A/N: Well, I don't have much to say here, other than: I'm back! Sorry it has been so long, I've been having trouble with inspiration. Anyways, I'm not having that problem now so I'm going to ride and ring it out of me until there is no more. Expect some more stuff from me soon.

Translations: (in order of appearance)

paper-shaker – cheer leader

flutter bum – good looking boy

big tickle – really funny

fuzz – police

Enjoy!

Kurt had never been a fighter. He was the sensitive type. The type that was gentle and listened, gave genuine advice because he truly cared about other people. He preferred talking things over, using logic where it was dictated and brute honesty every other time.

It drove dames cross-eyed.

A guy like Kurt, giving his full attention to anyone, with his intense blue-gray-green-eyes and caring attitude; not to mention he was a part of the T-Birds—Puck was not kidding when he said the panties just dropped. Artie had been the first one to point out how good looking Kurt was... and really it had only been brought up because of how many dames and paper-shakers that Kurt was seen talking to on a daily basis. More than any other guy in school.

He was attractive.

But it did not matter how good looking he was or how gentle or how logical he could be, because none of that mattered in a fight. Nothing but skill, strength and, for him, plain luck.

Kurt had never been a fighter because he liked other means of getting things solved. Things that did not involve pain or blood.

None of that meant he was a punk.

The two goons that were only in charge of picking him up every time he was knocked to the ground, shoved him against the brick wall of the alley he had been dragged into. Jessie St. Sucks was a punk in that respect. He needed his crew to gang up on someone in order to really do any damage.

"Keep him on his feet!" He was shouting, the punk. Yelling was not needed when someone was really in control.

Kurt spit in his face to prove it. His lips pulled back in a crooked smirk, his right cheek more swollen—and throbbing—than the left. The satisfaction of watching his blood and saliva sprayed all over the identity of the rival gang leader standing before him, his shock and anger only driving Kurt's boldness. "Coward."

"You keep you filthy mouth shut, flutter bum."

The beaten teen just chuckled, "That's a big tickle. Coming from the guy that needs five bulls to take on one little T-Bird." Kurt felt the corner of his lip tear more as he smiled, the pain only fueling the fire, "You mustn't think much of your boys—or yourself, to need their help to take on one person. Guess you don't believe in man-to-man, one-on-one."

That got him punched in the gut, but no kidney shots. At least he was leaving an impression on Jessie's nosebleed bulls.

Plant the seed and let it grow.

Kurt spit at him again, this time aiming and landing on the punk's leather. "You don't deserve to wear that piece of leather if you can't fight man-to-man." His eyes were a shocking shade of blue as Kurt glared at the teen across from him through swollen eyes, "Coward. T-Birds don't need goons to hold down their prey, we beat them with shear strength."

St. Sucks' face lit up red in embarrassment, his fists tightening and shaking at his sides.

The restrained teen smirked, head tilting back in challenge. If he was going to get beat up from being ganged up on, he was going to make sure that he got his few hits in, where ever he could get them.

Then the punk teen across from him did exactly what Kurt was hoping he would do and came at him again, fist raised, but his punch faltered... because at the same time, Kurt had dropped his weight, using the grip on his upper arms as leverage to swing his leg up, straight into St. Suck's upper inner thigh, only grazing the advancing teen's groin.

But it was enough.

Enough to cause the punch to miss him all together. Enough to send the off balance rival "leader" crooning into Kurt and the two bulls holding him. Enough to dislodge Kurt from one grip due to him dropping his weight, and the other when St. Sucks fell into the second goon and Kurt. Enough to free Kurt's hands up so that he could get one good punch in, landing straight on the off balanced teen's nose.

...and with a sound like a snapped twig under foot, the punk's nose broke.

Kurt's lip split more when he grinned.

Despite the want to see his handy work, Kurt had even more important things on his mind, evening up the odds; because there was no telling how long the scales would be tipped in his favor.

So he regained his footing as best he could, before the other Scorpions leaning about decided to join in the fun, and started swinging.

Left. Right. Left. Duck. Below. Right.

He was just wailing on whoever happened to be within his reach.

This was survival.

Despite St. Sucks wanting to have his sick form of fun, this was fight and he was going to go down doing so, because there was no such thing as flight when you were a T-Bird.

But just as quickly as they all had ganged up on him, they backed off.

Not all of them had fully, like they had momentarily been distracted before starting in again. All Kurt knew was that he was fighting less than half of them; wondering in the back of his mind if the others were just off to the side watching until he was full subdued again. That was until a sloppy upper-cut had Kurt twisting off to the side and he caught a glance of the group of the disappeared gang members, and they were not just standing around—they were fighting, a guy—

The teen did not get much of a chance to look over the other young man; all he knew was that he was not alone.

