Burt Hummel heard about Will Schuester a few months after the accident, sometime after Kurt's ninth birthday. They were living in a motel at that point, on the outskirts of Ohio. Burt was working part time at mechanics shop when the man found him. He wouldn't give Burt his name, but when he thought back on it, Burt realised he owed him everything. There was something about the stranger that Burt trusted. Maybe it was his eyes, or the way he tousled Kurt's hair as he passed.

"Self control is a skill that not many acquire, Mr. Hummel." He'd said, his voice gruff and warm, "There's a fine line between good and evil. All we can do is master our impulses and hope for the best." He leaned forward, "Accidents do happen, but they can be avoided with a little self control. Do you get me? Accidents can be avoided. There are no such thing as monsters, Mr. Hummel. Only people." It was only after he'd left that Burt noticed the card on the counter:

William Schuester
Educator and biologist
13 Racer street,
Lima, Ohio

At the time, he didn't know if he could trust the guy, but it was all he had. His wife was gone. His son's safety compromised. He had nothing left to lose.

He made his way to Lima.

He'd seen it on the news plenty of times: Parents, handing over their infants to the authorities for extermination. Teenagers arrested and put to death without question. Human beings flipping over cop cars with their bare hands, running, running, before being gunned down by the police.

He heard the words and adjectives they used: Vicious. Inhuman. Mutants. Dangers to society. Kill on sight. Monsters.

He would hear these words and turn cold. Because these words were about his son.

His Kurt. His precious Kurt, who wouldn't hurt a fly if he could help it. Vicious. Who was scared of spiders and the dark. Inhuman. His Kurt, who would cry and apologise every time he used his powers. Dangerous. Every time he caught fire, sat in the bathtub and tried to let the water extinguish him. Kill on sight.

His Kurt.

Monster.

It was a parched morning in summer that Burt first met Will Schuester. When his truck had pulled up in front of the address he hadn't known quite what he'd expected, but he supposed this was it. The front lawn was dry and yellowing, the paint was peeling off the door. For a moment he regretted ever listening to that stranger. He didn't even know the guy's name. The state of the house before him wasn't very condusive to hope, but Burt supposed this was all the chance he had. He made his way up the cracked garden path and knocked on the door.

Burt glanced left and right, as though waiting for a police car to come speeding down the street and arrest him. The door opened.

Will Schuester was a strange man: his house (distinctly more comforting on the inside than out) was cool and clean, and filled with an assortment of potted plants. He knew more about biology than any professor Burt had ever met; he only ever wore vests, and he never ever spoke about his brother. When Burt mentioned the picture on Will's old fridge, the man just chuckled sadly and refused to meet his eye, "He was a good man, Mr. Hummel. No matter what they tell me."

It was a slow process to determine whether he could trust Will. One false move and this man could have the cops at his door, ready to take Kurt away from him. But Schuester was smart, and he was patient, and he was everything Kurt Hummel needed.

"They treat mutants like animals. Like a disease." Will had said, late one night, as he passed Burt a beer, "When you show that kind of hate, and violence towards someone – especially children - how can you not expect it in return? Mutants are not evil: not my brother and not your son. But if you showed Kurt that kind of fear and hatred? Refused to love him and beg for his blood? Sure. We'd see him on the evening news, murdering the people who tried to murder him first.

"I became a teacher," he said in a low voice, leaning closer so Burt could hear, "because I wanted this to end. I wanted to find every mutant child I can, and I want to show them that they are not evil, and that they're special. I want to prove to the world what these kids could be. The world treats them like villains. But they could be heroes."

And so it began: Burt Hummel and Will Schuester, underground rebels fighting for the mutant cause. They decided to call the group New Directions: kids following a new path to becoming more than what society expected of them.

Burt never found out how it was that the word spread, and Will never told him, but sure enough families began to trickle into Lima. They came from all over America, each with a different story: Mrs. Fabray had left her husband in Houston when she'd found out about her little girl's unnatural affinity to water; the Berrys had been shocked to discover the perfect little girl they had adopted was moving objects with her mind. They trickled in from all over: the Changs and Cohen-Changs, the Pierces and the Joneses, old Mrs. Lopez and her granddaughter Santana.

