Blaine was walking into the locker room after fitness when he saw them: the same guys who had pushed him into the lockers outside glee club a few weeks ago. He'd learnt after overhearing some kids in his chemistry class, that their names were David Karofsky and Azimio Adams. It didn't take Blaine long to suss out their motives for being McKinley's most notorious bullies.

They were both clearly idiots, for starters. They targeted dorks and nerds because they felt threatened, and didn't want to look as stupid as they really were. The white kid with the brown hair, Karofsky, he was so painfully gay. Blaine didn't believe in any of that 'gay-dar' crap, but when someone so obviously avoids eye contact with any other guys in the locker room when changing, he was blatantly terrified that his friends would leave him, just because he was gay: so he picked on 'fags', to prove to his friends that he wasn't one.

As for the other one, he came from a kind of family who were very… how to put it… proud of their heritage: they didn't let the past slide. He picked on kids to prove he was just as good as them, with a kind of 'back in the 60s your family treated mine like crap, so now I'm going to treat you the same way' sort of persona. While partially insecure about his weight and the fact that none of the cheerleaders wanted to date him, he felt that picking on weaker kids would make him feel better.

Blaine knew about Adams' family background after he was called up in history class to read his essay to his peers. They could write about anything – it was their own choice, it just had to be about history. Azimio didn't tell Blaine anything he didn't already know; practically his entire paper was copied and pasted from Wikipedia. Blaine, however, didn't follow the crowd and write about American history, he wrote his essay on the Holocaust.

Adams and Karofsky were laughing to themselves over the opposite side of the room, watching Blaine as he made his way over to his locker. He turned the lock, completing the combination and pulling it open. Blaine pulled out his backpack, placing it on the bench and heard snickering from behind him. He turned.

"What is your problem, asshole?" Their laughing ceased at once and Blaine knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"What'd you just say?" Dave stepped forward and Azimio placed an arm over his chest to stop him advancing.

"Nothing," Blaine muttered, trying to refocus his attention on getting his clothes out of his bag.

"No, I think he called you an asshole!" Azimio stepped forward to join his friend. They exchanged a glance before walking in Blaine's direction. He felt sure that they were going to punch him or something, leaving him with another bruise to add to his growing collection, and put his arms up to cover his face, waiting for the someone's fist to impact his body. But it never came.

He looked up to see that the jocks had snatched his backpack from the bench and were now rummaging through his belongings, chucking things on the floor as they went. Blaine grimaced as various CDs, books and his clothes were thrown onto the damp tiles of the locker room floor. Trying to get his stuff back was useless. He'd just pick it up after they got bored – not finding anything of interest or value to them.

"So, we have some bullshit CDs, a stupid book and oh, what's this…?" Karofsky put his meaty hand into the bag and pulled out a small, clear bottle made from yellow tinted plastic, filled with white pills. Shit.

He read from the label on the bottle. "L-U-V-O-X," he spelt it out, before attempting to say it properly. "Lou-vox. What the fuck are these?" Dave said, shoving the bottle into Azimio's hands.

"They look like some kind of crazy pills or something…"

"So, you're a nutcase and a faggot? That's right, I saw you getting all snuggly with lady-pants Hummel on Friday night, down at the bowling alley. Were you two on your first date?" Adams made kissy sounds as Karofsky clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes. Blaine tried a half assed attempt at getting his stuff back, but Azimio held them high above his head. "He only likes you because you're his only option. Tell me seriously; do you like looking at my ass?" The laughed and Blaine felt the anger boil up inside him. He stood on the bench, moved to grab the bottle but knocked the pills out of the other boy's hand. Blaine watched in despair has the medication went flying through the air, and spilt all over the floor.

As he rushed to pick them up, quickly stuffing any he could grasp back into the bottle, he heard the briefly stifled laughter continue. Blaine sniffed, wiping his nose on his hand and moving to pick up the rest of his possessions.

"No one wants you here, Freak. Everyone hates you."

Blaine had nothing last period; he would have gone home but he had Glee. He decided he'd go to the library, get his homework done now so he could spend his free evening playing Doom and working on his third batch of pipe bombs. The previous sets had been okay, but the crickets had been the best so far. They were the easiest to make, too. Sadly, they did the least damage.

He got there, put his bag down on the table, and that's when he saw Kurt. He wasn't drawing attention to himself; he was just sat at his own table, quietly reading the book placed in front of him. He kept his head down, seemingly engrossed in his reading to anyone passing by.

