People asked for more, and I was happy to comply!

Blaine had noticed the weird smell emanating from the vent hood as they listened to the tour guide explain the science labs and how the general ed credits worked at NYU, but honestly, he'd just thought that's what science labs were supposed to smell to like - it wasn't like he knew any better with his arts background.

That assumption was quickly dispelled by the frantic lab assistant who interrupted their tour, though.

"What are you doing in here?" she screeched, freezing in the doorway as she took in the group of twenty-five or so freshmen and their polo-shirted guide, Jeremy. "Didn't you see the sign on the door?"

"What?" Jeremy said, looking stunned.

"We're using toxic chemicals in here today!" the lab assistant said, lifting her mask before hurrying toward them and motioning for them to all get out. "No one without proper lab equipment is supposed to be in the lab!"

"I didn't-"

"Get out!" she cried, halting any further explanations. "And if you feel light-headed or nauseated at any moment, get to Campus Health immediately!"

Blaine turned to nod at her as he reached for the doorknob. Once he made contact with the metal, a painful static shock coursed up his arm and through his body, making him turn his head back to his hand and frown.

"Ow," he said quietly, not wanting to attract any more attention. "How'd that happen?"

He shook out his arm and kept following the group, straining to hear the rest of Jeremy's explanation. By the time orientation finished for the day, he'd forgotten all about the incident, happy to listen to Kurt ramble on about his own session at NYADA instead. He did remember it for a moment as they were getting ready for bed, but by that time, he was too tired to tell the story properly.

I'll tell him tomorrow, Blaine thought, curling up against Kurt's chest. It won't be any less ridiculous then.

All the good intentions in the world couldn't make Blaine's sleep-fuzzy brain remember to remind him in the morning, though, so the story ended up going untold. Hell, Blaine himself basically forgot all about it.

At least until he woke up a few weeks later feeling like his blood had turned to battery acid in the night, energizing him more than five cups of coffee.

"What the hell?" Blaine asked himself, staring at his hands and flexing them in wonder. He felt strong, like he could pick up their couch with his bare hands if he just put his back into it. Maybe even two couches, if he really wanted to work for it. "I couldn't possibly - could I?"

Even though he was home alone while Kurt had an early day of registration at NYADA, Blaine still snuck out to the living room like he could get busted at any moment. He wasn't sure why he was giving into his whim - it wasn't like he was some kind of champion weightlifter - but part of his brain was saying You can do this, just try, and Blaine couldn't help but listen, if only to make the urge go away.

"Here goes nothing," he said softly, crouching down behind the couch. "One...two...unnngh!"

It took a little effort, but Blaine had the couch hoisted over his head within a minute, barely feeling the weight. Another minute later, he'd shifted the whole thing into one of his hands, nearly taking out a window as the balance shifted but not feeling much more strain on his muscles.

"Holy crap. Holy crap!" Blaine laughed in exhilaration. "I'm strong!"

After another minute, he put the couch back where it usually was, bored with holding it. He was sure that he could physically do it indefinitely, though, which was both exciting and perplexing at the same time.

"I wonder if I can do anything else," Blaine mused, looking around the apartment for inspiration. His gaze struck the top cabinets in their kitchen, which he normally couldn't reach without a stepstool. "No. I can't-"

He ran over, reaching up with all of his might. He thought he was going to stretch for it like he was the mom from The Incredibles, but instead -

"No way!"

He was flying. Or, well, hovering, but he thought he could turn it into flying with a little momentum. The realization stunned him so much that he dropped the vase he'd retrieved from their shelves, making it smash against the floor.

"Shit," Blaine said, landing somewhat gently and bending down to start grabbing pieces of glass. He tried to avoid the sharpest looking edges as much as possible, but he ended up misjudging the distance to a particularly big shard and swiping it across his palm roughly, causing blood to start welling up. "Ow!"

He quickly discarded the pile he had in his good hand in the trash and went to the medicine cabinet, scrounging for band-aids. By the time he found their first aid kit, though, the cut was already healed over, just a thin pink stripe in the center of his hand.

"Whoa." Blaine lifted his hand closer to his face, rubbing a finger over the scar and feeling no pain. "I heal quickly, too? This is - I just - holy crap, how did this even happen?"

That question struck him as a good one, and he stopped to sit on the edge of their bathtub for a minute and try to think it over more. After a moment, it came to him.