The families never spoke to each other in public; they ran in different circles. It was better that way, should one of them be caught. Their children seemed grow up in their own separate worlds: no playdates or games in the park. Nothing to suggest that every Tuesday and Thursday - as everyone went home from school and work – New Directions would meet in secret beneath McKinley High School, in the only safe place they knew. Burt wasn't sure how long ago this basement had been built (Will said it had been a makeshift bomb shelter in the fifties before everyone had forgotten about it) but it was the perfect lair. There were several large, concrete rooms, perfect for a bunch of supernaturally gifted kids to run around in. They managed to sneak in some old couches, bookshelves and even a mini fridge to add to the kitchenette Burt had built in the main room. With people their own age they could trust, the kids could be themselves and exercise their abilities without being caught. It was their very own slice of freedom.

It was around this time that Burt met Carole. She was just a single mom from Lima, and Burt liked her instantly. They'd meet sometimes while picking up their kids from school, or at parent teacher meetings, but nothing more. There was only so many people Burt could trust with his son's life, and no matter how lovely Carole looked in denim, she wasn't one of them. Burt would live alone and never marry again if it meant losing Kurt.

So of course, when Carole invited Kurt over for a play date with Finn, the worst had to happen. Burt wasn't sure how it had happened (something to do with Carole insisting he try ice-cream), but Kurt had ended up locking himself in the Hudson's bathroom, burning their bath towels to smithereens.

"It was too cold! I couldn't help it! I'm sorry!" Kurt had sobbed when his dad arrived. When Carole had called him he was sure he'd very nearly died from dread.

"Hey, Carole, is something up?"

"Um, actually Burt, I think you should come over...Kurt's locked himself in the bathroom...it smells like something's burning..."

"Please, Carole," he'd begged, as he lifted a hysterical Kurt into his arms and hurried for the door, "he's a good kid, I swear, don't tell anybody, I will do anything."

"Burt, stop!" she'd yelled, hurrying after him to get to the door first. Finn was peaking into the hall from the kitchen, his face pale, "it's okay, I get it, just stop."

Burt whirled around to face her, "I know what they say, Carole. I know what you're thinking and you're wrong - "

"I know." She'd said. "I understand, Burt. If there's anyone on the planet who could understand how you feel, it's me. Just listen."

And that was how New Directions had stumbled upon Finn Hudson, a boy with more strength in his left pinkie than most weight-lifters would ever dream of. "My mom says we're like superheroes!" Finn had said, and Kurt had smiled. Neither of them really believed it, but it was a nice idea.

Burt and Carole were married a year later. "I guess there really is someone for everyone, hey champ?" Burt had laughed, wrapping an arm around his sons shoulder. Kurt had smiled and nodded, and hoped it were true.

In Kurt's first year of Junior High, Will and Burt happened upon step number two.

It began innocently enough: Will mentioning a colleague of his running for congress. For congress. It was the perfect opportunity. Burt was the perfect candidate. He was the everyman: he owned a small business; he was a father; he was intelligent; he wore flannel shirts. Voters would relate to him, they would love him. Burt Hummel's political career began with a bang.

He talked about the importance of arts programs in schools, and the importance of the working class voters. He wasn't religious and he wasn't fanatical. In his first year of office, he didn't mention the mutants once.

It happened on the first day of Kurt's freshman year. It had been a miserable day, to say the least. It was the day Kurt and all the other losers in his class were introduced to slushies.

Kurt immediately hated slushies. He was almost traumatised by them. The first time it happened he almost thought he wouldn't make it into the bathrooms before the icy cold drink overwhelmed him. It was freezing. It was beyond cold. He wanted to burst into a ball of orange flames then and there just to make it go away.

But he didn't. Instead, he tearfully called his father and asked him to come pick him up. He was shivering so violently he could barely type the number. The first day of high school and he barely lasted three hours.