"Kurt?" He didn't hear Blaine at first; absorbed in his own little world, consumed by his thoughts, so Blaine repeated himself. "Kurt?" This time a little louder, picking up his backpack and dumping it on the table in front of the other boy.

Kurt jumped slightly, gripping the edge of his book and looking around, panic stricken, before focusing on Blaine. In the split second before Kurt buried his head in his book again, Blaine could see that the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose were red, and since it was October, he doubted that it was hay fever. On further observation, Blaine could see that Kurt wasn't wearing his usual attire of a jacket or a blazer, with a shirt and a tie, but a plain black t-shirt and navy blue jeans. He didn't seem to have anything else with him.

"Hi," that was all that he said.

"Hey," Blaine pulled out the chair opposite Kurt. They kept meeting this way – Kurt would be sitting and Blaine would join him. "Are you okay?" He wasn't very good with the whole crying shebang, but Kurt was his best friend, and he needed him to trust him.

"What does it look like?" Kurt sniffed. As sarcastic as ever, Blaine noted.

"What happened?" He tried to sound as concerned as possible.

"Just some guys slushied me before pushing me into some lockers, it's no big deal." Liar. When Kurt looked up, Blaine saw it again, the flash of anger; the volcano ready to erupt. This time it was mixed with sadness: A kind of hopelessness, despair, desolation.

"No, no, Kurt, it is a big deal. What happened to your clothes?"

"Well, the blue colouring doesn't come out of fabrics, and I chose a really bad day to wear white." He shrugged it off, but it was getting to him, and Blaine could see it.

"Material possessions won't get you far in this shithole we call life."

"I know." His knuckles were white where he was gripping the hardback cover of his book harder than he was probably aware of.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know if you know them," he hesitated. "Their names are Azimio Adams and Dave Karofsky, but Blaine, you can't tell the principle or anyone –"

"Fuck," Blaine spat out, under his breath.

"What?" Kurt tilted his head in question.

"Those bastards stole my meds and held them where I couldn't reach, and I couldn't do anything about it." He huffed, crossing his arms. Blaine was trying to get Kurt angry, but he seemed to reignite his own fury from earlier in the day.

"Blaine, this is more serious than me getting my clothes dirty: you should tell someone." Kurt appeared genuinely worried.

"No, you just said yourself, no one cares: they wouldn't do anything about it because they favour people who fit in. In their eyes, we're asking for it."

"I just wish there was a way to make them pay for all the shit I have to endure every single fucking day of my life, you know?" It was more of out loud musing, than an actual question, but Blaine dithered before deciding to reply.

"Maybe there is…"

There is an everlasting contrast – the fight between good and evil. All you need to do is pick up a history book and there it is, laid out before you. You pick your side, and you just hope that it picks you back. He didn't want to push his luck, but this was the decider. Kurt had to pick, was he with him, or against him?

"What? Like… revenge?" Bullseye.

Blaine had these grandiose ideas of what he was going to do to get his friend out of a first storey window, but when he arrived at the address Kurt has given him, it turned out that his lived in a bungalow, thus making all his plans useless. Neither the less, there he was, sat in a tree, throwing pebbles at his partner in crime's bedroom window, feeling very much like a character from a cheesy rom-com.

The whole idea of hiding in the tree was to save questioning in case anyone was to walk past and ask about their plans. However, Blaine didn't really think through what he would do with his car once he got there, so he just left it outside the house; voiding the whole tree-plan. If such an event did arise, Blaine was 110% certain he would be able to lie. He could convince them that he was going to climb Mount Everest, or that he had a twin brother growing out of his back. He could make them believe anything.

He heard the sound of a window slowly sliding open, and somebody whispering his name in the darkness. Blaine tried to be smooth, and climb down from the tree so he actually looked like one of those douchebags from the movies, but ended up landing rather ungracefully on his ass with a dull thud. Kurt chuckled at Blaine's uncoordinated entrance, and he gave Kurt a playful scowl in return before they both headed back to his car, setting off on their first mission.

It was Kurt who had given Blaine, Karofsky's address. He said he'd put it on Facebook, and didn't enable any of the safety features available on the site. Honestly, how stupid can people be? It's like they want to be targets, just begging to be shot.

Blaine stopped the car and checked his watch: 01:34am. Perfect.

"Right, we're going to leave the car here and walk the next few hundred meters so any passers-by can't identify my car, okay?" Blaine confirmed. Kurt nodded. "Get the bag."

