The fact that this had been a good week, relatively speaking, should have set off alarms, Kurt thought wearily as Dave Karofsky stepped out from behind the dark bulk of Navigator into the narrow space between it and the car parked beside it, and loomed over him. Only two slushie attacks, but nothing else more deliberately targeted than the occasional casual shove in the hallway or passing crude insult. He should have known they were saving up for something special.

(Maybe staying after to run through the new Cheerios routine with Santana and Brittany and Becky had been a bad idea, after all- the three girls had all gone off to meet Becky's dad out front, leaving him headed, alone, for the parking lot behind the school just after detention had let out, as well.)

He gripped the strap of his bag and unconsciously glanced over the make sure his car was ok -and, thank all the little gods of fashion, it was- even as he backed up a couple of steps.

That, naturally, brought him right up against Karofsky's (unexpectedly cat-footed) partner in delinquency as he rounded the Navigator's front fender. Kurt recoiled from contact with Azimio's bulk immediately, which didn't stop the jock from growling in disgust and shoving their now-trapped prey back towards the other jock.

Whatever they had in mind, Kurt knew, it could only end badly for him, if he didn't act fast. He didn't have to take them both, he just had to surprise them and make an opening. He could mourn the damage to his bag later; for now, he threw it at Karofsky's face and dropped prone to shimmy under the undercarriage of the Navigator as the startled jock caught it. Thankful that he'd worn jeans instead of the more delicate trousers he'd contemplated in planning his wardrobe last week, he scooted further underneath on elbows and knees as both of the other boys lunged for him, swearing.

He was quick, but Azimio reacted just as fast. A hand clamped around his ankle before he could get out of reach, and he was dragged back out from under the SUV, scraping his hands and knees as he fought for purchase against the stronger boy. When Karofsky caught his other leg, he gave up, and let them haul him to his feet between them, each gripping one of his arms firmly.

"Hey, there, Fancy," Karofsky sneered, "that's not very friendly of you. We just want you to take a ride with us." He looked Kurt over head to toe, and shook his head in mock regret. "And you went and ruined your clothes to avoid our invitation."

"Yeah," Azimio added, "like we do all the new athletes. Too bad you quit before we could... invite you." Azimio dropped an arm around Kurt's shoulder in what could have been mistaken for a friendly gesture. "You cold, Hummel?"

Kurt stiffened under the bigger boy's arm, trying to control the shaking that he hoped was the only sign of the fear that swept over him like an icy wave. From this side of his baby, the bulk of the car hid all three of them from the school windows, Kurt realized with trepidation. Keeping his voice level, he raised his chin haughtily, looked at the hockey player as if he'd just scraped the bigger boy off his shoe, and asked coolly, "What would make you think I would want to go anywhere with you, David?"

Karofsky's eyes narrowed angrily, and he cuffed the smaller boy in the side of the head, growling, "Watch your tongue, pretty boy, or you'll be sorry!" Kurt's ability to formulate a witty comeback seemed to be thwarted by the sudden explosion of pain as his head rocked with the blow and the alarming way it made the world blur out of focus.

Puck usually skipped detention like he skipped math class, but this time he was flirting with a suspension, and he knew it. Since he cared more about his extracurricular fun (even glee club, though he'd dumpster anyone who suggested it) he'd shown up this time, and spent the hour and a half trading sneers and spitballs with Karofsky, who'd actually been caught red-handed (well, blue, actually) tossing a slushie at Goth Chick's face earlier that day. When they'd been released, Karofsky had met up with his usual wing-man in the hallway, and they'd high-fived each other as Azimio leaned in to tell Karofsky something that made the big buffoon look way too happy. Both of them seemed to be in a pretty good mood for guys who'd had to stay after, and that made Puck suspicious. He knew what put him in such a good mood, and it wasn't usually good for the target of his... high spirits.

So when they'd headed for the back lot, he'd trailed them at a discreet distance. After all, he was trying to follow 'Cedes' advice, and be a better man. Besides, busting up their fun might provide him some.

He'd slipped into a classroom that overlooked the parking lot to see what they were up to, and watched them get into Azimio's beat-up little Toyota. He'd assumed that they'd take off, and he almost regretted missing whatever they had planned, but they just moved the car, parking it again next to-

Kurt Hummel's Navigator. Kurt hadn't had the car back for long, but with winter coming along, fast, his dad had given in to the logic of four-wheel drive and tons of steel protecting his boy from the dangers of winter driving. Puck wondered what they were up to as they got out of the car again and disappeared around behind its tailgate. They didn't have any paint cans, so they weren't planning to deface it, at least. Puck might have to intervene if they did. That beast was a real beauty, and while Puck didn't care how Hummel felt about it, he'd be damned if he'd let them destroy its perfect finish.

He wasn't left wondering for long. Almost as soon as they were out of sight, Hummel himself came out of the school, heading for the car. He'd been wearing his cheerios uniform earlier, but he'd clearly stopped to change into a pair of those really tight jeans he preferred (and Puck had to wonder if that was the secret to how he hit those high notes, really, because that was just NOT normal) and a dark blue jacket that probably cost more than Puck's mom's car had. He disappeared around the far side of the car. Azimio came around the front of the Navigator, moving in behind Kurt. So, it was an ambush, then.

