Disclaimer:
I don't own Glee, unfortunately. I am also not an expert at the whole WitSec business-I created this story using my research, and took quite a few creative liberties, at that.

Also, I am so sorry I haven't updated this story in about a month. I've been barreled with projects and essays for school, so I really haven't had the time to write fics (well, I've had time to write drabbles...)! I also want to take the time to thank those who have alerted (holy shit, almost 200 alerts?), reviewed, and favorited WPP! My love for all of you is endless!

My beta hasn't been able to get back to me, so here you go, episode four, un-beta'd. I hope you enjoy!


Witness Protection Problem
by littlemusings
Episode 4: Defense Mechanism


"Fabray."

Quinn's petite voice echoed from the other line. "Anderson. To what do I owe this pleasure?" she mocked.

"Cut the shit. Can I come over?" Blaine asked desperately, his voice strained.

"Yeah, are you on your way already?" she asked. "My mom's out until later. Something about some dude taking her on a date."

"That's fucking gross," Blaine snorted, trying to keep his tone lively.

"I know," she agreed. "Wait, are you driving? What the fuck, man?"

Blaine turned a corner towards the Lima Heights area of town. "Yeah. What difference does it make? It's not like I haven't done this before."

"I'm gonna sound like a prude, but holy fuck, Blaine, watch where you're driving. Remember that one time you nearly crashed into that damn lamp post by school?" Quinn laughed. Suddenly, her tone became more serious. "You sure you're okay?"

"You sound like your mother," Blaine coughed, entering a cul-de-sac of small, blue houses. "I'm in."

"Fuck you!" Quinn exclaimed, laughing as she hung up. Blaine parked in front of one of the houses—which was better kept than the ones around it—and got out of his Volvo, slamming the door furiously. He walked up to the door, and Quinn finally opened it. She donned a pair of red flannel pajama pants and a Misfits shirt, arms folded across her chest.

Blaine walked right in, shaking, sitting on her couch. Quinn hurriedly closed the door and sat next to him.

"What the hell, dude? Are you okay?" she asked concernedly. She stared at him, flabbergasted. Blaine ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Do you have any smokes on you?"

"Hold on." Quinn got off the couch in a flourish and disappeared up the staircase. Moments later, she arrived back in the living room with a pack of Menthols and a lighter. "Let's go to the backyard. My mom's going to throw a bitch fit if she smells the smoke later. The Skanks just left, and I was just airing out the place."

Blaine nodded. The Skanks were Quinn's little minions, wannabe bad girls who followed her around—and they tended to dote on Blaine. He wasn't particularly fond of them, so Quinn spent equal amounts of time with the girls and Blaine separately—though it seemed like she preferred Blaine to the three other girls.

Seconds later, the two friends were standing outside, leaning on Quinn's backyard fence.

"What's wrong, Bee?" Quinn asked concernedly, making circlets with her smoke. Blaine took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, keeping his mind focused on his cigarette.

"You haven't called me 'Bee' for the longest time."

"Do I give a fuck? Clearly, I don't. Now what made you so eager to drive over here? Wanted to see my beautiful mug?" she mocked, laughing to herself. Blaine gave a small, mirthless smirk.

"I…I just needed to get away from things for a while."

"Okay. Yeah." Quinn's expression softened. "Sure. I'm down with that."


Kurt lay flat on his stomach, reading through James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man for Advanced Placement English Literature, frowning every few seconds at the lines he read. He flipped over onto his back, holding the book over his head, turning a page interestedly. The main character, Stephen Dedalus, was currently suffering through an inner religious conflict, and Kurt was interested in seeing how this was going to end—after all, he had nothing to do. Carole and Burt had gone out to the local grocery store and wouldn't be back until later.

Ding-dong.

He frowned and shut the book, rolling back over on his stomach. He quirked an eyebrow and ignored the doorbell, opening the book again. "Opposed to this pain of extension and yet co-existent with it we have the pain of intensity. Hell is the centre of evils and, as you know, things are more intense at their centres…Wow, this man sounds like a loony."

Ding-dong.

"Finn!" Kurt shouted. "Get the damn door!"

No response. Kurt furrowed his eyebrows and got off his bed, sighing loudly. Finn was probably fast asleep. He put his book down by his pillow and then walked out of his room and down the stairs of the house, shuffling in his sweats and striped t-shirt towards the foyer. Stopping by to grab a glass of milk from the kitchen, he chugged it down and opened the door. Ding-dong, the bell rang. "Coming! Coming!" he exclaimed, irritated.

He pulled the door open and saw Agent Motto standing there next to another man in a crisp, black suit. She was out of her stuffy, agent uniform, and now in a pair of jeans and an off-shoulder shirt. "Hello there, Elijah."

