William McKinley High was weird. Kurt knew that. The cheerleading coach press ganging random students into parading her trophies around, the principal draping his office in garlic bulbs, the gay kid wandering around in a silver dress and 10 inch heels. Those were all pretty normal scenes at Lima's high school.

But still, walking into the chorus room to find your teacher, and 3 glee club members tied up didn't happen every day. The twitchy kid with the gun, who Kurt vaguely remembered as possibly going to the school, explained the situation a little but didn't make it any less weird. He was rambling about his plans, which seemed to include a forced game of russian roulette.


The Kid jumped when Kurt came in, so he held up his hand placatingly, sliding onto the seat next to Puck. He crossed his legs, resting his wrists lightly on his knee and lifted one eyebrow.

"...what?" The Kid asked.

"Oh. nothing." Kurt examined his nails, flattening them against the red pants leg of his Cheerio's uniform, mentally going over the list of people in after school programs. None that would be much help, and the rest of the gleeks would be in the auditorium. He looked at the band around his wrist. 'WWSSD' What would Sue Sylvester do?

"Seriously. What?"

Kurt shrugged, glancing at his fellow gleeks. Rachel's mouth was twitching furiously behind her duct tape, while Puck and Finn seemed to be in a state of angry shock.

"I'm just wondering if you've thought your plan through completely."

The Kid looked confused and Kurt sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"There's what? 6 rounds in a game of Russian Roulette? 1 bullet, 5 empty chambers. But you have 4 hostages. 5 if you count me I suppose, though I'm not really into party games." he waved a hand dismissively.


"So, you obviously chose Russian Roulette to give yourself the illusion that you wouldn't be responsible for whoever dies, because you didn't chose them. Just a guess. I wasn't here for the opening monologue about your deep seated glee club hatred, or teen angst or whatever."

He waited for The Kid to nod, ignoring Mr. Schue's protesting mumbles.

"Hmm." Kurt made a point of considering the plan. He tilted his head, pursing his lips slightly in thought. "So what happens if the bullet's in the last chamber? You start over again? You'll have to choose who goes next, knowing they'll die."

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead." The Kid admitted, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Obviously" Kurt agreed, uncrossing his legs and standing up. "You'll play too." He decided matter of factly. "That gives us a sixth person, and it's not like you won't be up for lethal injection anyway, if you kill one of us. They'll make an exception, try you as an adult, especially if you kill me and Coach Sylvester has to find a replacement two weeks before nationals."

He had been casually walking over as he talked, and now stood next to The Kid, holding his hand out for the gun.

The Kid blinked slowly and Kurt shrugged again, wiggling his fingers. "Well, if we're going to play, and since I'm the guest, I want to go first. My chances are 1 in 6 if I go first. You could go second then, since you're the only other one not tied up. 1 in 5 is still pretty good. They-" He tilted his heads toward the glee hostages. "Can fight it out over the rest of the line up. May I?"

The Kid looked dumbfounded. "You're just going to shoot yourself right?" he asked hesitantly.

"Scout's honor." Kurt promised. "No offense, but you're shaky and I don't trust your aim. I'd rather not get an accidental frontal lobotomy, or a flesh wound that destroys my $3,000 jacket and my sole designer reason for living." Kurt took a moment to smooth down the collar of his jacket fondly, then held his hand out again.

The warm, sweaty, gun was dropped into Kurt's palm, and he resisted the urge to wipe it off on his shirt.

Instead he turned, leveling the gun at The Kids Head.

"Sit." He ordered, and The Kid scrambled over to the free chair, sitting, wide eyed, on his hands.

Finn might have possibly shrieked behind his tape. Puck still looked terrified, but a little turned on, eyes sweeping up and down Kurt's body, which was kind of disturbing, but gratifying.

Kurt shook his head.

"Okay 3 lessons, Ki- wait what's your name?"

"Jeremy?" The Kid sounded unsure.

"Okay. 3 lessons. One. Never give your hostage the gun. Two. The scouts are notoriously homophobic, and even as a 5 year old I was so obviously flaming that I would have never been allowed to join. And I wouldn't have been caught dead in that tacky uniform anyway. Not that I'm bitter about it or anything. Three. And this is the really important one Jimmy."


Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Lesson Three Jeremy, Don't play Russian Roulette with a semi-automatic." He turned again and fired the gun into Puck's stained, out of fashion, gym bag. "As the name implies, it automatically chambers the next round. Now untie them, before I beat you with this gun for being too stupid to live. Then go sit in the corner and think about what you're done until the cops get here."

Jeremy hurried to obey.

Kurt propped against the piano and, allowed himself to smile smugly at Mr. Schuester, resisting the urge to add a hair joke to his Sue Sylvester inspired performance. Maybe becoming a cheerleader had been a good decision after all.

"So." Kurt asked, conversationally, reaching for his phone, and trying very hard to not to shake or look like he was about to wet himself. He had just realized exactly what had happened. "Does this mean I get a solo now?"