"Hey guys," says Blaine as he walks into the abandoned school garage. Jacob and his trusty best friends are already inside, on the mats practicing the moves they have learnt so far.

"Guys hes here!" exclaims Jacob, silencing his friends. The boys halt in their place and fall into a united, stringent line as they wait intently for Blaines instruction.

"So, were going to be learning how to flip someone today," says Blaine. The boys have their eyes wide and intent. "Its another defensive tactic. I need a volunteer. A skinny one. Asian kid, how about you?"

"My names-"

"Phat Ho, I know and Im sorry for that very unfortunate name," says Blaine. The boy grumbles before he steps onto the mat, his lanky frame shaking as he comes closer to Blaine. He looks like a scared little mouse. "Now I want you to try and punch me, and Im going to grab you by your wrist and flip you."

"Flip me? What the heck does that even mean?" ask the boy. He was nervous.

"It means that Im going to flip you three hundred and sixty degrees and youre going to land on your ass, but dont worry- youre on a mat," assures Blaine though the boy does not remotely looks at ease.

"As if this mat will make it any less painful!" argues the boy.

"Look, you guys arent going to learn until you get a proper example. Dont worry, okay? I only ever broke one persons arm in my experience-"

"Broke an arm?" says the boy. He looks even more alarmed than before as he takes a few fearful steps away from Blaine. "I dont know if I wanna do this-"

"Oh relax. Come on," encourages Blaine. "Take a swing, a hard one."

The boy steps up fearfully, eyes swimming with an unknown fate that awaits him. He glances over at his friends whom feigns smiles of encouragement though even Blaine knew they were scared for him. The boy inhales deeply before he swings his right fist towards Blaine and tries to punch him, but Blaine grabs the boy by his wrist and spins his arm. His whole body does a circular flip before he falls to the ground with a loud groan and a startled facial expression.

"Wasnt so bad, was it?" ask Blaine as he offers an aiding hand to the boy.

"I think I saw my whole life flashed before my eyes," says the boy.

In that moment, the wooden plank that acts as a door of the entrance is pushed aside and in comes two girls, and a boy in a wheelchair Blaine remembers that kid, Artie Abrams from his AP chemistry class.

"Is this the Jacksons class of Defense Against The Dark Arts?"

"Yeah. Come on in guys," invites Jacob, much to Blaines surprise. He rushes to Jacob, pulling the startled boy to the corner of the room.

"Why the hell are they here?" ask Blaine, eyes narrowing at the boy.

"Well- they saw me with Puckerman the other day and asked me where I learned to defend myself and I mentioned your name, and they wanted to learn too," innocently tells Jacob.

"I thought we agreed nobody else besides the four of you would know!" says Blaine, trying to keep his composure.

"I know but they were sick and tired of Puckerman too! I felt for them," says Jacob. "What is a few more people?"

"Jacob, you dont understand. Im serious about keeping this thing on the down low. You cant be asking people to join without checking with me first! And who the hell came up with Jacksons class of Defence Against The Dark Arts anyway?"

"That was me," proudly smirks the boy Jacob. "A homage to the eternally brilliant Harry Potter series."

"I dont- even know how to respond to that," exasperates Blaine.

"Im sorry, okay? But I promise no more after this, and if we ever get caught for illegal activities like this, Ill make sure to take the blame," ensures the boy.

Even though Blaine did not necessarily mind the extra people, he feared the CIA would find out about it. He knew there were flies on the walls, compliments of the CIA. He needed to keep this quiet otherwise he might as well sign his letter of resignation. By the same token, he wanted to spread his defending knowledge to whoever who needed it. Like Jacob said, whats a few more people.

"You better make sure none of the staff, and I mean the entire school faculty, never finds out about this or Ill flip you next," warns Blaine in which the boy raises his hands in surrender.

"You have my word," says Jacob.

With a heart full of reluctance, Blaine steps onto the mat again to greet his new students. The first girl was Asian who dresses like she just came back from a funeral, the other girl was tall with long, raven hair. She was pretty, which begs the question why she was here in the first place. Surely she was part of the students with a higher social status.

"Well, hi. This isnt a formal class or anything. Im Lance Jackson. Welcome," awkwardly says Blaine to the three people.

"Im Marley," says the girl with the long, raven hair. "This is Tina, and that is Artie," introduces the girl.

"Okay, so-- why are you guys here?" ask Blaine.

"I want to learn how to rip out Quinn Fabrays guts and shove it up her waxed asshole," explicitly tells the angry Asian girl. Her eyes were burning with rage, as was her tone.