Kurt's eyes widened, and he let them in immediately. The man in the black suit didn't bother to give him a hello, so he followed them as they walked straight into the kitchen, sitting down around the breakfast counter.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Kurt asked, arms folded, looking at the two of them suspiciously. "We don't have to move again, do we?"

"No, that's far from what we've come here for," Agent Motto laughed brightly. Gone was the seriousness of the woman in the New York office. Kurt arched a thin eyebrow, leaning over the edge of the countertop.

"Then, what?"

"How was your first day, Kurt?"

Kurt made a face and said simply, "Terrible. You guys are so insane for picking a place so remote for us to live."

Agent Motto gave him a sympathetic look and patted his hand gently. "It wasn't us, Kurt. It was the higher-ups," she said. "I would have changed it right away, but it just wasn't possible, you know?"

He sighed and put his chin under the palm of his hand, toying with the basket of fake fruit Carole had placed on the center of the counter. "The kids here are stupid. Haven't got a clue about life, from what I perceived."

"It gets better," Agent Motto said simply. She looked at the man standing next to her. "Oh, and Kurt, this is Agent Ryan Malone. You'll see him from time-to-time."

For the first time since they arrived, Agent Malone spoke. "I have a stepbrother who's around your age. His name is Desmond. Goes to school in California. So I guess this is a mission from the heart or whatever."

"I see," Kurt said, nodding awkwardly. "So…you guys just came here to see what's up and all of that nonsense?"

The two nodded. "We wanted to see your parents, as well, but seeing as they're not home…"

"What about Finn? He's upstairs, I think."

"Could you call him down for us?" Agent Motto asked, looking around the house. "Even though you guys just moved in, the place looks spectacular."

"Thank Carole and I for that," Kurt whistled, walking around the table and up the stairs. "Finn! Get your ass down here! The agents are here to talk to us!"

Silence. Kurt frowned. "Well, I guess he's not here."

"Why? It's nearly eight p.m.," Motto said. She furrowed her eyebrows. "That's peculiar."

Kurt squared his shoulders. "He tends to do that. He's probably out on a run or something."

"Alright," Motto said wearily. "If anything happens, our numbers have been programmed onto your new phone, so…we'll let ourselves out."

The two agents walked out of the kitchen and into the foyer. "And Kurt," Motto said, "Remember to keep on the down-low for a while, okay?"

Kurt nodded as the agents left the house and drove out of their street. He sighed and locked the door, walking back up the stairs. He stopped before entering his room and pulled down the staircase leading to the attic. He heard a buzz of loud music and climbed up to investigate, finding Finn lying down in bed, reading through an Avengers comic, music blasting in his ears loudly. He walked up to his stepbrother and pulled the earphones off.

"What was that for?" Finn protested, trying to grab the headphones. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"The agents were here, and here you are, making yourself deaf and reading comics again," the blue-eyed boy grumbled, handing Finn his headphones back.

"Sorry," Finn said. He sighed exasperatedly, putting his headphones back on. Kurt held up a hand to stop him and he put them aside. "What?"

"Okay. Remind me to kick Blaine Anderson in the groin tomorrow for being a dickhead."

"I'm one step ahead of you, bro. I don't even know what his problem is."

"From what I have seen of him so far, he's just an attention whore and all of that stupid stuff."

Finn's eyes narrowed and he grinned at his stepbrother. "You like him, don't you? I could tell when he walked into the office this morning. You like the douche bag that threw your schedule at you! HA!"

Kurt pushed Finn and rolled his eyes. "Shut up. That's not cool, Finn, that's not cool. You're acting like a fifth grader," he said. "You know what I realized, too? You were eyeing Rachel Berry and those cheerleaders. Thinking of having a foursome?"

"Go away," Finn said, flushing red, whacking Kurt with his pillow. Kurt blocked it with his hands and stuck his tongue out at him.

"Just leveling the playing field…'bro,'" he said with sickening sweetness, grabbing the pillow and hugging it. Kurt let out a sigh and looked at the floor, his posture slack. "Do you really think things will get better? I don't mean to be a pessimist, because I personally think this is all total bullshit…but do you think they will?"

Finn chewed on his tongue as he thought about it. "Yeah. Yeah, I think they will. I mean, half the people in the school are fucked up—like that Blaine kid—" –Kurt frowned— "—and those football guys—did they really slushie you today? I can beat them up tomorrow."

"Finn, we may be related, but I can fight my own battles, thank you very much. And yes, they slushied me. It was a good flavor, anyway, so I'm over it. The next time they do, I'll make them sorry that they were even born for ruining my good flannel."

The taller boy smiled. "Just call me up if you need any backup. And yeah, though everyone is a bit fucked up…I think time's gonna tell us to buck up and deal with it, you know? This probably won't last very long."

"Same thing dad told me."

"That P.E. class, though…I think Reddy is out to get us," Finn said, chuckling. Kurt let out a small, hollow laugh.

