Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot to this story and my OCs. The rest all belongs to Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, the various songwriters, and to the writers of any joke that may not be mine.

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A/N #1: I have been driving myself batty searching for a way to introduce my OC, Jack Harmon, into the world of Glee. Then it hit me like a bullet in between the eyes, why not create a series of one-shots? That way the readers can see the character interacting with the show's characters, see things from his POV before I worked on an ensemble piece, and give me a chance to become conformable writing each character from the series.

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The words that are bolded are the narration of a flashback while the italics are the action within the flashback, unless indicated otherwise.

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The word was written on the side of the car in bright red letters. F-A-G-G-E-T. It was as bright as day.

"At least we know one thing," Jack Harmon said, staring at the side of the vehicle, his Horatio Caine Specials covering his black eye, "the writer can't spell the word. This means they're either a football player, a Cheerio, or, well, just about anyone in this school who can't function without a spell check."

Kurt Hummel bit his lower lip, he knew this was coming. He just wished his baby hadn't been the one who suffered from the wrath of some empty-headed, close-minded muscle head with the IQ of a cannoli.

"Do you want me to find out who did it?" Jack asked.

Kurt eyed his rival, the man who once used him as a human shield to escape the Muslim Student Union, who was now asking him if he wanted his help.

"I have ears all over the school," Jack explained. "One of the fringe benefits of evoking pathological terror among the commoners."

Kurt looked at the side of his car, then back at Jack, who seemed ready to go to war. It had to be the black eye Krafosky had given him earlier in the day.

"Answer the question, Elton," the tenor voice of the raging prankster interrupted Kurt's thoughts. "Because to be completely honest, I'm going to do it one way or another."

Kurt looked back at Jack. "Then why are you asking me if I want it?"

"Easy," Jack replied. "Because I'd rather have your backing. It makes me look more humanitarian to those who think I'm soulless and it makes me look as though I'm not defending the honor of my boyfriend. I just look like a guy who finished a fight his prissy friend couldn't finish."

And there was the answer! The sudden burst of kindness was a play to make himself look good. For who? Kurt had no idea, but Jack was the type to plan three steps ahead of everyone, so he must have something in mind.

"What would you do?" Kurt asked.

Jack shrugged. "I would get a little revenge once I figured out who did what. I don't have a precise plan down pact; I might just save it for when I figure out who it was."

Kurt continued to study Jack, the older student rubbing his injured eye. He seemed antsy, ready to strike at something. Harmon was angrier than Lady Gaga trapped inside of Rachel Berry's closet. This was the first time Kurt had ever seen Jack Harmon behave like a human being. He had heard the rumors from the others in glee club, but he never thought he would observe it for himself.

Kurt finally spoke, "I don't want there to be any trouble," Jack opened his mouth to protest. "But, seeing as you were planning on doing this anyway, I'm going to say, I want you to find out."

Jack's normally indifferent expression curved into the rarest movement of them all-Jack Harmon was smiling.

"I knew you'd say that," he proclaimed.

It was at that moment; Kurt Hummel knew he had made a deal with the devil.

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The next day, Kurt half expected the school to be turned upside down, all the jocks dangling from every available flagpole on campus, the football field in flames, and a myriad of other images that would leave McKinley High in flames. While that sort of endgame was a pleasant thought, Kurt did not want to be held responsible for the McKinley High version of Dexter's rampage. He was also glad that Finn had given him a ride to school. The last thing he wanted was for the rest of the glee kids to see what some unknown Neanderthal had done to his baby when his back was turned.

He knew the exact course of actions: Puck would either laugh or react violently, as would Santana. Mike and Matt would fume silently while Mercedes tried her best to comfort him. Quinn, Artie, and Tina would not say much, but he would be able to tell they were angry while Brittany would ask a dumb question. And, finally, Rachel would go into some long-winded tangent about homophobia that he had heard from her many times before. At this point, he could zone out and still be able to imitate her speech.

It was bad enough seeing how Finn, Carole, and his father had reacted the night earlier. He didn't want to deal with that again.

"Finn," he finally spoke, cutting through the silence that had separated him from his almost-stepbrother. "I need you to do me a couple of favors."

"Sure," Finn said, putting his truck in park. "What'd you need?"

"I don't want you to tell anyone about this," Finn opened his mouth to protest. "You know, just as well as I do, what will happen if you tell anyone."

Finn wanted to argue with Kurt, fight this decision. But, he knew it would probably be for the best.

"What's the other thing?" Finn finally asked.

"Find Jack and tell him I need to talk to him."

Finn nodded. Jack was the last person Kurt had talked to before coming home; maybe he knew why Kurt wanted to stay quiet about the incident.