"Thats awfully graphic. How about the two of you?"

"I just- want to learn how to defend myself, should the need presents itself I guess," shrugs the girl, Marley.

"Im sick and tired of getting pushed down the staircase," says the boy in the wheelchair.

"Down the stairs? Who would do that to you considering youre already in a wheelchair," ask Blaine, frankly a little stunned.

"Puckerman knows no boundaries," sadly tells the boy. It was barbaric, in Blaines opinion. He knew Puckerman was a bully, but he wasnt sure to what extent.

"Okay, well as you guys already know, I dont teach fighting skills. I only teach defensive skills, but they are as useful as fighting, trust me," says Blaine to the three kids. He receives nods from them, which was his cue to proceed.

"I guess Tina and Marley, you two can pair up. Artie, Ill be with you," says Blaine because it was safer to have him teach Artie than the others, for fear that they would hurt him.

"How exactly am I going to learn how to punch? I cant even reach somebodys face without falling out of my chair," says the boy.

"You dont necessarily have to punch his face. Being at a lower level can play to your advantage, actually. Have you ever heard of Junk Punch?" ask Blaine. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Jacob and Uranius teaching the two girls of last weeks lesson. They look positively nervous talking to girls. The Asian kid, Phat, and Jeremy are practicing the flipping move.

"Junk punch?" ask the boy, a frown on his face. "What the hell is that?"

"Its when you punch someones crotch. Easier done considering your level. Fastest getaway move ever," tells Blaine. "What you do is when someone comes at you from in front and is about to hurt you, all you gotta do is punch their crotch as hard as you can and youll have that person pooling in front of you."

"What if hes from behind?" questions the boy. He does not look convinced behind his rectangular spectacles.

"I- dont actually have a move for that, but I can figure something out later. Let me get in a wheelchair and Ill figure out a variety of possibilities. Is that cool?" ask Blaine to the boy whom just looks so shriveled and vulnerable in his chair. "You can practice the junk punch move for now. Jacob will be more than happy to volunteer," says Blaine, choosing to make Jacob the practice punching bag as punishment for his big, risk-taking mouth.

"Okay," says Artie.

The rest of the time in that stuffy, cramped garage was spent practising the moves Blaine had taught them. The girls took turns bending each others wrist, Jeremy and Phat were doing failed flips. Blaine had had to explain it to them over and over again but they found it hard to grasp, but their determination to get it right was utmost admirable. Jacob let the boy Artie junk punched him so many times he decided to sit in a corner and sulk- and wail in pain. The boy Uranius paired with Blaine, trying to flip him but he was not doing a very good job at it. At one point he slipped and practically flipped himself.

"Okay guys," shouts Blaine, ending all their activities. "You guys were great, and dont stop practising. Thats it for the day."

The room is filled with sighs of relief as the kids pour out of the garage one by one, Blaine staying behind as takes a moment to himself on the mat. Somehow, seeing all those kids in training takes him back to his past and how stringent his regime was and how strict the instructors of the CIA were. They gave no semblance of compassionate despite how young Blaine was. He did not know whether that was good or bad, but it definitely has shaped him into one of the best agents of the CIA- so good, definitely.

He remembered how he always feel worse about himself after every training because he was a kid after all and some of the things that were said to him by the instructors were pretty harsh. He remembered how he would seek comfort in a particular boy that grew to be one of his best mates in the Agency, Sebastian. He remembered how Sebastian was always took him to throw pranks at the other agents in training, how they would sneak into the instructors bedroom to scare them. Having Sebastian around in his time of training did make things better.

"Lance?" calls a voice behind him. He spins to find the tall girl, Marley, standing their clutching her bag slightly. "I just- wanted to thank you, for doing this. Truth is I only joined because I wanted to make friends. Most of the students here fine me odd, to be frank."

"Why is that?" ask Blaine, curious as to why this beautiful girl would be deemed odd.

"I think that mostly has to do with the fact that my mother is the lunch lady. Nobody really is jumping out their seats to be friends with the lunch ladys daughter," shrugs the girl.

Blaine remembers then, his small conversation with the lunch lady a few days ago. The woman had told him her daughter was a shy girl, Marley. How could he have forgotten. The girl looks positively dejected, as though that facet of her life made her appalling but Blaine thought otherwise.

"I would jump out of my seat, for free food," smiles Blaine in which the girl chuckles shyly.

