and sees Puckerman charging straight for him with a smirk behind his helmet. Blaine is about to make the run to the end zone, but he was too late. He feels himself being tackled so hard to the ground he swore his heart stopped beating for a second.

"Told you so, fuck face," says Puckerman as he climbs to his feet and walks away with a cruel laughter in his ghost.

"You alright?" ask a very tall player, whom has his hand outstretched to Blaine. He takes it and allows himself to be pulled up because God knows this heavy gear makes it impossible to stand let alone get himself back on his feet. "First tackles almost the most painful."

"Thanks," says Blaine.

"Im Finn by the way. Finn Hudson," says the boy with a smile on his face. This has to be the most friendliest gesture he has ever gotten from the football team.

"Lance," says Blaine. "So what exactly is going on, because Ive never actually played football."

"Its a real wonder then why did you agree to this match," laughs the boy. "What you have to understand that your team now is the defence team because you lost possession of the ball, which means the other is the offence. Youre going to have to tackle the one with the ball to earn the point. Then the teams will switch roles, and you team will be the offence again, and everyone will try to bring you down because youre the runner."

"The runner?" ask Blaine, confused.

"You just have to run to the end zone, avoid being tackled and kneel or touchdown at the end zone to earn the point. Two quarters, were leading by six points so you better catch up if you wanna win," says the tall boy.

"Youre not on my team?"

"Nah. Puckerman made sure to get all the best on his team. If you ask me its because hes afraid of losing. Good luck, and keep an eye out for Puck. Hes the one out to get you the most," says the boy before he jogs away back to his team. That was probably one of the nicest jocks in this school.

They fall back in line, and this time Blaine has a clearer understanding of what he has to do- thanks to that tall jock that summarised it for him. He knows who the ball was going to- obviously Puck because after all this match was between them. He had to tackle the boy down, as hard as he can, maybe he could dig into his training skills to get that to a success. He waits for the blow, because that is the signal, focusing on Puck. The whistle goes and the ball, as predicted, goes to him and Blaine charges for Puck. He ducks in the right moment when a knew one of the players was trying to tackle him down. He avoids them and goes straight for Puck whom does not notice him. In a swift second, he lunges himself to the jock and they both fall to the ground. Puck groans aloud.

"Hows that for you, jackass," says Blaine.

"Get off me," says Puck as he kicks Blaine off of him. He eyes Blaine with dagger eyes as they fall back into line. He knew the roles were switched now. He needed to get to that endzone, as fast as his legs could take him.

He waits for the whistle again, a dreadful wait to catch the ball. It goes and the bell lands in his hands. He practically sprints for the end zone, jumping and diving and ducking incoming attackers. He knew Puck was in his footsteps. He knew he was advancing closer and so he falls into a crouch position and Puck stumbles over him, falling face first into the dirt. He jumps over the boy and heads for the end zone, quickly going into a kneeling position. The whistle goes off and the crowd cheers aloud. Puck looks positively outraged. He could get the hang of this- sprint, duck, dive, score. He could do this, for the boy.

The game plays on for the first quarter, before they were given a short break. It resumed and the cycle continued on with Blaine ducking and making sure to not get tackled, but he did, unfortunately, a couple of times by the same damn face over and over again. He knew Puck had it out for him, but he did not know to this extent. His muscles felt exhausted but it was the final fifteen seconds to the game. He was close. The score was a tie. Somebody had to score to break that tie, and that somebody has to be him. For justice, for the underdogs, for a widespread of courageous influence, to take the football team down its highness, and most importantly- for Kurt Hummel.

The final line starts. They were the offensive team this time. Puckerman had fire practically burning in his pupils. His fist in clenches digging deep into the ground, his shoes stabbing into the dirt to give him the greatest boost to tackle. He knew Puckerman was not going to hold back, and neither was he. The whistle goes off, and the ball falls into Blaines hands.

He ducks at the first attacker, swirls around to avoid the next, practically leapt over the following and now the end zone stood in front of him- a very far stretch away from him. He sprints for his life, his adrenaline pumping and coursing through his veins, his heart hammering in his chest- he could hear it in his ears. The ball tight in his grasp. He knew Puckerman was in his shadow, chasing after him like a wild boar, but that did not stop him. He saw the light at the end, the rewarding sensation that would burn through his skin. He feels the heat of Puckermans fingers clawing through the wind for him but the jock was too late. Blaine slides into a kneel position, cradling the ball in his chest in the end zone and the whistle goes off. The underdogs cheer, drowning away Puckermans cry of defeat.

Blaine turns to the bleachers, to the boy who was on his feet, a wide smile on his face as he clapped and shouted and joined the mantra of chants of, "Lance! Lance! Lance!"

"You little shit!" roars the anguished voice of Puckerman.

Before he knew it he was tackled to the ground, his helmet pulled off his head and a hard punch comes crashing to his jaw. He groans in pain, but he was trained well enough to endure and respond. He kicked the boy hard, before getting to his feet and charging for Puck. He had enough of defending. He lunged himself for the jock whom stumbles backwards and falls to the ground. He pulls that helmet off his head and throws a hard punch on his eye. The boy yells out in pain before he shifts to his side, pushing Blaine off and climbing on top of him. The fist goes to the same spot again, twice this time and the pain was almost unbearable, but he had to bear it. He pushes the boy off and punches the nose. The blood on his knuckles did not bother him, because this boy deserved it.

"Youre trash just like your scum of an uncle!" says Blaine through gritted teeth to the boy.

He feels himself being pulled away by a pair of really long arms. The whistle goes off and the boys halt in their places and the principal stomps to the field, along with a very large woman with dark hair and a very masculine face. Puckerman is on the ground, clutching his nose as blood oozed through his fingers.

"The both of you. My office. Now," says the principal.

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