The air was thick with sweat and exhaust, hearts beating fast, breaths stuck in throats. Ragged. Groans echoed through the empty air of the warehouse, voices whispering, betting, hands writing down numbers on papers, accepting money. Dalton blazers were thrown in a heap on the ground, getting dirty there, Kurt thought, as he stood watching in the shadows. He still couldn't believe Blaine had dragged him to this. To watch the boys beat each other up, to cheer and laugh and applaud bruised ribs and bloody lips. And Blaine got hurt a lot. A lot. At first, Kurt had been horrified, watching in terror when Blaine just fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands. But Kurt realized that it was part of the thrill. It was what motivated them all to continue, to push harder, to be better. But there was something scary about it all. How Blaine's eyes turned a shade darker as soon as he walked into this place. How he never smiled, how he looked at Kurt like they were on some kind of team, some kind of killer team, something evil, something harsh.

Kurt watched as Blaine stepped into the ring of Dalton boys. His tee shirt was stained with blood and dirt, memories of past fights. The boys cheered when Wes stepped forward, giving Blaine a quick glance before bowing his head a little. Someone started to count down, Kurt wasn't sure who, but the voice was steady and horribly serious. "Three, two, one. Fight." Kurt closed his eyes when both boys leapt at each other and all he could hear was Blaine's breath, fast and hard, and Kurt didn't want to look, he just didn't want to look. Grunts. Quick steps and horrible sounds of fists meeting skin. A smack echoed through the air when Wes's fist hit Blaine's cheek, knocking him down, completely taking his breath away. Kurt's eyes opened in shock. Blaine curled to the side there on the blood stained concrete floor, long dark eyelashes clumped together with blood. Wes kept jumping from one foot to another, urging Blaine to get up, to come on, to fight the fight. But Blaine groaned, pressing his face in agony against the floor.

Kurt's eyes filled with tears where he stood in the darkness. This was horrible. This was horrid. Blaine had told him not to let his emotions take over in there, but Kurt couldn't watch this anymore. He couldn't watch Blaine crying there in the middle of a ring of Dalton boys. Rushing over and kneeling down next to his boyfriend, Kurt touched his cheek, smudging blood across Blaine's smooth skin. Gasping, Kurt looked at his fingers. He'd never had someone else's blood on them. And now he had Blaine's. "Blaine, get up," Kurt gasped, pulling him up, hugging him close. The others were moving frustrated around him, telling him to get out of the ring, to move, to let them finish. But Kurt felt Blaine's weak breath against his chest. This had to stop.

"Just let them fucking finish this, Kurt," someone said somewhere to Kurt's right. Kurt recognized the voice. It was the one who had done the countdown. The tears in Kurt's eyes fell over the edge, watching how the boys around him practically buzzed with hatred, anger, excitement, it was all so scary. "No," Kurt said, mostly to himself, "We're leaving."

And they got up. On shaky, tired legs they got up, Blaine clinging to Kurt as the taller boy led the way out of there. Blaine's Dalton blazer forgotten there on the floor. A cut on Blaine's cheek looked painful and gross and Kurt wanted to take him home. But the rule forbid him to. "There's one rule," Blaine had said weeks before, "Never talk about the fight club." His eyes had been serious and his lips had been parted and his cheeks had blushed, and Kurt had looked at him like he'd been out of his mind. But Blaine had been serious. Never ever talk about the fight club, or bad things would happen. So instead of taking him home, instead of taking him to a hospital, Kurt took Blaine to a motel. There he cleaned his wounds and watched in horror when Blaine's eyes glazed over with fever.

It took Blaine four days to recover. Four days of groaning in agony and four days of Kurt having to call in sick for both of them. It was four days of telling his dad that he was staying at Blaine's, and four days of telling Blaine's dad that Blaine was staying with Kurt. But most of all, it was Blaine's dark eyes glazed with pain, begging Kurt to help him when Kurt had no idea what to do. Kurt had realized that Blaine probably had a few broken ribs. Gross bruises spread down Blaine's side. And on the fourth day, they checked out and Blaine didn't utter a word. It bothered Kurt how Blaine hadn't said much at all during those days, even when he was getting better. And as Kurt drove him home, Blaine didn't even look at him. "How are you feeling?" Kurt asked when he'd pulled over in front of Blaine's house, but Blaine got out of the car without answering. "Blaine?"

Rushing after him, Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand. "Blaine? Blaine, what's wrong?"

"I really wish you hadn't pulled me out of there," Blaine practically spat, pulling away from Kurt's hand. "All I've fought for. It's all gone now, Kurt."

Kurt stood speechless.

"It's not a game, Kurt. It's reality. It's what I do, it's what I need to do. And I've told you before, you don't get to be emotional in there. We fight. That's what we do. We fight until one of us can't fight anymore. You don't interfere." Blaine shook his head and turned his back to Kurt, whose eyes were filled with tears.

"But you were hurt, Blaine."

To that, Blaine walked away. He walked up to his house and never turned back to look at his boyfriend. He never saw Kurt stand there completely broken. He never heard the sobs of his boyfriends' tearful breath.

