Day One
Dave wakes up with a splitting headache. The sun is searing his retinas and he groans. Another late night at the bar, clearly. "Angie," he croaks. There's no answer. "Hey, Ang! Grab me some aspirin."
He still doesn't get an answer, so he rolls over to see if she's still asleep. And he nearly falls out of the bed. He sits up with a start, pressing his hand to his aching head. "Oh holy fuck," he whispers, looking at the room. He'd know it anywhere, but he'd forgotten the details, of course.
Now it's all here in crystal clarity – the posters of bands that have since become obscure, sports stars who are long retired where he's supposed to be. A twin bed with a ratty army blanket and a desk covered with crumpled homework assignments and empty plates.
He stands up and rushes to look at himself in the small mirror over the dresser. Gone are the paunch and the receding hairline and the look of defeat. He looks young. Handsome and vibrant and alive.
He touches his face, hardly able to believe it.
"David, what are you doing?"
He whirls around to see his mother, and before he can think, he's crossed the room to hug her. Where he's supposed to be – where he just was – she's been dead for almost five years. Died after a sudden heart attack that he hadn't been prepared for and hasn't ever really gotten over. But here, she's alive and healthy and beautiful.
"What on earth is going on, David?" she asks, and he draws back, realizing his behavior very odd for his seventeen-year-old self.
"I, uh... I had a bad dream," he mutters, knowing it's a stupid excuse, but it's the best he can do.
She looks at him critically. "You've been acting so strangely lately, David. I worry about you."
"Sorry, mom," he says, searching for better words.
"You're going to be late," she informs him before he can come up with something to say. "I was going to make you oatmeal, but you overslept."
"It's fine. I'll get dressed."
She nods and gives him another hard look before closing the door. He shakes himself all over and whispers "Get it together," looking at his face in the mirror again.
He rifles through his clothes and puts on a dark button-down shirt and jeans, which is what he thinks he may have been wearing that day. Close enough, anyway. Then he goes downstairs and grabs a packet of Pop-Tarts before heading out to his car.
His car is a piece of shit, but ironically, it's less shitty than his Festiva, plus it has a beautiful nostalgia to it.
He remembers the route to McKinley like he just drove it yesterday. Although, in this body, he did drive it yesterday, so maybe there's muscle memory at work. He wishes he had more of his current memory, though, because remembering what classes he has is a struggle. He knows he has his schedule taped in his locker, because he always put it there on the first day of school, but he has no clue what his locker combination is.
Fuck. He's just starting to realize that this is going to be a lot harder than he'd realized. Trying not to look weird and shifty, he goes into the office and tells the receptionist that he can't get his locker open. She looks up his combination and goes with him to open it. "Can I...?" he asks, reaching for the Post-It note. "Maybe I was doing it wrong."
She gives him a look that clearly indicates that she thinks he's an idiot, but she hands over the paper and he carefully turns the dial. "I think I mixed up the numbers. I'm a little dyslexic," he tells her.
"Keep it written down for next time," she suggests, walking away.
He finds the schedule inside his locker door as he expected to, although he's taped a picture of a girl in a bikini over it. He pulls down the bikini picture and tosses it in the bottom of the locker before carefully peeling off the schedule and consulting it. Once he's got the books he needs, he concentrates on trying to be a student again.
It's funny, but he'd forgotten how much it sucks to sit in a room all day long, listening to teachers drone on about shit he doesn't care about. He wants to stand up and demand that they teach something useful, like how you shouldn't take those too-good-to-be-true MasterCard offers or what to do if you get laid off, but he's determined not to make waves. Instead, he sits at his desk, head down, and tries to make a list of what he needs to do.
He gets as far as 1) Apologize to Kurt before he realizes that he doesn't really know what he wants to accomplish. The idea of coming out and being... gay, well... It's just as terrifying now as it was when he was seventeen the first time around. Just because he thinks about guys during his alone time, that doesn't have to mean something.
But he's not so stubborn that he doesn't remember Vera's words – that he'd be happier if he were married to Kurt. But marriage to Kurt (or any other male) entails a lot of things that are just... hard. Being married to Angie is easy. On the surface, anyway. No one stares when they go out and hold hands. He never has to explain anything to anyone. No one has to know his business. It's just... normal.
The thing that had always bothered him about Kurt was Kurt's complete inability to be normal. And not just that, but the way Kurt embraced the fact that he wasn't normal. That he was proud of it. The idea of not being normal still fills Dave with hot shame, even with the wisdom of forty-two years in his brain.
Groaning, he puts his head down on the desk and prays the teacher won't call on him, because he remembers jack shit about The Red Badge of Courage.
It's not until after lunch when he realizes his critical error.