He popped the trunk and let Kurt pick up the black duffel bag. In the meantime, Blaine went into the glove box on the passage side of his Prelude and grabbed a small, hand-held video camera.

"What's that for?" Kurt asked as he reappeared next to him.

"I want to record everything that happens from here on in. It'll be like our own little documentary: Directors will be fighting over this story one day. Who would you rather have direct your life, Spielberg or Tarantino?" Blaine raised his eyebrow and stared at Kurt. It was a serious question, but the other boy just laughed along with him.

Personally, Blaine would choose Tarantino. Sure, Spielberg made some classics; he'd be great at capturing the tragedy of the Judgement Day, but would probably make Blaine and Kurt out to be some kind of 'star crossed lovers'. Blaine would make sure that Spielberg knew that he thought about that matter: What one person thought about true love can be just other cheap thrill to another. Tarantino, on the other hand, had taken some kind of role in making some of Blaine's favourite movies of all time: Inglorious Bastards, Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers – that man knew the true meaning of entertainment.

They began to walk. Blaine had swapped with Kurt, in terms of carrying items. He was now carrying the duffle bag and a flash light, and Kurt was filming him as they idled down the road. Kurt thought it was mildly amusing that Blaine turned up green on the screen of the camera. "Night vision isn't usually funny," he said. "But it makes you look like the Hulk or something." That made Blaine laugh. Then he made a joke about how it would be more fun turning up at Karofsky's with a shotgun which surprisingly made Kurt laugh, too.

"Quick, down here!" Blaine pulled on Kurt's sleeve so they were both crouching behind the bushes which surrounded Karofsky's front yard. He lived in the kind house you'd expect anyone of those jock-assholes to live in: big and fancy. Symmetrically structured, with three floors and a basement which was converted especially so their only son could hold parties where there would be lots of alcohol and girls. Blaine wondered what Karofsky's parents would do if they found out their son was gay, and then wondered what his parents would do in the same situation.

They had planned to target Dave's Range Rover he drove into school every day; always shining like he'd stolen the polish for the crown jewels. But when they looked over to the driveway, it wasn't there.

"Fuck, he actually has the brains to lock the thing away at night." Blaine whispered, angrily.

"Wanna break into the garage and see if it's in there?" Kurt suggested.

"And risk getting caught; being arrested for breaking and entering a ruining this entire mission? Come on, Kurt, I don't think so." Kurt insisted it was only a suggestion, but still looked a little apologetic. "No, no, we stick to plan B."

Blaine dragged the bag closer and shoved aside any things they'd planned to use to smash up Karofsky's car, pulling out a carton of eggs.

"Blaine, these smell so bad, how long have you had these?"

"Just a few weeks or so – long enough so that they smell like the boy's locker room." Kurt laughed, as Blaine offered him the first throw. He pulled his arm back and threw it has hard as he could, so it smacked against the brickwork with a quiet crack. He looked back at Blaine as both of them smiled at each other in triumph before continuing to pelting the house with eggs.

Blaine put on a high, whiney voice to imitate Mrs Karofsky, placing both hands on his chest and batting his eye lashes. "David, come quickly! Somebody has covered our house with something that smells like your socks! Whatever shall we do?"

Kurt laughed. "It's getting close to Halloween, I mean; it's not our fault if your house isn't egg-proof."

"Yeah, trick or treat motherfuckers!" He half whispered, half shouted.

They managed to get through two dozen eggs before one of the upstairs lights switched on and Blaine made the hasty decision that they should make a run for it. By the time they had made it to the safety of Blaine's Prelude, both boys were still laughing, and wheezing slightly from the sprint back to the car.

On the drive back to Kurt's house, they exchanged various 'that was fucking awesome's and 'I can't wait to see Karofsky's face tomorrow's, before discussing who they'd like to be the victim of their next mission. Blaine plugged his iPod into the jack on the stereo and I Am What I Am by KMFDM came on shuffle. Kurt said that it was 'their song' because it outlined how 'normal' people saw kids like them. Blaine corrected him by saying that's how the zombies saw them. Kurt agreed.

When Blaine pulled up on the curb he checked his watch again: 02:17am. Kurt got out the car, walked found to the driver's side and waited for Blaine to roll down the window.

"You know, before I met you, I never would have dreamed of doing anything like this – but now I see; this is what they deserve. You showed me that we're so much better than all of them and I just wanted to say thanks, I guess." Kurt scuffed his feet on the pavement before bending down and giving Blaine a chaste kiss on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine." And with that, he was gone.