"It'll be a miracle for us to pass the class, Finn. Well, you're an athlete above all, so I guess you'll do fine."

"You like running. You were in cross country two years ago."

"Yeah, two years ago. I slacked off on sports last year, so I'm way out of shape."

"Why not join McKinley's cross country team?"

Kurt gave him a look of disbelief. "Can't do a lot of the things I did back in New York, Finn. Remember our team went to nationals that year? My name and picture are on the roster and the articles…" he said dejectedly. "I'm going to be woefully thin on extra-curricular activities this year…"

"At least you got accepted into NYADA already," Finn supplied. Kurt nodded—he nearly forgot about that.

"Thank god for early admission and those damn scouts at Brenton. I'll be glad to get out of here. But the only problem is my name and all of this WPP bullshit. I kept on forgetting to ask Agent Motto about that. Maybe I'll ask her the next time she comes over, because I don't think I want to deal with her on the phone. We have another agent watching us, by the way."

"Who?"

"Malone…something. His last name is Malone. He's weird. Like, tall and stuff. Has a stepbrother in California named Desmond? What a funny name, 'Desmond'."

"I would change my name if I were called that," Finn said, letting out a snort. Kurt laughed along with him.

They heard a car drive into the driveway. "Sounds like mom and Burt are home. Jesus, it took them forever to go to the grocery store and back. Seriously, how much food does one person need?"

"Finn, living with you, one needs ten thousand grocery stores to supply themselves."

"Fuck you, Kurt."

"Gross, no way. Incestuous, much?"

Before Finn could digest what Kurt had said, the shorter boy had already dashed down the attic stairs and had started for the main staircase when the front door opened. Burt's voice echoed from below.

"Boys, we're home! We brought you some dinner!" he hollered. Before Kurt could take one step down the staircase, Finn was right ahead of him. He ran after his stepbrother and into the dining room, where Carole and Burt were putting the brown grocery bags down on the counter.

"Sucker!" Finn shouted at Kurt. "And I totally meant that figuratively!"

"Oh my god. Shut up, Frankenteen! Didn't think you knew that word!"

"I paid attention in English class last year, okay?"

"Well, Mister Relatimely, I don't think you paid that much attention!"

"Stop fighting, boys!"


Kurt and Finn got off the school bus with the other McKinley students the next morning, tired and groggy. They had spend the evening discussing their day with Burt and Carole—it almost resulted in a near-shouting match between Kurt and his father again about cutting down on shopping ("I'm not spoiled!" "That's where you're wrong, Kurt!") —and it wore them out emotionally and physically as they trudged through the courtyard of McKinley High School.

"Day number two," Kurt said solemnly as they weaved through the crowd as they entered the main building. He pulled up the sleeve of his cardigan and let out a sigh. "I wonder what bullshi—"

"Good mornin', New Kid Bieber!"

SLAM. Kurt felt his left shoulder collide with an ice-cold row of lockers, and he slid down it, onto his bottom, face scrunched up in pain. Finn hurried to his side, and the perpetrators were already running away. He took note of their red letterman jackets. Again, no one batted an eyebrow towards his predicament.

"Goddamn it!" Kurt shouted. "Do not fuck with me!"

"I'll get them. Hold on," Finn said fiercely, getting ready to punch both Azimio and Karofsky, but Kurt pulled him down by the hem of his shirt.

"Don't. It'll just make them want to come back for more," he said through gritted teeth, standing up. He touched his shoulder gingerly. "I'm fine."

Finn was absolutely fuming. "Man, the next time they screw you over, I'm gonna sock them both in the face. Or, maybe when we get to homeroom I will."

"Just don't…Michael. They're not worthy of our beloved presence," Kurt spat.

The two brothers continued down the hallway and into their homeroom class. Not surprisingly, Azimio and Karofsky were laughing to themselves as soon as Kurt and Finn walked into the classroom. Rachel Berry was wide-awake and alert, in the same seat she sat in yesterday, waving to the two brothers. Finn and Kurt waved back sheepishly. Blaine Anderson, surprisingly enough, was lounging in his chair in the back.

"Want me to sit next to Anderson?" Finn asked quietly as they walked between the aisles of desks.

"No, it's okay. I've got it."

They fist-bumped and went their separate ways, Finn greeting Rachel brightly as he sat down. Kurt dropped his bag down by his seat and pulled his chair out, sitting in it, ignoring Blaine completely. He flexed his shoulder gingerly and winced, reaching down to pull out his copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

"You looked quite fucked up, new kid," Blaine said simply, looking at him up and down. "What did you do? Did you pile drive Coach Reddy? Make love with the pavement again?"

"I do not need your bullshit this morning, Blaine Anderson. And my name is Elijah Henderson, if you didn't remember."

Blaine snorted. "Of course I remember. I'm your student helper."

"What a marvelous student helper you turned out to be," Kurt said with as much venom in his voice as possible, giving him his New York-patented bitch glare. "Just mind your own business, will you?" He turned back to his book.

