The first thing he notices, as his eyes slip open, is that he's sitting at a bar.

He blinks, trying to get his bearings, because being on a barstool when he is pretty sure he was just sitting at a desk at William McKinley is, he's thinking, maybe not such a good thing, and Dave's already having a bad day. So he glances around, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and he's struck with the sudden realization that this place is very familiar. He knows these stools, the dance floor, the lights. The bartender. And it's in that moment that it actually hits him, where he is: Scandals. He jerks back, as though that's going to change everything, and nearly falls.

"You okay, Bear Cub," asks a voice to his left, and Dave jumps to his feet, his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage. This cannot be happening. There's no fucking way. Because, yeah, Dave was having a bad day before, but if he's actually started to hallucinate, then that's definitely going to complicate matters. "Bear Cub," comes the voice again, and this time he glances over, and if it was possible for his voice to literally die in his throat, that's what it would be doing at this exact moment. Because it's Carlos that's addressing him, beautiful, funny, smart Carlos. Who moved to Florida two weeks after Dave graduated high school.

Dave clears his throat and works at creating some sort of response. He tells himself that he needs to relax, that he's obviously dreaming, and yet somehow the room, the smell of the liquor, seems all too real. "I'm fine," he answers after a moment, and the sound of his own voice startles him. He sounds different, but he can't put his finger on why. "Just a weird day."

Carlos smiles that gorgeous smile and nods. "Fair enough. Can I buy you a beer?"

Carefully, Dave takes his previous seat and gives a short shrug. "Sure. Why not?" He vaguely remembers that when Carlos used to get drunk one of his favorite activities was to buy drinks for pretty much anyone in the bar that he ran into, and, plus, this is, obviously, a dream, so why should Dave feel guilty? "Budweiser," he tells the bartender, Brian, he thinks his name is. "Whatever you've got on tap." Carlos drops a ten on the counter, and wanders away.

As Brian turns to pour his drink, Dave tries to distract himself by looking at the other patrons, and it's then that he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "Holy shit," he breathes in astonishment. His memory of his teenage-self must be pretty freaking kickass, because he looks exactly the same. There's the tiny scar by his eye from when he was roller skating at his grandmother's and he fell, face-first, into the concrete. And the other scar, the one on his elbow, from his Hockey days. Not to mention the blue denim shirt that he's wearing, and it must be the clothes that triggers his memory, because a sharp pang shoots through his lower stomach as he examines himself. "Hey, Brian. What's the date?"

But Brian doesn't have to answer before movement at the door steals Dave's attention. Three guys are entering, two speaking in low-tones, the third totally oblivious. He's not sure why he even does it, but he finds himself racing towards the bathroom to hide from the newcomers, slamming the door shut behind him.

"This cannot be happening," he whispers desperately, because the freaking second he laid his eyes on Kurt, he knew that this could be no dream. Yes, he's been in love with Kurt for a very long time, but even if Dave is completely obsessed, there's no way he could so flawlessly recall that level of perfection. It's not a dream. and, honestly, he never really thought it was.

So the next logical question is what the hell is going on?

A couple of years ago, his fifteen year old niece, Diane, had come to stay with him and Ali over Christmas vacation while Dave's brother and sister-in-law flew to Philly to interview for better jobs. To entertain herself, Diane had brought the complete series of The O.C., and for almost two weeks she'd remained shut up in the guest room until, the day before Christmas Eve, Ali had insisted that she, at the very least, play her DVDs into the living room. "We won't complain," Allison had assured her. Well, by then Diane had reached the fourth and final season, so for the rest of the day the three of them had lounged on the couch and watched the aftermath of Marissa's death. And when Ryan and Taylor had transported into the alternate universe, and Seth had cheerfully explained to Sandy about their fates, Dave had thought it was the most ludicrous plot device he'd ever heard.

Now he's thinking that he may have been too quick to judge.

The door suddenly flies open, startling him, but it's just that other kid, the one with Kurt and Bland. He's on his cell phone, but that doesn't stop him from raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow at Dave in interest. If Dave wasn't in the middle of a small stoke, he might have found the situation hilarious, especially considering, to the best of his memory, this kid had been all about Bland. Blaine. Whatthefuckever. As it is, all he can do is turn away, and precede to wash his hands.

