"Kurt?" Kurt froze, each muscle freezing in place as he waited for his father to speak again, "What the hell are you doing in there?"

Kurt blinked down at the mess of shattered plastic plates on his floor, "Nothing." He called back, still not moving from his position.

He heard his father sigh from the other side of the door, "Well, keep it down, will ya? Carole and I are heading to bed now."

Kurt nodded before realizing his father couldn't see him, "Okay." He agreed, waiting until his father's footsteps disappeared down the hall. Kurt got to his knees and began cleaning up the shards of plastic.

It had been two days since he'd gotten that headache in the hallway at school, and yet, nothing had gone back to normal. He was practicing his strength and accuracy by tossing up a cheap dollar store plate and destroying it with either a sharp punch or a kick.

Not wanting to wake his parents, Kurt decided to head out and put his newly found skills to the test. He donned a black hooded sweatshirt to pair with his black jeans before pulling on a pair of boots. He paused a moment, his eyes flickering to his window. Kurt nibbled his lower lip as he walked over to his window, sliding it open and looking down. He was on the second floor, so the drop wouldn't kill him… Kurt could feel his blood pumping, his newly formed muscles tensing and preparing before he'd even made up his mind. He took in a deep breath before climbing out onto the ledge. Kurt stared down at the ground, focusing on each individual blade of grass. He crouched slightly before pushing off the ledge, propelling himself out into his yard to avoid the deck. Unfortunately, he'd underestimated himself, causing him to go hurling towards the large oak tree. He threw his arms out and caught a branch, swinging on it a moment before dropping to the earth, landing expertly on the balls of his feet. Kurt grinned widely, not able to contain his excitement. With the adrenaline still coursing steadily through his veins, he ran at full speed to downtown Lima.

What was a fifteen minute drive, Kurt had run in ten. He watched as the people of Lima went on their way as he stayed in the shadows between two buildings. There was a rustling of cans behind him and a tense, threatening voice. Kurt listened in as he turned, walking cautiously back through the alley with an air of confidence he didn't know he had in him.

"-etter do it now." A deep voice ordered, followed by a loud thud.

"P-please, let me go. I don't have any money-" A distressed woman pleaded.

"Guess we'll have to figure out something else for you to give me 'sides money then." Kurt pulled his hood up as he turned the corner to see a large man pinning a young blond woman against the dingy ally wall. His muscles were rippling underneath his skin as he slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Hey!" Kurt yelled, lowering his tone so that he sounded more threatening, "Let her go!"

"Fuck off, kid." The man turned his steely eyes on him, letting out a laugh, "You really want to get involved? Go home."

Kurt stepped forward, wrapping his pale fingers around the man's thick arm, squeezing tightly. The burly guy immediately released his hand from the woman's mouth, his fingers splayed as he grunted in pain, "L-let go of me you freak." He sputtered, frantically trying to pull away from Kurt's grasp. Kurt blinked. The sound of a bone cracking pulled him from his haze, causing him to let go. His eyes fell to his own hand, shocked at the pure strength he held inside him. When he looked up, the man was gone.

"T-thank you." Kurt turned to see the woman staring at him with admiration. Her makeup was smudged a bit and her blond hair was wild, but she didn't look hurt, only shaken. Kurt took a step back before turning and walking away quickly, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

What had he just done? He'd put himself in harms way without even being sure he'd be able to get out of the situation. It was as if his body took over, moving with pure, ingrained instinct. Like he was born to do it… Kurt wasn't able to process the sheer amount of questions that brought up, so he decided to just ignore it altogether.

As he was walking from the alleyway, dazed, a figure roughly bumped into him. Kurt stopped, looking down to see whoever it was had pressed a beeper into his hands. Kurt whipped around, but the person was gone, "What the-" He twirled the piece of black plastic between his fingers, jumping when it lit up with a number. Curiosity took over him as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number he saw.

"I saw what you did to that man. Your powers must have been triggered." A deep voice whispered, his tone gravelly, "It's strange… you're younger than she was."