He sees Kurt in the hallway, holding his phone in his hand and smiling dreamily and it fills him with stark terror because he knows he's supposed to go slam Kurt down and walk away. And Kurt is supposed to chase him and get all up in his face and Dave is supposed to snap and kiss him. But Dave can't do any of that because he's paralyzed by a far worse realization than what should be about to happen – the reason for the dreamy smile is undoubtedly that guy. Blaine. That smirking douchebag with the preppy private school uniform and the goofy face. Dave's always hated that guy with a passion most people save for religious affiliation, and he wants to kick himself now because if he'd been thinking at all, he would have sent himself back to before Kurt met Blaine.
Of course, he hadn't believed he'd actually go anywhere at the time, but still. He should have spared a thought to remember that this Kurt has already set his sights on Blaine. Probably already has a crush, and even if Dave starts sweet-talking him for all he's worth, he's already got competition. Fuck.
He lets Kurt pass him by unmolested. Kurt doesn't even glance in his direction. Dave feels a little shiver of something – dread, maybe? – because this is the first concrete event that he knows has just altered the space-time continuum. Maybe the first time around, he got up and had the oatmeal, and maybe he didn't hug his mom in a creepy fashion, but those things are unlikely to have wrought massive changes in the present.
The fact that he's just removed The Event from his life and from Kurt's is a big deal. He's suddenly scared, because even though he knows he's supposed to be changing things, it feels wrong and freaky and he wonders if he should chase Kurt down and goad him into having the fight anyway. But the moment has passed and everything's going to be different.
Taking a deep breath, Dave tries to force himself to relax. This is good. It's right. This is why he's here – to fix things. Right now, in this timeline, Kurt doesn't hate him. Sure, he's picked on Kurt a little here and there, but not enough that he can't make amends. It's the shit he did after this day, the first time around, that's the problem. Right now, he's put himself in a better place and he needs to figure out how to take advantage of it.
His confidence renewed, Dave hurries to get to his math class. He needs to come up with a plan that doesn't suck, but planning has never been his strong suit.
About halfway through math class, Dave realizes two things. One, that when his teacher says that they'll need to use quadratic equations later in life, he's lying through his teeth, and two, that he needs some help. An ally.
He quickly rules out his entire circle of friends on the grounds that they might kick his ass. Azimio might be the exception, but in Dave's reality, they haven't talked since the ten-year reunion, so it's hard for Dave to remember how close they were. It's more Dave's fault than Azimio's because in the old timeline (before Dave shot it to hell this afternoon), Azimio is a pretty successful car salesman. He sure as hell makes more money than Dave does, he has a pretty wife that he undoubtedly enjoys his relations with, and he's got three cute kids, including two boys who – the last time Dave heard anyway – are little loudmouths just like their dad. It's just too hard to see him.
He pushes away the sick feeling that his meddling could have messed up Azimio's perfect life and considers other options. He can't go with a girl. In his experience, they're all too gossipy and his business will be all over the school by tomorrow morning.
He considers Finn Hudson for a second, but discounts him almost immediately. Kurt hadn't been at their reunion – thank fuck, otherwise Dave would have had to leave immediately – but Finn had showed, and even though Dave hadn't talked to him, he'd heard through the grapevine that Finn spent most of the time bragging about his successful "brother." Even at this point in the timeline, before their parents are actually married, Dave is pretty sure that Finn's loyalty is so cemented that he won't have any space for Dave.
He needs someone like Finn, though. Someone who isn't a homophobe. Someone who likes Kurt and wants him to be happy. Someone who cares about others and won't be malicious and try to ruin Dave's life.
The answer hits him immediately. It's perfect.
He corners Sam Evans in the hall after math. "Hey, can we talk for a second?"
At this point, Dave and Sam haven't had their big locker room fight – and now they never will – so Sam follows Dave around the corner with only a bit of mild annoyance on his face. "What is it, Karofsky?"
"I need your help," Dave says, biting down hard on the side of his tongue, willing himself strength. "I kind of... I think I might like someone. Like them. But I've been kind of a dick to this person in the past." And in the future, he finishes silently.
Sam raises an eyebrow. "So you're... gay?"
Dave gulps. "Where did that come from? I mean..."
"Dude, you're playing Avoid the Pronoun. If it was a chick, you'd just say you like her. I'm not dumb, Karofsky. And I also don't have a problem with gay dudes, so don't worry about it. But I have to tell you, I'm straight."
Sighing, Dave puts a hand to his head. "It's not you," he says, exasperated. This plan is so not working out. "I mean, no offence or anything. But it's not you."
Sam holds up both hands. "Sorry, man. But you have been kind of a dick to me. And for some reason, people keep thinking I'm gay. I don't get it."
Dave looks at Sam's floppy blonde hair and pretty face and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, no idea why that would be. Anyway, I want to know if you'll help me."
"Help you how?"
"I don't know... See, the problem is, I think he likes someone else. It might be too late." Just saying the words fills Dave with a mild panic.
"I assume we're talking about Kurt," Sam says, smiling a little. Dave feels himself blush hard, but he can't bring himself to say anything. "Any other guy I know, you'd have to worry about a lot more than whether or not he liked someone else."
"God, this sucks," Dave says, mostly to himself. "I didn't think it would suck this bad. You can not tell anyone. Please."