"Thanks," says the girl. "I was- wondering, if youre not busy or anything, maybe youd want to go out for dinner? Maybe tomorrow?" hopefully ask the girl, in which Blaine is momentarily perplexed. He could see the look in the girls blue eyes- she was asking him out for a date.

"Oh," says Blaine, finding the words to let her down gently. "Urm- thats sweet but I already have plans tomorrow. Another day, maybe?"

"Okay," hastily responds the girl. Her cheeks are crimson red. "I better go then. Thanks again," she says before she practically marathons out the door.

He knew it was harmless. The girl was probably just lonely, evident from the things she shared to Blaine earlier but it still felt weird being asked out by a girl, not that it never happened before. Besides, he really did have plans the next day- a study date with his subject.

-----------

Kurt ransacks his entire wardrobe, looking for something decent to don in. It was at the brink of noon, and the boy, Lance, would soon be here. He was a nervous wreck. After sharing what he did with Miss Pillsbury, it felt as though his little secret was public knowledge. It felt odd sharing his personal feelings to someone- letting his high walls down by an inch. He felt exposed.

His wardrobe was useless. He hadnt went shopping for new garments for weeks. All he had was his last seasons clothes and even though they were still wearable, he wanted something that would impress the boy who was coming over. He didnt know why- he stood no chance with their different sexual orientations. Still, it wouldnt kill to try.

"Kurt," calls the familiar, deep groan of his father as he descends down the steps. "Are you down here?"

"What, dad?" irritably responds Kurt. "Im in a major wardrobe crisis right now."

"Im heading out for a bit," says the father. "Got a few errands to run."

"Like what?" questions Kurt as he stubbles over his pile of clothes on the ground. His father is standing at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his usual casual look. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. It was disheartening to look at.

"Just- some errands," vaguely tells his father. "Youre gonna be okay by yourself at home?"

"Im always alone at home these days. How is today any different?" remarks Kurt in which his father drops his head and sighs. "Its Saturday. You should rest, youve been working all week long-"

"Can you just stop hounding me?" snaps his father, startling Kurt. "Im the father here, youre the child. You dont question the things I do because if Im out working late or missing a few dinners, its only because Im working my ass off trying to raise you, so you do your part and study and shut up, understood?"

Burt is breathless. The look on his eyes reads that even he is surprised by his outburst. He tears his gaze away from Kurt and climbs the stairs, shutting the door behind him. Unable to comprehend what just transpired and in complete shock, Kurt sinks to his pile of clothes, his body limp and his heart heavy, but he needs to pull it together. He knew his father was under a lot of stress. He would try to understand, despite how it hurt to have his only parent left push him away like that.

He does not bother with the tears streaming down his cheeks, nor does he bother with his quivering lips and shivering body. He pulls on whatever he could reach out of the pile and shuts the closer door behind him. The front bell rings in that moment, leaving Kurt with no choice but to really pull his composure and suck up his tears. He wouldnt let the boy see him weak- he believed that once, he couldnt again.

"Hey," cheerily greets the boy as Kurt pulls the door open. He forces his lips to smile, despite how torn he felt inside.

"Hi," says Kurt, hearing the slight uneasiness in his voice. "Come on in."

The boy shoots him a suspicious glance before he follows silently in Kurts shadow as they head to the living room, where Kurt had already laid out all his books on the short coffee table. After the tornado that hit his room, it was best to leave a guest out of that little skeleton in his closet. He breathes evenly, trying to force the urge to cry again down. Keep strong, he chants to himself. A mantra he has been saying since that faithful day.

"So I already did the- ah second question but I dont know if its quite right," says Kurt, stammering and stinking through his words. He did not realize just how disoriented he was being, but he definitely felt more disoriented than he looked.

"Okay," says the boy, though he has his eyes set on Kurt than the books.

"We sh- should start with th- the ah," says Kurt, until he stops when a gentle, comforting hand is placed over his own. He looks over at the boy is watching him with intent, compassionate eyes.

"Is everything okay?" ask the boy, Lance. His tone was gentle and assuring, almost like a strong hand placed on his back for comfort. It was a foreign sensation, one he wasnt familiar with from a stranger. "Kurt?" nudges the boy.

"Im fine, dont worry about it," responds Kurt, though inside was a different story. He would have caved should the boy had pressed further. "I was thinking that we should first test out the different types of pollutant gas and their causes and make a chart for it. Afterwards we should test these gases on every day objects to show their harms-"

"Drop the books. Lets go," interjects the boy. Kurt looks up in time for the boy to jump to his feet.