The shorter boy's eyes trailed to Kurt's injured shoulder. "Got pushed into the lockers?"

"Don't talk to me," Kurt snapped, holding up a finger to silence Blaine. Blaine gave him a cocky grin and shrugged. He chuckled and let out a loud sigh.

"Just wondering, who were the assholes who pushed you into the lockers?"

Kurt gave him an exasperated look. "I just told you not to talk to me. It is way too early in the morning for me to be dealing with this. With you."

"You've got forty-five fucking minutes to deal with me until later, Henderson, so you might as well spill the gory details."

The taller boy closed his eyes, slammed his book down on his desk quietly to avoid attracting any attention, and then looked at Blaine irately. "The same assholes that do things to everyone in this school, I've noticed. Who else do you think pushes people into lockers?"

Blaine's face darkened a little, but he shook it off. "Karofsky and Azimio?" he said, his voice a little quieter. Kurt arched a thin eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

"No, Thelma and Louise. What's it to you?" Kurt snorted. Blaine was silent. "So, now that I've told you who my 'perpetrators' were, I would like to finish reading my book. I have an AP Lit quiz next period."

"Yeah, you go ahead read that goddamn book. It's all bullshit. I never liked it. That Stephen Dedalus was one fucked up son of a bitch," Blaine muttered under his breath. Kurt blinked and stared at him, obviously shocked. Let him be shocked, Blaine thought, slightly panicking.

Blaine stood up immediately, to Kurt's surprise and walked up to Mr. Schuester's desk. Kurt leaned his head into the aisle to see what was going on, his face wrought with both worry and confusion. He looked over to Finn and Rachel, who noticed this as well. They gave him questioning looks and he merely shrugged.

Blaine's voice echoed loud and clear in the classroom, and some students actually looked up from their conversations. "Mr. Schue, can I go to the bathroom?"

"May I, Blaine. Not 'can I,'" Schuester pointed out. Blaine rolled his eyes, hands digging into his pockets.

Blaine gritted his teeth in frustration. "Fine. May I go to the bathroom?"

Schuester nodded and as Blaine walked out of the classroom, he said loudly, "Come back, okay?"

Kurt and everyone in the room knew he wasn't going to come back.


Q. Bleachers. Now. –B

What? I'm in Hoffman's homeroom. Wait. –Q

Blaine slumped down behind the bleachers, running his hands through his hair, frustrated, stuffing his phone back in his jeans. He pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it. The bell for passing period rang loudly, and he peeked out from underneath the seats of the metal bleachers, looking around for who he was looking for.

Of course, David Karofsky was skipping classes. There he was, big and bulky in his red, letterman jacket, hurrying across the field before Reddy's second period ran out of the gym.

Blaine knew what he was doing was stupid. Damn his instincts. He threw his cigarette aside and went for it.

As soon as the large boy reached the bleachers Blaine was hiding under, Blaine jumped out from behind and seized him by the cuff of his jacket, pulling him underneath. Karofsky let out a yelp, but Blaine had the upper hand, despite being shorter, pulling a small switchblade out of his jacket. With Karofsky pinned to the metal fence by Blaine's arm and struck dumb, the shorter boy knew he was going to win this one.

"You think of pushing Henderson or his brother around, and I fucking swear, Karofsky, I will cut you. Cut you up so bad that you won't be able to function at all."

"What's your fucking problem, Anderson?" Karofsky managed to splutter. "I just pushed the homo into the lockers—"

"—He's not a fucking 'homo,' Karofsky. Can't you see that? So when I let you go, you better swear not to even think of pushing, kicking, hurting him in any way, or calling him…or his brother…any derogatory names, I will find you. This includes Azimio too. The next time Elijah fucking Henderson walks into homeroom or any class with a fucked up shoulder or a slushie doused all over his face…"

Karofsky's eyes widened. "I got it, I got it! Damn, Anderson, since when did you have a vocabulary? And what's up with you getting all fucking protective over the Hendersons? Got a crush? You a homo?" he leered, trying to be brave.

Blaine bit his lip, but still retained his bearing. He pulled Karofsky closer to him. "No. I'm just so fucking tired of the two of you fucking around." He pushed the bulky boy away from him, and Karofsky, frightened, backed away slowly.

"You better not tell anyone…fucking anyone about this. And I am not," Blaine snapped, "a 'homo'. You tell anyone: let's just say that shit will go down faster than you can say 'help,' Karofsky."

Karofsky flushed and backed up a little more, and then ran off. Quinn walked behind the bleachers almost simultaneously, confused. Blaine, flushed, breathing heavily, plopped down, folding and stuffing his switchblade back in his pocket.

"What the hell, Blaine?" Quinn hissed. "What just happened?"

"Nothing."