Kurt drove away from Blaine's house, not sure what to think. He couldn't understand Blaine, he couldn't understand how fighting someone was something to be proud of. Never had he thought that something like this would come between them. A fight club? That night, Kurt couldn't sleep. He sat in his bed consumed by his thoughts, wondering how something like this could take over someone's life. He walked in a haze for days, suddenly wishing he hadn't transferred back to McKinley only so he could see Blaine at Dalton without having to explain himself. He just couldn't get over the hate within Blaine.

Weeks went by and Kurt was starting to think he'd never see Blaine ever again. Everything was horrible, everything was dull and sad and he wasn't happy. Without Blaine in his life, Kurt felt like he'd lost something very important. Something that had taken him forever to finally find, and only a fight to lose. He missed him. Tremendously.

Getting his coffee at Lima Bean felt horrible. Suddenly, he couldn't think of a single time he'd been there without Blaine and he ordered a medium drip just to say those words, pretending he liked that order. And then suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. "Well, if it isn't Kurt Hummel." Kurt froze. His whole body stiffened, lips parting in a gasp. That voice. He knew it. He heard it every night when he went to sleep. Just let them fucking finish this, Kurt. That horrible fight club voice. Kurt turned around.

"I don't believe I've introduced myself," the voice said, reaching his hand out for Kurt to shake, "I'm Sebastian Smythe. Dalton. Warbler. I believe I know your ex-boyfriend."

A sudden rush of nausea washed over him and he couldn't stop looking at this boy's face. It had gloat written all over it, he was actually enjoying this. Who was this kid anyway? Kurt turned back to take his coffee from the counter.

"You have no idea how good Blaine is," Sebastian said, smiling horribly, and Kurt turned towards the door. Getting out of there was the one thing he could think about right now. "We're ranked the same, Blaine and I. I'm going to end him."

Kurt's body shivered and he wanted to stop and turn to this asshole and tell him to stop talking about his boyfriend like he wasn't the most amazing person Kurt had ever met. This fight club was ruining Blaine's life.

"Thursday. Midnight. Be there. If you want to see your ex bleed."

Minutes later, Kurt cried himself to sleep in the car.

Thursday came fast. Faster than Kurt had wanted it to, and he sat through the whole day still not sure if he would go. He didn't want anything to do with the fight club, he didn't want to see Blaine like that. He wanted his old Blaine back, loving and warm and gentle. Not this horrible, scary version of him. He wanted someone to talk to. Maybe he could tell his dad. Or Finn. Kurt looked at himself in the mirror. Or maybe he could go there alone and try to get his boyfriend back?

At midnight, Kurt found himself sitting in the car outside the warehouse. It felt like he was stuck, glued to the chair and all he could think about was that Blaine could be laying there bloody on that cold floor, right now. No. He loved Blaine too much to let that happen, even if that meant having another argument with him. This fight club had to end.

Getting out of the car and walking with heavy steps into the warehouse, hearing those all too familiar sounds of cheering and groaning echoing all around him. His eyes scanned the room. Shocked. Blaine wasn't fighting. Blaine wasn't even there. Kurt's breath was stuck in his throat when suddenly, Sebastian turned around in the ring and met his eyes. He smiled like he was really happy to see Kurt and then he yelled for everyone to shut up. "Well, well, well. Kurt Hummel. You showed up." Kurt could feel himself go pale. The whole ring of people turned to him, watching as Sebastian approached him, the sounds suddenly gone. The silence was deafening. "You ruined our Blaine. He was our best and you ruined him. And now, we get to ruin you."

Kurt had never run that fast in his life. His breath just a fog around him as he got outside and into the midnight air. All he could think about was how fast he could get inside his car, and all he could hear was twenty-something Dalton boys running after him, catching up. Grabbing onto him. Pushing him down on the ground. There was a moment of complete silence before Kurt saw Sebastian linger above him. And then everything sped up, everything rushed, every fist hit his stomach, his sides, his arms. One fist hitting his cheek. One voice yelling above it all, yelling for it all to stop. Stop. STOP! "Stop this!"

It was Blaine and his eyes were the first thing Kurt saw when he looked up, and they were gentle. Worried. Blaine. Kurt reached out to grab on to his boyfriend's hands and together they stumbled towards the car, escaping the hate. Driving away. Pulling up outside Kurt's house. Escaping the fight club. "Kurt, Kurt, talk to me, Kurt," Blaine mumbled, his voice hurried and in shock, his hands cupping Kurt's face.

"I wanted to save you," Kurt said, "But you weren't there."

Blaine nodded, brushing dirt and blood and tears away from Kurt's porcelain skin. "I quit. Weeks ago. I wanted to be myself again and be with you. I wanted to put this club behind me."

Kurt closed his eyes letting tears run down his face. "How did you know I'd be there?"

"A tip," Blaine smiled softly, "I think the club is dissolving. I've heard so much about Sebastian, his dirty games and the group is getting tired." And then Blaine's eyes filled with tears. "I just can't believe they did this to you."

But Kurt didn't care, not now, not at all. These wounds were nothing compared to what he'd felt the last few weeks. "Never fight again," Kurt whispered, and Blaine shook his head.

"I will never."

The following day, Blaine Anderson transferred to McKinley.

End