"What do you mean?" ask Kurt, confused as the boy shuts the textbooks that were laid opened just seconds ago.

"Come on. Im taking you somewhere," says the boy.

"Where? We have work to do," says Kurt.

"Work can wait," says the boy. Before he could comprehend anything, the boy grasp him by his wrist and pulls him to his feet, and dragging him out the door.

"Where are we going?" again ask Kurt, both confused and a little fearful.

"Somewhere where you can let go of whatever angst you have inside that you refuse to tell me," says the boy.

--------

Blaine pulls up in the McKinleys parking lot. It was deserted except for one car which is probably the security guards vehicle. The school looks in a way tranquil as compared to its usual busy state. He glances to the passenger seat where the boy looks positively confused.

"Why are we here?" he ask in a wondrous intonation.

"I told you- somewhere for you to release whatever it is youre not telling me," says Blaine as he clambers out the car, the boy copying his actions.

"How is being in McKinley suppose to help? If anything it adds on to my stress," says the boy.

"So you admit youre stressed out about something," says Blaine, pulling a smirk at the boy whom sighs in defeat.

"Lance- I really just rather go home," says the boy.

"Look, I might not know whats going on, and as much as I want to know, I wont force it out of you, but I told you that I am your friend and you can count on me so were doing this," says Blaine. The boy blushes crimson, which was questionable, until he fully surrenders and follows Blaine to the back of the school, where the abandon garage is.

"This is creeping me out by the way," adds the boy.

"Rest assure, I wont do anything nor will I let anything happen to you," says Blaine as he pushes aside the wooden plank and enters the room. It was dark and empty, except for the light that was streaming in from the broken windows high above the walls.

The mat still covered every inch of the ground since the last practice with Jacob and his friends yesterday, except Blaine had added a new feature into the room somewhere late last night. A punching bag now hangs from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It floats there like a beacon of hope with the light bringing focus to it. He glances to the boy who has taken stance next to Blaine, whom watches the thing and scans the room as if it was the devils lair.

"What is this place?" ask the boy.

"A- secret workout room," says Blaine.

"And you know this how?" says the boy, unique set of eyes questioning him.

"Ill tell you that, after you take a whiff of that punching bag right there," says Blaine.

"Lance-"

"I just want to help, okay Kurt? I know youve been going through a lot and I know it gets unbearable sometimes, and I want to do what I can to help and, personally, working out is the best form of therapy. Give it a chance?" pleads Blaine. "For me?"

The boy looks reluctant for awhile, shoulders rising and falling in a regular pace as he inhales and exhales. He looks torn and a little frightful, but at the same time tempted to do it. He glances over at Blaine one last time, beautiful eyes holding an unknown thought until he takes a few steps towards it on his own as Blaine watches. He watches the thing as if it might come to life. His fingers reaches for the leather material, stroking it gently with the tips of his fingers until he produces a weak punch to the bag.

"There," says the boy. "Satisfied?"

"Not even close," says Blaine as he walks to the boy and takes stance on the opposite side. "Punch it like you mean it."

"Lance, I really dont see how this will do anything, not that Im insulting your methods to release whatever oppress anger you have, but punching a bean bag does nothing for me," stubbornly responds the boy.

"Morph your problems into a human figure- somebody you hate, like Puckerman or something. Visualize him to be the bag and punch him, Kurt," tries Blaine. He knew that even though the boy was hesitant and non-believing, he knew himself that this method worked.

The boy sighs heavily, his long legs rooted to the ground and arms by his side. He watches the thing, studying the material, his fingers twitching slightly until he punches it. It barely swings. The boy retracts his fist and massages it with his other hand. A frown on his face told Blaine that he wasnt having much fun, but he knew there was another tactic he could try. It was risky, but a part of him was desperate to help the boy- that part of his helping nature.

"Your mother was killed," says Blaine. The boys head snaps upwards, hypnotic eyes darting at Blaine. He wanted to take it back, but it was too late. He had to go on. "She was killed, brutally and mercilessly. They did not spare her, they did not consider whether she had a family or not. They stabbed her and left her there to bleed, left her alone on the ground- cold and alone as her soul slipped away from her lifeless body. Those men, whoever they were, did that to her. They left her to die, they took her way from you."

Kurts eyes were vacant as he stared at Blaine for what felt like the longest time. He stays rooted in his spot as if he was suffering from a temporary paralysis. Blaine did not know exactly if what he did was the wisest of moves, but he needed to force out the oppress anger the boy chose to lived with than let it out. Throwing a live grenade into the boys already sparking frustrations should do the trick.