She sat next to him, rubbing his back as he pulled out yet another cigarette. She knew better not to ask. Quinn Fabray knew what was going on.

Or, at least she thought she knew.


Kurt sat in his AP Literature class, scribbling down notes on the different types of literary devices. The teacher had taken a break and left them notes to copy. The quiz for Portrait had been easy, he thought, and felt confident when he turned it in. He adored his literature class so far—and it was only the second day—and he was sure when the exams came around before next summer, he would easily get a four or five. No one in the room was disruptive—he felt much more comfortable being around studious students who didn't care about him being a new student—

The door opened, and Blaine Anderson walked in, thirty minutes late. No one in the room batted an eyelash at him.

His jaw dropped as the teacher, Mr. Jacobson, frowned, and pointed to the empty seat in the back, handing him a copy of the quiz. Blaine avoided Kurt's gaze and slumped down in the back, already getting a head start on his quiz.

Within five minutes, Blaine was finished. Mr. Jacobson took the paper, nodded, and whispered to him, "Just copy down the notes on the board."

The teacher and Blaine started talking in hushed, serious tones, and Kurt couldn't help but strain his ears to try and figure out what was going on.

"…weren't here yesterday…"

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't feeling well…"

"…You're lucky you're incredibly intelligent, Blaine, and passing this class with flying colors, but you need to actually sit in for the lectures…"

Kurt tuned out immediately, scowling. What?

Mr. Jacobson and Blaine ended their conversation with the elder man patting Blaine on the shoulder and pointing him back in the direction of the seat.

Kurt turned to face his 'student helper'.

Blaine, for the first time in two days, didn't bother to look back.


"Hey, Elijah!"

Kurt froze in the middle of the quickly emptying hallway and turned around, hands clutching the strap of his backpack tightly. He loosened his icy stance when he realized that it was just Rachel Berry running up to him, eager and bright-eyed, just like she was yesterday. He half-expected Finn to be with her.

"Hello, Rachel," he said hesitantly.

Rachel folded her hands together and gave him a bright grin. "I know this may come as quite a surprise, but I got you an audition for the New Directions right after school! You and Michael both!"

The taller boy stared at her, horrified. It took a moment for him to register what she just said. "Wait...you what? You haven't even heard me sing yet…I…I'm terrible. And so is Michael. We're both not interested." He turned on his heel and started to walk away towards the cafeteria to meet up with Finn, but Rachel grabbed his wrist and looked at him, eyes pleading.

"Michael told me you're an amazing singer and was one of the leads of your old chorus. And…I see that you're already starting to feel the loneliness McKinley High tends to invoke within new students. Despite your attempts to pass off my glee club—"

"Your glee club?"

"Mr. Schue's glee club. Excuse me, the 'my' tends to slip quite often—"

"—I'm sorry, Rachel. Why don't you ask someone else?" Kurt was starting to get annoyed, pulling his wrist away from her grasp.

"We've already tried. Unfortunately, our efforts have been futile because the lack of support for the arts in this school is incredibly appalling—"

"I…I see," Kurt's heart fell at the sound of this. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. I'm…I'm not a singer. Michael was probably talking about my excellent karaoke voice—"

Thank god for being a theater kid, Kurt thought to himself. Improvisation, I love you.

"Karaoke voice or not, we need more males in the club."

Can't help you in that department, sweetie. "I should go…" He started to walk away from her, but she ran in front of him, blocking his way, no matter where he tried to escape. "Christ, Rachel, what's your problem?"

"I can tell that you're lying."

He froze. "What?" Oh, god, please don't, please…please…it's only the second day.

"I am looking for a potential male lead to match my vocal skills, and it seems that either you or your brother have what I am looking for. You can sing. Well. You have that…that singer's aura about you, Henderson. I should know; I'm an excellent singer. "

He relaxed. "How astute of you. That must be my cologne. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"We've tried getting people to join. We even tried getting…" she lowered her voice, "Blaine Anderson to try last year…but…you know how he is…" she trailed off bitterly. Kurt's interest suddenly piqued.

"Blaine Anderson…a singer?"

Rachel shrugged and the two of then started walking down the hallway towards the cafeteria together. "Well, we heard he used to sing at his old school, which is weird, considering where he came from…but that was all gossip and whatnot. His voice is probably messed up now, considering he smokes an entire pack every day, or at least, that's what I've heard—"

They turned a corner. "Where did he transfer here from?"

The shorter girl hushed her voice again, looking around her. "It's a sore spot, a taboo, so everyone tends to look around when they say the school's name: the Dalton Academy Reform School for Boys. It's in Westerville."

"We drove by Westerville from the airport," Kurt said, surprised.

"I see. Everyone who drives by that school gets a weird chill when they pass it. Security guards everywhere, barbed wire fence…without those two elements it would look like your average, incredibly wealthy preparatory school… which it was, before the founding family of the school went bankrupt and the government bought it," Rachel babbled on. "Blaine came here late in the second semester of freshman year. He was bad news as soon as he walked through the main doors of McKinley High."

