A note: So I promised myself I wouldn't write a fanfiction, but alas, here I am! What can I say, too many plot bunnies, too little time, I'm afraid. Well, uh, not really much to say at the moment, but I do hope you enjoy this cup of word vomit here. It might be a little confusing at first, I know, but I promise; all shall be revealed later. Happy New Year!
Summary: When Blaine Anderson falls asleep, he is thirty-five years old, tired, overworked, single, a lawyer and the owner of a goldfish named Tom. When he wakes up, it is four hours and twelve minutes later, he has a pounding migraine and he is sixteen years old. He doesn't know it yet, but his life is about to change forever. Klaine.
Disclaimer: Wikipedia, all characters, songs and other things I probably forgot to mention are not mine, nor will ever be (unfortunately.)
Prologue
In which Blaine Anderson takes
"did you roll off the wrong side of the bed this morning?"
to a whole new level.
To begin; Blaine Anderson is thirty-five years old, tired, overworked, a resident of New York City's finest Morningside apartments, the owner of a goldfish named Tom, a lawyer and is newly single. He's in his office, cheek resting on his laptop's keyboard, eyes closed, square imprints of individual keys imprinting on his face. Sophisticated, black, thick-framed glasses are half-perched on his nose as his hand lies limp on the table, still nursing the strongest cup of coffee he has already drunk twenty-three times before.
Blaine Anderson is thirty-five years old and his life is about to change forever.
When he wakes up, its four hours and twelve minutes later and the bedside clock reads seven-fifteen a.m.
He is sixteen years old.
The moment Blaine Anderson realised that something was truly, profoundly, overwhelmingly, devastatingly wrong, it was well after dark. Not that he was exceptionally dull or anything, he hastened to add, it wasn't as if this sort of thing happened every day, after all. No, this curious predicament he was in? Not in the realm of the norm, or anywhere even remotely close for that matter.
But, he digressed; he should have noticed it earlier. There were signs everywhere; the students, their uniforms, their text books, the classrooms, the teachers, the furniture, the layout, heck, he himself was a huge sign. But as always, he was absolutely clueless. Sometimes, he wondered how he even made it past Ohio.
He grimaced; Sebastian used to say the exact same thing.
He sighed. As far as break-ups went, theirs had been particularly brutal. Well, of course it'd been; they'd been together since junior year, so it was virtually impossible for any sort of clean break to actually happen, no matter how much he hoped. There had been too many memories to dredge up, too many secrets to use -and if Sebastian wasn't the most vindictive person on the planet.
Blaine rolled his eyes.
"Bitch," Rachel supplied helpfully, sipping her coffee with the primness and decorum of a princess. They'd met in one of the karaoke bars he frequented to during college; he had done a heartfelt rendition of "Somewhere Only We Know" and she had promptly walked up to him afterwards, nose up in the air, ugly sweater in place as she told him that his voice was great and his diction was superb and "we should do a duet together, I'm sure our voices would blend together perfectly. Might I suggest something from West Side Story?"
They'd been best friends ever since.
Blaine only sniffled, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily.
"Actually, I think it was my fault this time. I should have told him earlier, you know?"
And well, Sebastian had been his first, and he was there for him when he confronted his dad about being gay. That counted for something, at least. They were in the Warblers together, they moved to New York for college together, they shared an apartment, he knew his eating habits, his schedule, his quirks, his favourite songs, how many moles and freckles he had, knew about how he absolutely adored Katy Perry no matter how old he was. Despite all that happened, Sebastian knew how his mind, how his body, how his heart worked. He had to give him that.
"I don't love you!" Eyes red and puffy, carefully gelled hair in disarray, white button-up and black slacks creased, hands pale and clenched in to fists, thirty-five year old Blaine Anderson shouted at him from across the room.
Sebastian only nodded at him, mouth set in a thin line.
"Well. I guess that's it then."
Oh yes, and then there was that.
Blaine groaned, lying down on the bed –-his bed, he reminded himself. He fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering how at all he used to sleep here as a teenager. It was small and dull and no matter how much he tried, he simply couldn't find it within himself to relax fully in to the admittedly lacklustre pieces of wood and too springy mattress. After so many years away from Dalton, it just didn't feel right any more.
Nothing felt right any more.
He bit his lip, running an errant hand through his overtly-gelled hair (he obviously hadn't learned about the word restraint yet. His hair felt like a rock. Honestly, kid.) Everything would be okay, everything would be okay, everything would be okay. He was practically trained for this, what with all the sci-fi movies that Wes made him watch on a semi-daily basis. All he had to do was find out how he got here, why he was here and how the hell he could get back.
It was simple. He could do this. Easy-peasy. No sweat. He'd be back in his own time in no time-
A flurry of blonde and brown burst through sixteen year-old Blaine Anderson's dorm room, loud whoops, guffaws and restrained snickers echoing around him. Two absolutely mad individuals jumped on top of him, bombarding him with jeers of "Blaine, honey, I missed you!" and "Puberty did you so well over the summer, Blainers! You're all grown up now!" The heady scent of testosterone, sweat and sugar wafted in to the room, and Blaine, shell-shocked beyond belief, could only gasp as his undoubtedly teenage friends assaulted his vision.
"Ready for another year of Dalton, Blainers? With homework and exams and Warbler practice and sectionals and regionals and man, we are so going to nationals this year and dancing on furniture and movie nights and dude, Wes and David are waiting in the common room and Thad found the coolest pink gavel last week we thought we'd give it to Wes for his birthday we want to bedazzle it what do you think Blaine huh how was summer Blaine did you get taller no ha-"
Blaine only blinked.
He was going to die. He was stuck in a weird, preppy rendition of The Twilight Zone and he was somehow sixteen again and he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it and he was going to die.
Little did one Blaine Anderson know however; this was only the beginning.
According to the undoubtedly reliable source Wikipedia, "Time travel is the concept of moving between different points in time in a manner analogous to moving between different points in space. Time travel could hypothetically involve moving backward in time to a moment earlier than the starting point, or forward to the future of that point without the need for the traveller to experience the intervening period (at least not at the normal rate). It is currently unknown whether the laws of physics would allow time travel into the past. Such backward time travel would have the potential to introduce paradoxes related to causality, and a variety of hypotheses have been proposed to resolve them."
Tell me what you think!