A slight fire burns in the boys pupils in that instant. His shaped eyebrows furrow and his face practically burns a bright shade of red. The boy takes no second longer and punches the bag with all his might. It swings far to the back, but he wasnt done. A colony of punches follow suit- one after the other as he gives no time for the bag to oscillate half a pendulum.

Blaine stands aside as he watches the boy unravel of his own doing. He watches the face now plastered with a compilation of emotions from anguish, to sorrow. His watches those innocent eyes turn to one riddled with anger and hate. His fist comes crashing hard onto the heavy bean bag, his biceps flexes as he retracts and hits it again with utter force. His innocence is long gone and is now replaced with a vixen darker than the boy, as if his whole persona was replaced. His eyes look a distant, almost as if hes in another dimension. He gives no pity to the punching bag, that is until he slows down to a stop, breathing heavily as his eyes simply stare to the ground.

Blaine takes a step forward, standing in front of the boy who looks drained. "Im sorry," says Blaine. "It wasnt my place to bring something like that up. I just thought you needed an extra push."

"I hate you for doing that," says the boy. "But I cant deny that I needed it."

"Tell me whats wrong, Kurt," says Blaine. He takes a few heartbeats longer, breathing in and out, his body relaxing and stiffening.

"My father- just hasnt been the same. At first I thought he was mourning and that he couldnt stand being in the house, now I just feel like hes blatantly ignoring me and keep finding excuses to get away from me," tells the boy, his eyes swim in the pool of his sorrow. "I get not being able to be in the house sometimes, I feel the same way, but hes my father and hes the only family that I have left."

"Have you said that to him?" cautiously ask Blaine as he falls down to the mat, the boy shadowing him.

"I tried, but he snapped at me-"

"Is that why you were crying?" ask Blaine. The second the boy had pulled his front door open, he knew from the flushed cheeks and the red nose, not to mention the puffy eyes.

"You dont miss a thing, do you," says the boy as a force laughter emits from his swollen lips.

"I definitely dont miss obvious signs of someone who has been crying," says Blaine. "Give him some time, Im sure hell come around," says Blaine, laying a hand over the boys for comfort. Appropriate or not, he needed the boy to know that he wasnt alone.

"Are you gonna tell me about this place now?" ask the boy, jumping into a completely opposite topic. He stifles his nose and wipes the little tears on the corners of his eyes. He was trying to forget about it, and if that was what the boy wanted to do, he had to respect it.

"Can you keep a secret?" ask Blaine, twisting his lips into a playful smirk that earns a shy look from the boy. "I teach defense classes here."

"Defence classes?" says the boy, eyes quizzically at Blaine.

He knew he had told Jacob to keep it a secret and he did get slightly angry when those three kids had joined them without Blaines approval, but his conscience told him to tell Kurt about it- in hopes he would want to partake in his secret little after school club.

"I teach them to a few of the students in McKinley- most of which are victims of both physical and verbal abuse of the great and almighty Puckerman," says Blaine with a contrived sarcasm.

"Since when?" enquires Kurt.

"A few days? Maybe a week?" says Blaine.

"Why?" curiously ask Kurt. Blaine wonders briefly if the boy realized that their hands were still in an innocent embrace. He did not know if it was appropriate or not, but a part of him wished the boy would never realize.

"They wanted to learn how to defend themselves from Puckerman after seeing that video- the one of me and the football team-"

"Yes, well aware of that video," says the boy.

"Yeah, well they wanted to do the same, to stand up to the those boys and asked for my help. I agreed," says Blaine.

"But arent you afraid? If the football team found out about this, Im pretty sure theyll report it to the principal and seeing as the principal favors students with affluent families, shell shut your entire operation down. She might expel you even," says the boy.

"You dont take much risk in your life, do you?" says Blaine, chuckling slightly when the boy pouts. "The risk is worth it when its for a good cause, Kurt. These students came to me out of fear. I wasnt going to turn them around, nor did I want to. I want to help them, and if that means risking expulsion, so be it."

Blaine was being truthful. He was risking a lot by starting this secret fight club, and though he did have his fears, he would not take any of it back. He wanted to help Jacob and those other kids. If it meant jeopardizing whatever the CIA had to hide.

"Your bravery is truly admirable," says the boy, his head falling as he studies the gravel under his shoe.