Kurt's mouth opened, forming a little 'o'. "I…see. Wow. That's a lot of information to digest…" he muttered to himself. Well, you'd…he's straight. He's straight. And you should act straight, too. Wait, what?

"Hmmm?" Rachel asked, looking back at him.

"Nothing, Berry, nothing," he said distractedly. "Did you know he's in Advanced French and AP English Lit?"

"That's…strange," Rachel cocked her head to the side, incredibly surprised. "Didn't expect him to be in advanced classes at all, considering his grades…"

"…You're lucky you're incredibly intelligent, Blaine, and passing this class with flying colors, but you need to actually sit in for the lectures…"

"You'd be surprised," Kurt muttered. They finally arrived at the cafeteria. Finn was already there, talking to the two cheerleader girls from their P.E. class. Rachel shrunk back behind Kurt, who was taken aback and turned to face her. "What?"

"Santana Lopez and I don't particularly get along. She blamed me for making us lose Show Choir Nationals because I kissed my ex-boyfriend right after the ballad we sang…in front of everyone watching…your probably saw it on YouTube."

Kurt remembered his classmates talking about the 'show choir scandal of the century' back in New York. "…Wow, Rachel. And yeah, I saw it on YouTube. Knew you looked familiar…Who's your ex?"

"He moved. His name was James Stanton. Thank god he moved," she said, taking a deep breath. "Anyway…" she said as they walked into the lunch line and grabbed trays. "Elijah, please come to the choir room after school and audition for the New Directions with Michael. We'd really appreciate it."

"Did you try and convince my brother to join?"

Rachel shrugged. "I think…I think that's what Santana and Brittany are trying to do," she said sheepishly, taking a pre-packaged salad from the lunch line as they slid their trays down. "Anyway, it will look good on your resume if you do a multitude of extra curricular activities your senior year, you know."

"Oh, I already applied for college and got into my first choice."

Rachel's eyes brightened as they held their trays out to the lunch ladies. "Which university?"

Shit. Shit. Shit, oh fuck. "The University of Michigan at Ann Arbor…I'm going to major in…uhm…biochemistry."

"Oh, wow, you're a science person! You must be taking AP Chemistry or AP Bio with Mr. McElroy!"

"No, I'm taking…um…human anatomy. My backup major is…er…medicine, in fact," Kurt said, nodding his head. "Listen, Rachel, I've got to go rescue my brother," he said, cocking his head towards Finn, who was still talking to the two cheerleaders. "Thanks for the offer. I'll consider it…but as for now, no. Sorry, no glee club for me."

Before Rachel could say anything else, Kurt quickly paid for his lunch and hurried towards Finn, tapping his shoulder.

"Hi," the blonde girl, Brittany S. Pierce, said brightly. Kurt smiled and waved.

"Hello, Brittany…Santana."

"Hello there, Pavement Boy. Back to make some sweet, sweet love with the track? Or is the solid tar too scratchy for your squeaky-clean porcelain skin?" Santana asked with a bright smile on her face, arms folded. Finn clapped his brother's shoulder.

"So…um…yeah, I'll think about it. The choir room is by Mr. Schue's classroom, right?"

Brittany nodded. "You've just got to watch out for the magic fairies flying around there 'cause they like to steal your money. Seriously, Lord Tubbington told me about it the other day. They'll only let you pass if you have chocolate coins," she said in a wholly serious tone. Kurt and Finn looked at each other confusedly, and then back at her. Santana gave the boys a 'listen to her, this is completely normal' look.

"Thanks!" Finn said brightly. They waved goodbye to the girls and tried to find a table to sit at as quickly as possible. When they finally found an empty circular table near the back, they sat down at it and started eating.

"Seriously, F…Michael, are you going to try out for the glee club?"

Finn looked up at him from his chicken with a guilty look. The edges of Kurt's mouth drooped and he stared at his brother blankly.

"I take that…as a yes."

Finn quickly swallowed his food and blabbed, "Kurt, like, you know how we were talking about extra school stuff and all of that yesterday? I really need something to put on my college applications and since I can't do basketball like at Brenton—"

Kurt's eyes seemed to flare for a moment, and something within him raged. "—Why don't you just try out for something relatively academic, like debate? Come on, Fin—Michael—there are other things to do!"

"You're just jealous that you can't do glee or anything that you're good at. This glee shit might be something I might be able to do. You even told me I had a decent voice, so I'm just going to try this and see if it works out. And I signed up for football earlier, too, 'cause I didn't do that back in our old school."

"That's still a sport you could get national recognition under," Kurt snapped. "You're not being fair, Finn—"

"What the fuck, Kurt? I am being fair, I'm doing something I've never done before, and not risking things and all of that shit."