"The lab during orientation. Whatever those chemicals were - they changed me," he said, feeling his eyes widen. "I've got - I've got superpowers now."

A scream from outside broke Blaine out of his reverie. He ran to the living room window to see a man running down the street with a wailing toddler in his arms while another man frantically chased him and yelled for him to stop.

Blaine didn't stop to think. He just threw on some clothes and bolted after them, going faster than he'd ever run before. It didn't take him long to catch up to the man with the toddler, whom he aimed a wild blow at in the hopes of slowing him down.

Of course, things didn't go exactly to plan.

Blaine watched in horror as the man stumbled and began to fall, losing consciousness from the impact to his head. The toddler kept sobbing, and Blaine reached out to grab her before the man could land on top of her and crush her.

Then Blaine blinked, and the man was on the ground.

"Oh my God, where did you come from?" the other man asked, finally catching up to them. He bent over and gasped for air. "How did you stop this guy from running off with my daughter?

"I - uh - was out for a run and saw this guy trying to get away with your daughter," Blaine said, giving the girl - who was making grabby hands - back to her father. "I just reacted, I guess. It was all kind of a blur."

"Thank you," the man said, cuddling his daughter close. "I don't know what I would have done if he'd gotten away."

"Do you have any idea why he wanted to kidnap her?" Blaine asked, curious.

"I apprehended his brother the other week. Armed robbery and assault. This was his revenge," the man said, glancing down at the unconscious kidnapper with a mix of pity and anger on his face. "Said if he had to lose a family member, then so did I."

"That's horrible," Blaine said, feeling close to tears at the thought of what the kidnapper could have done to that little girl.

"All part of being a police officer. Eventually, all the bad guys come back for vengeance," the man said, shrugging his free shoulder. "But we don't need to dwell on it. You stopped him, and I called for backup as I was running. He won't be getting anyone else's kids for a long time."

"Glad I could help," Blaine said, realizing as he said so that he meant it very deeply. "Is it alright if I get back to my run, or-?"

"Yeah, could I just get your name, in case we need to go to trial?"

"Sam. Sam Evans, on Flatbush Avenue," Blaine lied, going with the first name and street he could think of. "Bye!"

He jogged off, consciously trying to keep a normal pace the whole time. When he finally made it back to their apartment - a few blocks over, on Nostrand Avenue - he collapsed onto their couch, mind spinning.

"That man almost had his daughter kidnapped just for doing his job," Blaine said, head in his hands. "If I keep using my powers - and I want to, oh God do I want to - everyone I love could be equally at risk."

An image of Kurt came to his mind - Kurt laughing and baking muffins, a splotch of flour on his nose. Kurt owning the stage at Carnegie Hall, a crowd on their feet as he finished.

Kurt broken and quiet, at the mercy of a burly kidnapper looking to get revenge on Blaine.

"I can't tell him," Blaine said, staring blankly at the TV. "I can't tell anyone. But I can do this. I can help keep New York safe. I need to help keep New York safe."

He didn't know why he felt so strongly about using his powers in that way - or at all, really. But he couldn't talk himself out of becoming, well, a superhero.

"Guess I'd better unearth my Nightbird costume and look into some alterations. And maybe a home base of some kind," he mused. Just as he was about to get up, though, he heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Blaine! I got all the classes I wanted!" Kurt said once he got in the front door. He turned after hanging up his jacket and asked, "You okay?"

"Wh - yeah. Yeah, fine. Just watched a surprisingly heart-wrenching Lifetime movie," Blaine said, a little quickly.

Kurt narrowed his eyes but walked over and pulled Blaine into his arms. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No, I'll be fine. Can we just - spend some time together? I'd really like that," Blaine said, burying his head in Kurt's shoulder and thinking I won't let anyone get to you. I won't.

"Whatever you want, B. As long as that time involves getting dinner somehow, I'm down for anything," Kurt said wryly, rubbing over Blaine's back.

Blaine squeaked out a laugh. "It can absolutely involve dinner. I'll make that salad you like if you make those mini casseroles I love?"

"Now you're speaking my language."

"Always hope to," Blaine said, already feeling brighter now that Kurt was home and safe. He leaned up for a kiss before scooting off to start dinner, followed closely by Kurt, who muttered that there had better be some more of that later, too.

Blaine figured that request wouldn't be too hard to oblige.