Later that day at New Directions it took all of Mr. Schuester, Mercedes, Brittany and Tina to calm him down enough to convince him to go back to school the next day.

"I know it's hard, particularly for you," Mr. Schuester had said, softly, "You can barely stand the cold at the best of times. I wish I could be there all the time to stop them but I can't. This is a test for you, Kurt. You can stand this just like all the other kids. You can control this."

Tina and Mercedes sat on either side of him, rubbing his arm and resting their heads on his shoulders. Then Rachel stormed in, in tears.

"They know! They know about me, I'm positive!" She wailed.

"What?" said Finn and Mr. Schuester simultaneously. Finn had jumped to his feet.

"Th-they threw a slushie at me in the hallway!" Rachel sobbed, "and they called me a freak! How did they know?"

Everyone calmed down dramatically, "its okay, Rachel, they slushied me too." Kurt said sadly. "It was just senseless bullying."

Rachel sat down in an armchair and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her stained kitten sweater. "Oh. It's just...when they said I was a freak I naturally assumed they meant my powers, and..."

"Naturally assumed?" said Mr. Schuester, frowning. "That is the last natural assumption a person could make about any of you. You listen here guys: You are not freaks. You guys are the most talented, unique people I know."

"Yeah, Rachel," said Finn quickly, "we're not freaks. We're like superheroes!"

"Superheroes?" said Mike. "What? Like we fight crime?"

"No, man. We just – like – we just have these awesome superpowers and we keep our identities hidden. We're like comic book heroes." said Finn.

"Dude that is so. Awesome." said Sam, eyes wide, "we should totally become superheroes! We'd be like the Justice league!"

"Hell yes!" said Mike.

"I am so in," said Tina, "I don't have to be a comic book nerd to know superheroes are awesome."

"I want to be a kitty cat." Said Brittany, and everyone paused for a moment to stare at her. There was an immediate barrage of excited conversation.

"Woah, woah, guys!" said Mr. Schuester, waving his arms for silence, "you guys are not going out to fight crime. It's dangerous and there are police for that."

"Aw, c'mon, Mr. Schue." Drawled Santana, "Like you said, we're gifted. Criminals wouldn't stand a chance against us. We're more of a danger to them than they are to us, especially if they were to meet Auntie Snicks."

Everybody nodded emphatically.

"Santana's right," said Quinn. She was leaning against one of the kitchenette's counter, levitating an orb of water from the sink. "You always tell us that we're special and talented, and that we can be good and not evil. It's all a very nice idea and whatever, but isn't this a way for us to prove that? That we can stop crime and not perpetrate it?"

"Using our powers for the forces of good." grinned Sam.

And it just snowballed from there. It felt good, finally, to be doing something useful. To prove to the world – even in secret – that they were more than just violent fiends. They could prove that their powers weren't something to be ashamed of, or scared of. That they had a purpose in the world beyond destruction.

Kurt and Mercedes made them costumes, Mike taught them Kung-Fu. Santana taught them self-defense, and the art of picking locks. Finn and Mike would listen to their football jock friends, trying to get as much information about the underworld as possible (this was where Finn's friendship with Noah Puckerman became particularly useful). Tuesdays and Thursdays became practice days, as they learned to harness their powers for better use in hand to hand combat.

Mr. Schuester also fully utilised his mysterious network of strangers and acquaintances to find them Artie Abrams. "Fully capable and totally trustworthy" was what Mr. Schuester had called him. By day, just another band geek and AV nerd, Artie Abrams was a veritable prodigy with technology. Suddenly he had bugs all over Lima, gathering information from almost everywhere. They had hi-tech equipment for surveillance and reconnaissance. He could also rap like a mother.

The police could never be sure how it was that highly wanted criminals would end up mysteriously on their doorstep, and they didn't have the ungrateful enough to bother asking.

And suddenly they weren't just a bunch of freaks and misfits anymore. Suddenly they weren't hiding from the world like wounded animals. They were making a difference.

They were heroes.