"Who is this? What do you know about what's happening to me?" Kurt questioned frantically, needing the answers.

"I will no longer be in contact with you after this phone call. You will be put in contact with Andy. He will be your source."

Kurt pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb, "What do you mean source? Who the hell is this?"

"Use your powers for good." The voice said before the line cut off.

"No, wait-!" Kurt growled in frustration, punching the brick wall, leaving a fist sized hole. "Damn it!" He pulled his hand back, hissing at the pain radiating through his fingers. Kurt held his face in his hands before running his fingers through his hair, "What does that even mean?" He yelled into the darkness. Kurt shoved the beeper and his phone into his pockets before wiping the blood from his scraped knuckles and heading back to his house at a normal speed.

What was that guy talking about? How did he know about Kurt's… he hesitated to even call them powers. Did this guy think he was some sort of superhero or something? That was ridiculous. There were no such things as superheroes… Those sorts of people only existed in comic books or Hollywood movies. Kurt was nothing special. He was just a high school senior in Lima, Ohio of all places. Kurt glanced at his hand, feeling a slight tingling sensation around the area he'd injured punching the wall. The skin there was now pale and smooth, showing no evidence of the scraped skin that was once there. He grazed his thumb along the flawless skin, wondering if he'd imagined the injury or… or if it had just spontaneously healed.

Kurt pulled out his cell phone, intent on calling Blaine when he realized how crazy he'd sound. What would he even say? Hey, Blaine. Sorry for waking you up, but I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis. Apparently I've become super strong and developed the ability to heal myself because I got a headache in school a couple days ago. Oh yeah, and apparently I'm supposed to become some sort of superhero. Go figure. Yeah… Kurt couldn't see that going over well. Of course that ruled out his father, Carole, Finn, and basically everyone he knew. He'd end up locked up in a ward if he were to tell anyone. No, he'd have to keep this a secret. No one could find out about any of it.

Did that mean he was going to go through with it? Become some sort of a hero to the town that had shunned him for so long because of who he was?

Yes, he would. The words his mother had said to him long ago popped into his head. Sometimes, the world can be a cruel place. But just because a few people make it that way, doesn't mean the rest of the world deserves to suffer when someone can do something about it. Those were the last words his mother said to him before she died. She was right. There were people like Karofsky out there… but then there were also people like Blaine.

With this newly found determination, Kurt bolted home in record time. He climbed up the tree and jumped from one of the limbs to his window, catching himself on the sill and crawling through it. Kurt went straight to his closet and pulled out his sewing machine. He shed his sweatshirt, eyeing it critically before sitting down and pulling out his fabric sheers. Kurt cut along the arms, setting aside the material. He unzipped the angled, diagonal zipper and started to pad the lining for protection using strips of thick foam from one of his pillows. Grabbing some spare, black fabric, he sewed up the inside of the sweatshirt to keep the padding in place. Kurt knew he'd need to make sure his face was covered, but he didn't want to have to deal with a mask. Instead, he took some thin wire and threaded it through the excess sweatshirt material he'd taken from the arms after he'd cut it to the correct size and shape, creating something like a widows peak. He then sewed the material to the hood of the sweatshirt, making it come down further. He tried on the outfit, pairing it with black jeggings and knee high, biker boots. Kurt glanced at himself in the mirror, his pale skin vividly bright in contrast to the charcoal black of his ensemble. To complete the look, he pulled on a pair of fingerless, leather gloves. Kurt smirked at his reflection.

Kurt sat down at his desk, pulling back his hood. His phone began ringing, playing Blackbird. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Kurt grabbed a pen and wrote down a name before standing up and picking up his phone. Rachel was blabbering about a fashion emergency and how he had to come to her house, stat. Kurt was surprised to find that it was already six in the morning. He calmed her down, assuring her he'd be over to her house soon. Kurt folded up his outfit and put it in his bag before changing. He glanced at his desk to see if he was forgetting anything, when he noticed two words written on the bottom edge of a scrap piece of paper.

Dark Sparrow

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I hope everyone liked this chapter! Let me know what you thought. :)