"Glee club nationals are in New York!"

"That's in, like, a year! And, you never know, what if we don't make Nationals?"

"So you can't do it, because—because we'd be discovered!"

"The Lopez family is after you, Kurt, and not my ass," Finn countered.

"Fine. If you're trying out, then I'm trying out."

Finn looked hurt and retorted, his voice hushed and angry, "Why are you being so goddamn selfish? You know you fucking can't! And find something else to do and actually try and make some friends, stop living in New York, and get your shit together! Jesus, Ku—Elijah! It's only our second fucking day at this school, and you haven't even tried to, like, you know…fit in."

Kurt sat there in silence. Finn shook his head, stood up, and picked up his tray.

"Michael, I'm sorry."

"I'll see you in P.E.," Finn grumbled, walking off. Kurt watched as he headed to Rachel Berry's table and the group graciously welcomed him.

He longed to be there.

Fighting back tears and trying to compose himself, he picked up his tray, and walked straight out the doors of the cafeteria, and towards the boy's restroom.


Again, it was lunchtime. As always, Blaine skipped it, preferring to lounge about in the halls where nobody walked at this hour—which was because everyone preferred their nutrition to walking around in the empty hallways, alone. Quinn had gone ahead with The Skanks to the nearest convenience store to buy—rather, shoplift—some cigarettes and booze for later consumption. Even the teachers were all in the lounge, stuffing their faces, so Blaine loved that he could walk around in peace for forty-five minutes.

And think in peace.

He was in desperate need of thinking time.

Why had he threatened Karofsky behind the bleachers earlier? Why was he defending Elijah Henderson? Blaine didn't know. Something within him made him do it. It was that again, the thing he was trying so hard to repress for nearly four years now, the thing that drove his family crazy, drove his mother to die of a heart attack, drove his father to hate him, drove said father to send him to reform school for no goddamn reason, drove him, Blaine, to try and prove to his douche bag, conservative piece of shit of a father that there were worse things than that

Blaine was walking down the stairs and was in dire need of a piss, so he turned a corner as soon as he reached the first floor by the cafeteria, and ducked into the bathroom. As he stood in his stall and finished his business, he went out to wash his hands quickly, and turned off the bathroom's smoke detector and opened the small window so that he could grab a smoke—and that was when he heard it, the clattering of a fork, and the mutter of the word shit. He froze at the sound of the voice, recognizing it immediately despite it being only one fucking day since they met—

As Elijah Henderson walked out of the bathroom stall, carrying his lunch tray, Blaine looked down immediately and pretended to pull out a cigarette, lighting it immediately to calm his nerves.

"You know, you can't smoke in a school bathroom. Or anywhere in the confines of the school," he said in his unusually high voice. Blaine tensed, puffing out smoke.

"You know," Blaine mocked, "that you can't eat in a bathroom stall. That's fucking gross."

"Not as gross as your smoking. Quite frankly, I think it's a life-ruiner."

"Thank god for that," Blaine said, annoyed. "What the hell are you doing, eating in here anyway?"

"What the hell are you doing here, smoking in here?" Henderson quipped, his face turning red. For some reason, Blaine suddenly felt…aroused…at the sudden flush of the other boy's cheeks and cleared his throat, trying to focus on the smoke again, as Quinn told him to the night before.

"Tou-fucking-ché," Blaine mused, leaning against the tiled wall. Henderson stared at him, frowning. "What?"

"I just…I suggest you quit smoking and get on with your life—fix it up," the taller, pale boy said with a seemingly disdainful sniff.

"You don't know anything about me, Henderson," Blaine said roughly, his breathing slightly erratic—thank god it wasn't that noticeable.

"I'm not assuming anything," Elijah said quietly. "See you…um, around."

And with that, Henderson walked out of the bathroom in a flash as the end-of-lunch bell rang loudly, leaving Blaine alone with his thoughts.

Fuck, Blaine thought sliding down against the wall, trying hard to breathe.


"'See you,'" Kurt muttered under this breath as he walked out of the bathroom, clearly breathless. Seriously, Kurt, the only thing you can say is 'see you.' And why the hell were you so nice to him? He's been nothing but a total dirt bag to you the past two days. And no, he is not—well, he is handsome, but you can't like him. He's out of your reach. He's not gay, and you're pretending not to be. You're doing a wonderful job. Plus, you should stop running thought monologues through your head because people might think you're crazy.

He walked into the cafeteria, dumped his tray in the proper receptacle, and hurried out to his next class, AP Calculus.

Weaving through the crowd of people laughing and talking in the halls, he saw Karofsky and Azimio walking in his direction. Quickly ducking, Kurt saw that Karofsky merely looked at him and kept on walking away. Azimio was about to make a move, but Karofsky held out a hand to stop him.

"Man, I though we was gonna push Bieber again!" he heard Azimio groan out loud.