"Hey, it's not a big deal," Sam says, putting a hand on Dave's arm. "There's nothing wrong with being gay. I won't say anything to anyone, though. And Kurt is an awesome guy. I want to help. I will help. What do you want me to do?"
Dave thinks for a minute about what would be the most important first step. "Could you... Could you see if he's dating that guy? Or if he likes him?"
Sam grins. "Sure, that's easy. He loves to talk about himself." Dave laughs a little and Sam continues, "Hey, give me your number. I'll call you tonight after dinner and tell you what I found out."
Dave fumbles for his phone, realizing he doesn't remember the number at all. "Here, just put your number in here and I'll call you. I, uh... My mom is really nosy, so I'll go outside and call you."
It's probably a lame excuse, but Sam just nods and enters his number in the phone. "Okay, I'm on it. And hey, thanks."
"For what? You're the one helping me."
"For trusting me," Sam says with a smile. Dave tries to smile back, but he's pretty sure he just looks constipated. He watches Sam walk away – he has a pretty nice ass, actually – and he feels completely awkward and foolish, but he also feels like he's accomplishing something. Like things might be on the right path now.
That night, he has a very awkward dinner with his parents who both question him profusely as to his odd behavior. Thankfully – or maybe not; he's not sure how to feel about it – they aren't referring to the fact that he's their 42-year-old son's brain in their 17-year-old son's body. They're referring to his mad-at-the-world closet case routine. He wonders how long he's been pulling it. At the time, he'd thought they were full of shit, of course, but now that he can look back on it, he realizes he's been a dick to everyone for quite a while. He apologizes, trying to be sincere without giving himself away as a rational adult.
It mollifies them somewhat, and he's able to sneak away after the dishes are done. He goes outside and sits down under the big maple tree on the little bench his mom put there ages ago. Pulling out his phone, he calls Sam. "Hey, it's Dave. Karofsky," he clarifies.
"Hey man. You want the good news or the bad news?"
Dave's heart sinks. "The bad news," he says trying to be brave.
"Well, Kurt definitely has a thing for Blaine," Sam says apologetically. "I brought him up totally casually and Kurt gushed about him for like five solid minutes until Puck got pissed and threatened to kick his ass."
"There's good news?" Dave asks, kicking himself hard. He should have known! If he'd just picked a date couple of weeks earlier! But he's always considered this day to be the turning point in his life, so it's always stuck with him. Of course he would have picked this day. Fuck!
"Yeah, they're not going out. So there's that. But I gotta tell you, Kurt seems pretty sure that it's just a matter of time."
Dave had always had the impression that Kurt and Blaine had gotten together right away, but it might have been teenage jealousy talking. Hearing that they're not a couple – yet – sends a little ray of hope through Dave. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, totally. I'm sure because he said he hoped Blaine would ask him out soon. He said that like a hundred times, in fact."
"Cool. I guess." Dave says, trying to cling to some kind of hope.
"Yeah. So what's the next step?"
"Next?"
"Uh, yeah. Like, are you gonna ask him out, or...?"
"No! I just... no. I mean, I need to talk to him first. I need to try to make things right. If I ask him out now, he'll think I'm fucking with him."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Sam says, and Dave rolls his eyes. He does appreciate the honesty, though. "Do you want me to hook something up? Like invite him out for coffee and you can just happen to show up or whatever?"
"Thanks, but I can handle it," Dave says. He's not sure if he can, but he's sort of freaking out right now, and the last thing he needs is the pressure of a prearranged meeting. "And thanks for doing research for me."
"Sure, man. I never get to do secret agent stuff like this. I feel like Bond. James Bond," he says with a bad Sean Connery accent.
Dave laughs dutifully though, because he does appreciate Sam's help. They say goodbye and Dave wanders back in the house, lost in thought.
He makes a half-assed attempt to do his homework, thanking his sexuality crisis for the fact that his grades slipped during this time. If he'd had to keep up his usual nearly-straight-A performance, he'd be in trouble. He's rusty as hell in the schoolwork department. He'll let his grades improve once his teenage brain is back where it belongs.
Once he gives up on the homework, he pulls out the list he'd started earlier. It still just says to apologize to Kurt. Sighing, he writes, 2) Come out to mom and dad.
It scares him, seeing it there in black and white, but it's something that has to happen if he's going to change everything. It just has to happen. He'd told Sam and it wasn't scary at all. It wasn't even that awkward.
Then he has a thought that stops him cold. Angie. What's going to happen to her if they don't meet in college and get married? The guilt stabs him in the gut like it always does and he realizes that her life will undoubtedly be better without him.
Grabbing the pencil again, he writes, 3) Help Angie. He's not sure what that needs to entail right now, but he's getting tired and he figures he can think about it tomorrow. He buries the paper in his backpack with his books and puts his pajamas on.
He hadn't realized how hard he'd been hit by his journey, but he's asleep pretty much the moment his head hits the pillow.