"You could be too," says Blaine. "Join the alliance."

"The alliance?" snickers the boy. His eyes alight with a humorous gleam. "Like the Brotherhood in X-Men, fighting against humanity?"

"Ha ha," sardonically laughs Blaine. "No, like the X-Men ensemble, fighting to protect humanity."

"I dont know," shirts the boy. "Seems a little extreme to take secret fighting lessons-"

"Like I said- never taking risk," peoples Blaine, in which the boy simply rolls those cyan saucers of his. "Question- did it feel good when you punched that bag?"

Kurt takes a moment to himself as if contemplating his thoughts. He bites his lower lips, in which Blaine could not stop staring at. Those lips were swollen red as it is. "Yeah," says the boy.

"Imagine getting to release all that oppression. Imagine always being ready should somebody attack you. Imagine being- strong," says Blaine.

"Sounds intense," says the boy, his fingers twitching slightly underneath Blaines hand.

"I wont pressure you into anything, but all Im saying is- it might be good for you. To vent your anger, and also to be prepared should the need present itself," says Blaine trying to sell the possibility to the boy who simply looks conflicted. "Just think about it is all Im asking."

"I will," sighs the boy. "Thank you for this- I really needed to punch the life out of something."

"Next time Ill let you punch me," smiles Blaine.

"I dont think Id want to hurt you," says the boy. "Or I do."

"Is that a threat?" playfully smirks Blaine. The boy blushes crimson, his hand slightly quivering in their friendly embrace.

"Maybe," smiles the boy.

-----------

"There you are. Where have you been?" ask Carl as Blaine steps through the threshold of the secret CIA headquarters in Lima, Ohio.

"Doing my job, duh," says Blaine, a contrived irritable in his tone.

"Oh- okay, well while you were out, I managed to dig up Elizabeths file. Apparently she went to McKinley as well. Same year as Lucius in fact," tells Carl as he slides into one of his swirly chairs.

"Are you serious?" says Blaine as he processes this new facet of information. "What else do you know?"

"Well, I knew Elizabeth was your average student president, studious girl- very bright in science. Lucius was a delinquent- skipped school almost everyday and got expelled. Now information on whether they knew each other but they did take a few classes together. I dont think this helps much," says Carl.

"Well maybe we could track down the people in the same classes as the two and get more intel on whether they were friends or not," says Blaine. "There has to be some sort of connection, right? Otherwise he wouldnt have known anything about her at all. Have you found out who was the man who came before Lucius?"

"No clue. No finger prints whatsoever- or maybe there was but most were Lucius. You know the two calls he made in that phone booth? The other call was blocked. I had the data processed but it only state the number to Lima, to his nephew. The other number read Unknown. I dont know what the hell is going on, and that saying something," says Carl.

It was true. Carl was like a little weasel whom was able to get into anyones business with a flick of his finger. It was definitely peculiar that he has met roadblocks that he is not able to bypass.

"I checked with the director and even he finds it odd that the recent files of Lucius are under government protection. Its not very usual, in case you did not know," says Carl. "Im seriously getting frustrated with this mission. Its like the sources I need are blatantly concealed from me. I need to find out why, so for now I have no updates. You just have to get that flash drive, understood?" says Carl. From his stringent intonation, Blaine could tell he was serious.

"Got it," says Blaine. He needs to focus his attention of the mission. He needed to gain access to the home again and find what he needed to.

Retreating into the solitude of the bedroom, Blaine switches his phone on and goes to the application of the sticky camera that was installed into his phone. He pressed on the View Camera One button and the image of Kurts bedroom goes to the screen. It was empty, but the lights were turned on and some clothes laid on his king sized bed.

He wonders briefly if the flash drive was indeed hidden somewhere in the room. The boy claimed to not know anything of his mothers project, and even when Blaine searched the room himself he found nothing, but maybe it was hidden in a more careful place. Somewhere that it would not be too easy to find- even to the boy.

In that moment, the bathroom door in Kurts bedroom pulls open and out comes the boy with a towel wrapped around his waist and another hung around his neck. His hair was soaking and his face was fresh. Blaine couldnt help himself but to bring his attention to the boys bare torso. He was skinny, not much muscle there but he definitely leans towards a more lanky frame. He looked good nonetheless- almost, really good.

He knew he should turn it off- it was practically pornography, or an act of perversion but he couldnt. He found himself waiting for the next scene- he knew what is was, and he knew he should click on that lock screen button but his fingers stays rooted as he watches the boy drag away the towel from his neck and begins the tedious activity of drying his hair. The boy rest on the edge of his bed, thoroughly making sure the towel sucked out all the water from his hair until he stops, leans forward and throws his head back, allowing his thick, wet hair to sweep to the back.