"Dude, he's not worth it" was what Kurt heard the hulking dynamo respond with.

Surprised, Kurt walked back into the mainstream flow of the student body, and to his class.


"LAPS! TEN OF 'EM, AROUND THE TRACK! Come on, ladies!" Coach Reddy shouted as the seventh period P.E. class hurried out of the gymnasium. Finn had ignored Kurt when they were in the locker room, and had gone ahead to the track without him. Angrily, Kurt lagged behind the rest of the class, breathing heavily as the sun beat down on his skin. Going to need to extend my moisturizing routine and get an SPF 500 sunscreen tonight.

He saw Finn run ahead with the two cheerleaders, Brittany and Santana. Sighing, he picked up the pace and sprinted towards Finn as fast as he could. For a split-second he thought he saw tufts of curly black hair behind the bleachers, but kept on running, trying to push the skills he earned through tenth grade cross country to catch up with his brother.

Kurt let out a strangled shout, "Fi—Argh, Michael!" Finn turned around, and the two girls kept on running.

The taller boy slowed down and let his brother catch up with him. He and Kurt began running side-by-side.

"So," Finn said, his tone icy-cold, "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry—about—earlier," Kurt panted as they turned a corner. "I'm really, really sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. I was frustrated, I was terrible, I know, and I—"

Finn sighed. "You sprinted all the way here, when you haven't sprinted in about two years, just to tell me 'sorry'? Could have told me before dinner," he joked. Kurt frowned at him.

"Seriously, though, I was being selfish."

"Couldn't have told me otherwise," Finn snorted.

"So...forgive me?"

Finn shrugged. "Maybe."

Kurt gaped at him. "Come on, I sprinted here. You know how I look when I sprint."

"Like an epileptic duck. Yeah, that's how you look when you sprint."

Kurt punched him.

"Ow! Fine. I forgive you," Finn sighed. "I know the glee club stuff is a sore spot for you."

They turned a sharp corner. "It is. But...I'll get more performance time at NYADA, anyway, so what's one year?"

Finn smiled at him softly. "Thanks."

They both shared a brief fist-bump, and Finn cleared his throat loudly. "But…yeah…I kinda need some help."

"Don't ask me about girls. Wouldn't know a thing," Kurt said, holding his hands up defensively as they continued to run. "Oh, god, it's too hot out here. I am going to take a nice, long shower in the locker room after this."

"Didn't need that mental image in my head, bro," Finn grimaced. Kurt pushed him gently. "And it's not about girls. My audition is right after this."

"Oh, your glee club audition. Wondering what song to sing? I suggest you pick one of your scrub-a-dub-dub tunes. One of those would work. Journey, perhaps? You're The One That I Want from Grease? I swear I heard you sing that one time after one of our family movie nights."

"Shhh, don't say that out loud," Finn panted. "Probably gonna stick to Journey."

"Good choice."

When they finally hit the checkpoint and walked to the nearest water fountain, Kurt pulled a soft towel out of his pocket and dabbed his face and neck gently. "So goddamn hot out here."

"Kurt, why don't you go with me to the…um, glee audition? I don't know what to do at these things, so I was wondering if you could sit and watch, I guess? Sorry if that's, uh, selfish or anything, but…yeah."

Kurt let out a long sigh before they stretched and continued to run. "Couldn't have worded it as eloquent as you. Sure."

Finn clapped his brother's shoulder. "Thanks. Oh, and are those football dudes and that Anderson guy still bugging you?"

Kurt shrugged. "No. No, they're not." He bent down to tie his shoes.

"That's good, 'cause we've got to at least survive the first week of school," Finn smirked. He turned around and saw Brittany and Santana stretching behind him; Santana was on her phone, talking in rapid Spanish to someone.

Ay, no, tía—ay dios mio! No me veía. Damn it…Lo siento…lo siento. ¿Roddie? Argh. Estupido. "

Kurt froze in place, hands lingering on his laces.

Finn stared at him confusedly. "What?"

He resumed tying his shoes. "Nothing. I'm just hearing things."

It's all a coincidence. It's all a coincidence.

"COME ON, PEOPLE, GET YOUR ASSES BACK ON THAT TRACK! YOU HAVE FIVE MORE LAPS TO GO!"

Kurt ran ahead of Finn, who tried to catch up clumsily.

He ran faster than he ever did before, around the track, until the bell rang.


Author's Note:

OH, BLAINE, YOU DRIVE ME INSAAAANE. And yes, Agent Malone is Duke Whitely's (from INGTH2DWY)-much older-step-brother. No, there will be no Duke in this story, sorry. I don't want to bog people down with my OCs! Plus, Duke would be in college at this point, so he wouldn't have met Klaine yet...and whoops, I'm talking about a whole entire different 'verse of mine now ;p

Up next: Finn's glee club audition...with a twist. An AP English project is introduced. Blaine has issues.

Review?