Puck hung back at the window a moment longer, debating. He had an idea of what was on their minds now. It was practically a tradition for freshman players: the older players would lock one or two of the new kids in the trunk of one of their cars, and drive them to the outskirts of town. They'd leave the newbie there to make their way home on their own, or sometimes, if they like the kid, they'd give him directions to the pizza place where they'd all be waiting and buy the kid's dinner when he got there. It could be scary, but harmless. If they liked the kid, there was free pizza and acceptance as "one of the guys" once he got through the "ordeal."

If they liked the new kid.

They did not like Hummel.

Just as he was about to go looking for Schue, or even Coach Sylvester, the pair came out from behind the SUV, with Hummel between them. He wasn't walking so well, and there was something odd about how he held his arms. And even from here, in the late afternoon light, Puck could see that the knees of his jeans were torn. Azimio almost seemed to be holding him upright as Karofsky unlocked the trunk and opened it.

Puck cursed. "Come on, Hummel, if there was ever a time to fight back..." He watched as Azimio spun the smaller boy by the shoulders into Karofsky's grip and bent to catch his ankles in a move they'd perfected over by the dumpsters. And suddenly, as they dropped him into the trunk and shut the lid, Puck found himself racing for the door, because he'd seen what was wrong with Kurt's arms.

They were, somehow, bound behind his back.

That ...was new.

When his vision started to clear, the first thing Kurt had focused on had been the object in Karofsky's fist, an object that had made his adrenaline spike painfully as he tried to pull away from Azimio's grip. A roll of silver duct tape. But Karofsky just backhanded him again, and Kurt found himself gagging on the coppery tang of blood in his mouth even as he reeled back against Azimio.

Karofsky raised the roll of duct tape and tore off a strip as Azimio wrenched Kurt's arms behind him. The first strip was quickly slapped across Kurt's mouth, and there went any belated thought of shouting for help. He was shoved against the side of the Navigator and tried to mule-kick at the pair (he connected once, hard, but they just pulled him back and slammed him into the SUV's door again), and some one's hand planted in the middle of his back held him there while they taped his wrists together.

For a second he found himself facing his own reflection in the tinted window, his own wide eyes gazing at him like a desperate stranger's over the dark gash of the tape and the spreading blotch marking where Karofsky had struck him. Kurt could feel the tears welling up, tears of anger and terror, and he fought to control them, not letting them become more than a trace of moisture as they spun him back around to face them again. He hated those tears, his visceral reaction to anger and frustration, and to guys like Karofsky and Azimio, an expected sign of weakness.

Azimio rubbed at the spot on his shin where Kurt's foot had connected, scowling at Kurt angrily "That was stupid, fairy," he snarled, doubling his fist and driving it into Kurt's gut. Kurt folded over his fist, fighting for breath, fighting not to throw up, hampered by the tape gag, and sagged to his knees as Azimio stepped back and kicked him in the side. There was a roaring in his ears and the world went dim, but even over the roar, he could hear Karofsky talking, and felt two pairs of hands haul him to his feet, and Azimio walking him over towards their car.

He'd barely had time to register what they intended before he found himself dumped unceremoniously into the trunk, and the lid slammed shut, leaving him in darkness.

By the time Puck reached the parking lot, they were heading for the far end. He stood there for a long moment watching them go, swerving sharply from side to side in a way he knew was designed to knock their involuntary passenger around and make him carsick. His fists clenched involuntarily as they peeled out of the lot.

He'd have to do something. Not because he felt any need to rescue Hummel - hell, he'd have done the ordeal himself, the right way, if he'd thought of it- but he wouldn't tie the kid up, that wasn't cool. Not how the game was played.

And because he'd promised. He'd practically promised Hummel he'd have his back. He'd promised them they'd pay for it the next time they messed with anyone from glee. Well, beyond the normal stuff. Slushies were one thing, and he knew now himself how nasty a slushie to the face was. But beating Hummel up was not on the list of things they were allowed to do, and he thought he'd made that clear.

Besides, he knew how they felt about Hummel, and he didn't think it would take much for them to take this way beyond the normal hazing ordeal. Once they were away from the school, would they really control their fists? He knew Hummel could endure a lot, could endure their words, all the harassment they dished out in the course of a school day (and he had to admit, grudgingly, that he sorta admired the little shrimp for it), but there were limits...

He yanked his phone out of his pocket. He and Finn weren't best friends any more, and he knew the Finn and Hummel had had their problems getting along as well, but they were a team, they were bros, in a strange way. He speed-dialed Finn. Just as the connection was made and he heard Finn say his name, his phone went dead.

Muttering a string of curses that would have curled Mr. Schuester's hair... more... he spun around to survey the parking lot. His eyes locked on the Navigator. He ran over to it, checking swiftly under each wheel well for a spare key. Nope. Should have known Hummel wouldn't leave a spare where anyone could get to it. He thumped a fist against the fender in frustration, and started back around the Lincoln. As he did, something sticking out from part way under the SUV caught his eye. Hummel's bag. He hooked the strap with one foot and pulled it out, its contents spilling across the pavement. Including a shiny ring of car keys.

Scooping them up, he unlocked the door and swung up into the driver's seat. He huffed out a quick breath, refusing to let the gleaming interior and multitude of instruments shining up at him intimidate him (he was Puckasaurus REX, dammit!) - or the sheer size of the beast, or the fact that he was actually thinking of driving a vehicle worth more than the Puckerman household made in the course of a calendar year. He put the key into the ignition, and started the engine.

He knew exactly where they would be headed. Guiding the SUV carefully out of the parking lot, he took off in pursuit.