"The minute you find him," Kurt stated, "tell him to meet me at the auditorium, ASAP."

Finn raised an eyebrow at Kurt. Acronyms were never his strong suit.

"As soon as possible," Kurt added, reading Finn's confusion.

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Jack sat alone in the music room, a drink in his hand. He certainly loved bottled water with green grapes, the juice from the grapes made the water so sweet without being overwhelming. On top of that, he always got to eat the grapes after the fact. He had to give his father credit when it came to those tests, if it wasn't for him, he wouldn't have a free period this early in the morning, and he wouldn't be able to handle the situation he had entered into yesterday.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when a new figure entered the room. Dylan Spears, a petite freshman girl, walked over to him, fear radiating off of the newly-minted Cheerio despite her confident demeanor.

"Are you Jack Harmon?" she asked, her voice echoing the snooty way she carried herself.

Jack placed his glass on the ground and rose to his feet.

"Indeed I am," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about something." Jack circled the girl. "Yesterday, an associate of mine's car was vandalized by an unknown despoiler."

Dylan looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

"Despoiler means vandal," Jack interjected. "Now, I usually don't get involved in things like this, but I did not care for the word. Since yesterday, I've been rooting out suspects from a lineup and I found a few witnesses. Witnesses that confirmed that you were in the company of Clark Dante, a newbie for the football team."

Dylan's body tightened, this Harmon guy had to have something up his sleeve.

"And, my sources tell me that an initiation practice for the football team and the Cheerios involve a caper of sorts where you guys do something wicked to a less popular student, a student at the bottom of the totem pole."

Jack watched the girl's nonverbal cues, she was hiding something and all she needed was a little push than he would get the information he wanted.

"And, considering Coach Sylvester's hatred for the glee club, the fact that it was a glee member's car that was vandalized, and the fact that you are a new Cheerio and Dante a new football player, I've got a feeling that you know something."

Dylan's next reaction would clarify Jack's theory, one way or another.

"Of course, it may not have been you with Mr. Dante," Jack said arrogantly. "Because my contacts have also told me that they saw you and another Cheerio behind the bleachers."

Dylan froze; the coup de grace was about the come down on her perfect little world.

"One of the…" Jack paused, taking a breath, drawing out the moment, 'Come on, tell me what I want." He thought, his smirk curving into a wicked smile.

"What do you want to know?" Dylan finally asked.

"Good girl," Jack said, patting the smaller student on the head. "Was it Dante?"

"Yes." Dylan confessed.

"And did he have an accomplice in this matter?" Jack queried, his wicked smile flashing his straight teeth, the shine of his toothpaste flashing off of the dim lights.

Dylan nodded. Jack snickered, making sure his suspect didn't hear him.

"Who was it?" Jack asked.

"It was Horton," she confessed. "And I was there."

Jack smiled. "I know you were."

He patted her on her shoulder and led her to the door.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't Dante and Horton about our little discussion," he suggested. "Or I'll spread the word about your little dalliance behind the bleachers."

Dylan did not say a word; she simply bit her lip and walked away. Jack could not help but smile. He knew he would have to stop doing it sooner or later, but he just had to do so. His theory of application of implied knowledge was a success. Dr. Latham would be kicking herself in the ass when he told her about this in their next session.

Jack searched the hallway, observing that the clock was ticking closer to the end of his free period. Come fourth period, he would reconnoiter with Kurt and tell him what he had learned. Until then, it was time to plot his next move.

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The last three periods had gone on without incident, Kurt was thankful for the fact that the glee club's resident sociopath had not acted on anything. Kurt had spent these periods shaking in his Steve Madden Townsends. He had been thinking about what Jack had said the day before and Kurt finally understood why the egotistical prankster had wanted his okay to seek revenge. He wanted a spare target in case things went south.

Kurt entered the music room, the rest of the club having beat him there He scanned the room, no sign of Jack. No doubt that the shoe-obsessed ego with legs was planning some dramatic entrance.

Kurt was somewhat disappointed when he was proven wrong, Jack simply strutted into the music room, humming what he was sure was Barry Manilow's Best Seat in the House.

"Well, now that everyone's together," Mr. Schue stated, getting the attention of everyone in the room. "I've been going over some of my old notes from when I was in glee."

'Oh no,' Kurt thought. 'If this is another trip back to the 90s I'm probably gonna lie under Finn's truck and hope he doesn't notice me.'

"And I noticed something interesting that we never got to do," the enthusiastic teacher stated. "The old director, not Mr. Ryerson, but the one when I was here, loved musicals. She was particularly fond of duets."