The boy stands up then and walks to his vanity table and pulls out a few bottles and circular containers from the bottom drawer. Blaine did not understand why this was amusing, but it felt like he was getting a private reality show of the person he found most interesting. The boy takes his time massaging whatever product he laid out on the counter top onto his face. He looks serene and tranquil as he does this, as if it gave him some form of joy.

He takes a long look at the mirror then- simply staring as if he was trying to understand himself, as if he was trying to explain ever contour like in his face. It was definitely something Blaine found really odd for the boy to do, but at the same time he understand what he was doing- staring at himself, almost as if not recognizing the person that sits in the reflection. His shoulder give in as he rises from the stool and endeavours to his closet. In a swift second, he rips the towel from his waist and there stands the boy- buck nude.

His back was to the camera and at this point, Blaine was definitely sure he should click on that damn lock screen button, but he couldnt. His eyes were somehow locked to the boys naked figure. He was skinny- very skinny. His shoulder blades protrude out of his pale skin, his backbone vividly in place. It was a worrying sight, a sight that gave suspicion of his dietary. His but however, though his skinny frame, looked well toned and-- well, perky.

"Blaine!" shouts a sudden voice, breaking the silence of the dark room. Blaine fumbles with his phone and quickly tries to hide it away as if he was a fourteen year old boy almost getting caught with a playboy magazine. The door burst open and a fellow agent stands in the doorway. "Were ordering Chinese. Want anything?"

"Im good," responds Blaine, his cheeks burning for some reason. The agent gives nods before he shuts the door behind him.

Blaine did not understand what just happened or what he just felt as e watched the boy- invading the privacy of his sanctuary, but one thin was for sure- he definitely was not supposed to feel a sudden tightness in the crotch area of his slacks.

---------

"Good morning, dad," greets Kurt as he enters the kitchen to where his father, Burt Hummel, was sipping on a hot mug of coffee as he stares out he window that gives view of the empty backyard.

"Morning," monotonously responds his father, his back remains in Kurts view.

"Work today?" ask Kurt, though even he knew the answer to that question.

"Yes," responds his father.

"Late again, I presume," says Kurt, an obvious stab to his father. He wondered how far he could push his fathers buttons until the man finally caved.

"Dont start with, alright? I dont want to start my day off with another battle with you," says Burt as he empties his mug into the kitchen sink. He turns and for a momentary second, Kurt did not recognize the man that stood in front of him.

The man looked unkempt and unhealthy. His cheeks were shrunken in, the under portion of his eyes were dark and exhausted-looking, his eyes were red rimmed and watery but the most obvious trait was his untidy beard. His father always kept it clean or took really good care of his facial hair, now he could have passed for a homeless man if he wanted to, especially with the beaten up old cap, his shirt stained with grease and mustard.

"So you rather start your day off looking like you slept in the streets? Your call, father," says Kurt. He knew he was pushing limits, but if his father wanted to push him away, two can play it that way.

"Why do you just suddenly have a bone to pick with me, huh? Im doing my best-"

"Are you sure youre doing your best, dad? I mean, financially sure, but look at yourself and look where youre driving our relationship to," interrupts Kurt as he places his bag on the kitchen counter and sets his eyes straight to his father. "I get needing to grief, I get not being able to be in the house because of the amount of memories in here, but is starving, is deliberate insomnia, is working into the late hours of the night, is pushing your son away really doing your best?"

"You dont get to be the parent here!" exclaims Burt.

"Well clearly somebody has to because the only responsible parent I knew is dead!"

"Shut up!" yells Burt, and in a swift moment, he picks up his coffee mug and throws it hard against the wall. Kurt shields himself as it misses him by inches. The mug shatters and the shards of glass disperse into all directions, one of which cuts the upper side of Kurts hand. He winces in pain.

Burt Hummel looks absolutely horrified. His tired eyes wide and in disbelief as he watches his son back away from him, eyes riddled with fear as he grabs his satchel and runs out the door. He studied the shattered glass one the ground and realized that the mug wasnt the only thing broken in this house.

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"Sup, Lance my man," greets Jacob as he comes walking into the abandoned garage, his shadow cats following behind him.

"My man?" frowns Blaine. "What stupid movie did you get that from?"