Kurt hoped that he was another T-Bird, finding Kurt in his plight and had come to help, maybe even sent someone off to go get the others to help. Knowing that he was not alone, that he had someone to fight with him, triumph, or go down fighting with him—that was all Kurt needed to know.

He tired easily, because he was not used to fighting the way that anyone else in the gang was. Even Artie, who everyone affectionately called 'Wheels', got into more fights than Kurt did. That was saying something because he was bound to a wheel-chair, with minimal use of his legs; that certainly did not stop him from kicking some ass, and on occasion, running over hands and feet.

But his chance of doing some damage had literally just doubled, and that alone was enough to set the fire in his blood anew.

The other guy, whoever he was, was fairing much better than Kurt, whether it was due to the fact that he was fresh to the fight or better at fighting in general—which honestly made sense, now that Kurt was thinking about it. No person that was not confident in their brawling skills would have rushed to help someone who was being jumped. It made more sense to call the fuzz and let them handle riley teenage boys.

Kurt had gained some ground at this point, his direct opponents backing off to take breath, slightly worn out from the sudden energy burst from their presumed "easy" target.

The blue-eyed teen refused to be any kind of "easy".

When one of the goons came forward for another round he was collided into by another boy, Jessie St. Sucks to be exact, who instead of stumbling back from a punch... was running away!

Kurt's head snapped to the side, finally taking in the figure driving back the rest of the Scorpion gang—had this guy really done the impossible? Made a leader of one of the toughest gangs (second to the T-Birds—maybe even further down the list) actually run away?

Unfortunately, Kurt did not have much time to take in the helping teen, who he now knew was not someone he recognized, when he heard it. Through the panting and grunting and the sound of flesh hitting flesh, no one had heard, but now with the pause, it was clear as day.

Sirens.

The fuzz was on its way.

Either for them or some other reason. Regardless, the sirens were getting closer—and Kurt was not about to take his chances on it being for some other reason.

He was a T-Bird through and through, but that only got you so far in the world, and got you nowhere behind bars. Especially when he knew a few cops by name because his dad's shop was the place to go for the fuzz when their ride needed a tune-up—and every deity in existence help him if his dad had to come get him out of jail because of a street fight.

"Shit," Kurt muttered before turning on his heel and bolting down the alley, opposite way that St. Sucks was headed. If Kurt was going to get caught, it was definitely not going to be alongside that punk.

He heard foot falls close behind him but he ignored them.

If it was one of the goons he was going to easily out run their stocky frames and if it was the teen that had been helping him, then he was returning the favor dealt to him by helping the guy escaped from the fuzz. Kurt had a good feeling that he was going to get away unnoticed, but it was good to cover all bases while he came up with a plan on what to say if he did get caught.

And even when he got home with bruises on his face, his dad would be concerned but held a hope that if his son looked like he did, then the other guy looked much worse. The confidence that his dad had in him, never ceased to shock him.

He was never a big kid.

He was not built for sports the way Finn is, or muscled like Puck, or stocky like Sam.

Dad says he was still growing. That there was height and muscle in him from Burt the way there was brains and looks from his mom. It was just going to take some more time. There was nothing to worry about, Kurt had it in him. Burt was completely sure of it.

Maybe he did but he was not going to be seeing any of that muscle anytime soon.

He slowed and stopped as he came to his third cross street after dashing across the street and a right then a left turn, knowing that he was far enough away to claim dumb. Breath labored from the fight and run, Kurt leaned heavily against the alley wall. Across from him, he noticed the teen following him, who was clearly not a Scorpion because he lacked the patch, did the same, trying to catch his breath.

Gee whiz, was he a looker (even overlooking the slight bruising and split lip).

The makings of a movie star, that one. A little short but dames aren't too keen on that. He's got the right idea with grease, and that leather fits him good, Kurt thought... and redoubled his thoughts when the other teen opened his mouth a spoke.

"You ain't so bad, kid," he said with a smirk, his heaving breathing slowing down, "definitely no punk."

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice when he was breathing so hard.

The other teen just continued to smirk and stuck out his hand, knuckles red and scratched from the brawl he jumped into to help Kurt... someone he did not even know. "Name's Blaine."

Kurt smiled and stuck out his own wounded hand in kind, "Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt," Blaine said, still smirking, hand firmly pumping up and down but his grip gentle across Kurt's knuckles. "You fight like that all the time, I'm gonna need you on my side."

Kurt smiled, "Sure thing. Think of it as payment for you jumping in back there."

"Good thing then."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it; I really do love this story.

Anyways, until next time.

Anjel Starlight