Kurt watched the individual reactions of the group and got the desired

"What I want is simple," Mr. Schue continued to explain. "I want you guys to come down here, I've brought out the duck hat," the little joke drew a giggle from Brittany, "and I've selected a variety of songs, songs usually sung as solos, that I want you guys to turn into a duet."

Kurt joined Rachel, Mercedes, Jack, as they blanched at this instruction.

"I'm going to pair you up," Mr. Schue continued. "This time we'll be doing this alphabetically."

Everyone groaned, they knew this could only lead to something bad. Mr. Schue should know that putting matches around kerosene could only lead to pain and misfortune.

"Which means that Rachel and Artie will be working together," Mr. Schue stated. "Mike, you and Tina are working together. Jack, you and Quinn, Finn, you and Kurt," he paused for a moment, suddenly realizing the whole match to kerosene metaphor, "Santana, you and Mercedes…" Mr. Schue took a breath, reassessing this decision, hoping to find an answer that didn't end in bloodshed.

Kurt saw the light bulb go off his teacher's head. Mr. Schue disposed of the name chart, ripping it to pieces and tossing it into the hat.

"You know what?" he said. "I'll let you guys choose your partners. Then you pick the songs out of the hat."

Kurt looked over at Jack, the older boy playing coy with the tiny divo's desire to speak to him.

Jack spoke up. "I'll take Elton."

Finn looked over at Kurt, wordlessly asking his almost-stepbrother if he wanted backup. Kurt shook his head, this was something he had to handle on his own. Kurt decided to move, make sure that Jack didn't get his chance at the song, knowing his luck he would end up looking as ridiculous as Norbert Leo Butz in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels during All About Ruprecht. Kurt slipped under the taller boy's arms, grabbing a song out of the hat.

"You and I have to talk," Kurt said out of the corner of his mouth.

Jack smirked. "Okay, Kressley, we'll talk."

"Later," Kurt stated, holding his ground with a guy who he had once described as Coach Sylvester with more testosterone.

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The rest of the day went by without incident; Kurt was thankful, but paranoid.

"Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome," Jack sang, moving through the auditorium, "im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret!"

Kurt followed after the taller boy, who seemed to be in a pleasant mood. Kurt thought about what sending a text to Finn to make sure the football player could come springing through the door if his plan went south.

"What are you planning, Harmon?" Kurt finally asked.

"Ah, straight to the gravy," Jack said, flopping down at the piano. "If you're worried about the fallout of my actions, you don't have to worry. I haven't told anyone that you had given me the okay. I thought about, of course, but it didn't."

Jack crossed his legs, he was wearing a much larger pair of Steve Madden Townsends, his wicked smile shining in the spotlights.

"Now, having said all that, you're probably wondering why I didn't," Jack stood up. "I tend to have more fun with you and your friends when you're all in one piece and worthy of time. And, considering that you could play a role in my plans for world domination, I don't want you hurt by some dullard with an axe to grind."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Kurt said firmly.

"Oh, well," Jack laughed, this was a rare thing to say the least.

Well, a treat if you like laughs that sounded eerily like the Grinch's. He looked at his Movado Series 800 and smirked.

"That is about to happen in a couple of minutes," Jack explained. "More than enough time for me to give you my whole plan."

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"I spent the rest of the day searching for your car's vandals, it was actually a lot easier than I thought."

Jack crisscrossed through the myriad of suspects, the ones that gave up easily and the ones that put up a fight.

"And I have a good mind to write a strongly worded letter to Jane Mayer of the New York Times and tell her that Jack Bauer's interrogation methods, in fact, do work."

Jack left the fallen Azimio on the ground, handcuffed to a radiator.

"After that, it was simply a case of finding a suitable punishment for the accused."

Jack entered the free clinic on the outskirts of Lima, several hours later. He smiled wickedly as he walked into the lab, making sure he was not spotted.

"That is when I came across the perfect punishment."

Jack put on a glove, removing a canister from the freezer. He placed this canister into a hermetically sealed bag.

"A little dash of this in the football team's locker room and I would be laughing my ass off, you would have your revenge, and a little spray job on your baby would resolve this whole situation."

Jack sneaked into the locker room, opening the canister and laughing like Beelzebub. He placed it on the toilet seat.

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"They're going to scratching themselves red and they won't even know how they got it," Jack said, laughing at the true lunacy of his prank. "I kill myself sometimes."

Kurt fell into a nearby chair, his eyes wider than ever as the prankster's laugh filled the auditorium. This was the last time he ever made a deal with the devil that wore his shoes.

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A/N #2: I hope you guys enjoy reading this one-shot, I know I had fun writing it. And if you have any questions, just ask me in the review or PM me. Thanks again.