"I thought it was original. Guess not," says the boy, but his attention is refocused to a particular object hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. "Why is there a punching bag here?"

"I had it installed," proudly tells Blaine. "I thought itd be a good practice for you guys."

"This must have cost a fortune," says the Asian kid, Phat. He traces his finger on the leather material, a broad smile plastered on his face.

"It was a steal, really," says Blaine because it really was. He had taken it from the small gym in the CIA hideout house because rarely anyone used it.

"I know exactly whose face I want to pin on this thing," says Jacob. He throws a punch on the thing and immediately emits a high pitches shriek. "What is in there? Brass?"

"Beans, you idiot," chuckles Blaine. "It hurts because youre not punching it the right way."

"A demonstration would be nice," says the red nosed boy Jeremy Rudolph.

Blaine shrugs and proceeds to take stance before the punching bag. He has done this countless of times because boxing is truly the best form of venting out your anger. He punches the bag repetitively, and in all angles as the boys watch in admiration. "Make sure you have your fingers clenched together in a solid fist before you punch it otherwise itll earn you a ticket into the emergency room for broken fingers."

Blaine notices the three new kids, Marley, Tina and Artie huddled in the corner talking about something that seemed very much important. They looked invested in the topic with very occasional laughter coming from their small clique.

"Whats going on?" ask Blaine as he approaches the group. The girl Marley immediately blushes crimson for some reason.

"Were just talking about the McKinleys annual Movie Under The Stars event thats coming up," says the boy in the wheelchair, Artie. He dons a light blue sweater with an inner white shirt with brown trousers for his bottoms.

"Movie under the stars? Whats that?" ask Blaine.

"Exactly what it sounds like," says the girl, Tina. "Every year, McKinley holds this event for the students to kind of relax and take a chill pill or something before final term tests commence- though most of the students take something more illicit than a chill pill that night. Its a pretty innocent night of movies and popcorn."

"But the fun doesnt start until after the movie," says the boy, Artie, in which the two other girls pull a mysterious smirk as well.

"What do you mean?" ask Blaine.

"Well, of course the event itself is pretty cool, but the students have a less innocent and a more unconventional way of celebrating this event," says Artie. "See, this is the last event before our finals and after that its senior prom and then its all over. The students take this night as a stress reliever, so after the movie ends, everyone will venture deep into the forest, the one behind the football field where if you follow the hanging lanterns, it will lead you to a clearing where therell be music and booze and a bonfire. Everyones invited."

"And the teachers know nothing about this?" ask Blaine.

"As far as they know, were all back at home cramming for exams after the event ends, but really were partying till dawn," tells the boy Artie. His eyes are filled with the same excitement as friends. "We call it Wasted Under The Stars."

"Sounds promising," sardonically says Blaine. He wondered why teenagers these days loved to put themselves into such dangerous positions- a wild party deep in the woods sounds like the perfect opportunity for some creep to rape and kill some underage girls.

"Are you going?" ask Marley. She looks and sounds hopeful.

"Doubt so. When is it anyway?"

"This Friday night," says Artie. "You dont want to miss it, trust me."

"A party in the woods. Let me guess, Puckerman started it?" ask Blaine, because who else would come up with such a idiotic tradition such as this. He hasnt known the boy for too long, but something told him that the jock was the kind who would throw stupid parties like this as an excuse to get his dirty dick up a hole.

"Yup," says Artie. "Its the only genius thing I would ever admit that he has done."

"Whatever you say, kiddo," says Blaine, because as interesting as that event sounded like, he couldnt be bothered to mark his attendance. "Were about to start by the way, so everyone partner up."

The students fall in pairs, each on the opposite side of the mat. They look nervous as they wait for the lesson to begin. "Were gonna take turns fighting a punching bag today. Whats going to happen is youre going to stand and your partner will swing the bag to you. What you have to do is punch it back to your partner, and this cycle continues. Were gonna take turns, so while one pair is doing this, the rest practice the moves you know."

"How is this helpful again?" ask Jeremy.

"Its suppose to train your arm strength and exercises your focus on incoming attacks-"

In that moment, silence falls over the room and all attention goes to the wooden plank that act as their door. It is pushed away, scraping the gravel floor. The light that streams in simply draws out the silhouette of the person, but shows no identity whatsoever of his face. That is, until he places the plank again and nervously walks forward, clutching the straps on his messenger bag.

"Hi," says a gentle familiar voice the second he comes into focus. "Id like to join, if youre still recruiting," says Kurt Hummel.

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