"Michael, I'm telling you," the guy tells the person on the other line, "a couple more nights like this, and he's going to be running from his boyfriend." There's a pause as he listens to the response. "No, Kurt's a snooze."

Dave stiffens at the insult, but doesn't speak. When he lived this evening before (he refuses to acknowledge how insane that sounds - it's what's happening whether he likes it or not) he hadn't run into the bathroom when he'd spotted Kurt and the others. He'd watched from afar for a few minutes, all smiles, atwitter with love, before summoning the courage to approach Kurt. So, before, he had missed this phone conversation between Perfect-Eyebrows Guy and 'Michael.'

"They're probably clean," Eyebrows says to Dave sharply, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Dave blinks, realizing that he's being a little obvious, and forces a weak smile before turning off the water and grabbing a paper towel. As he reaches for the door handle, he hears Eyebrows ask into the phone, "What is wrong with all the guys around here?"

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, he sees Kurt and Blaine sitting together at the bar, so he slips to the back of the room to watch the scene unfold. He knows how it will go, if it follows the same pattern as before. And sure enough, Eyebrows returns from the restroom, approaches the duo, and, just like Dave remembers, asks Blaine to dance. As they walk out onto the dance floor, Dave takes a deep breath and slowly starts toward where Kurt is now sitting alone.

As he slides in beside him, he can't fight the smile spreading across his lips because, yeah, this is all very insane, but it doesn't mean that he can't enjoy his insanity. For a little while, anyway. "Better watch your boyfriend," he recites from memory.

Kurt looks over, and his face is the exact shade of surprised it was eleven years ago. And the beginning of the conversation is a replica of the first version. Kurt asks about his school, Dave tells him about his nickname. "Can I buy you a drink," he asks, the first change that he notices.

"I'm the D.D.," Kurt replies, with a certain amount of . . . Is that disappointment? "Apparently I'm just here to make sure that Blaine gets home okay. Well, that and to watch Sebastian undress him with his eyes." He gives a self-deprecating laugh. "Story of my life." Then he clears his throat, and forces a smile at Dave. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's the story of your life? Are you going away to school next year?"

Dave grins lightly, just enjoying the sound of Kurt's voice. "Yeah, probably. I'm considering a couple of different places. I don't know if you realize this or not, Fancy, but I happen to be a fucking genius."

"You couldn't tell by your French tests." But Kurt is really smiling now, and he even gives a quiet chuckle off Dave's mock-offended frown. "Sorry, but if you didn't want me to know about your abysmal French grades then you shouldn't have sat beside me that semester."

"But if I sat on the other side of the room then I wouldn't have been able to smell your soap."

The comment is so blunt that it takes him off guard, knowing that it came from his lips. But if he's going to really take advantage of this do-over, then he might as well get used to putting his feelings out there for Kurt. He should know that Blaine isn't his only choice - that he could pick Dave, if he wanted to.

Kurt's so stunned that he doesn't even answer, and Dave decides he's going to just throw caution to the wind before Kurt goes back to his boyfriend. "Wanna dance?"

"Excuse me?" Kurt is staring at him like he thinks that he may have actually misheard Dave's words, so Dave leans in, trying to focus despite their proximity.

"I asked you if you wanted to dance," he replies. He gives what he hopes comes across as a nonchalant shrug, and not a terrified grimace. "I'm pretty sure I owe you one."

Kurt's lips twitch, like he's trying to hide a grin, and Dave thinks that that's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "That is true," he concedes after a moment, and to Dave's delight, he slides off his stool. Dave quickly follows and has to make a conscious effort to not offer out his hand for Kurt to take - it might be a little too soon, and a little too close to Blaine for it to be appropriate. But they've been talking a while - longer than last time for sure - and as they reach the dance floor, the song comes to an end, being replaced by a slower song that Dave recognizes within the first three notes.

I'm not a perfect person
there's many things I wish I didn't do

"You have got to be kidding me," Dave mutters, low enough so that, hopefully, Kurt doesn't hear. Dave steals a quick glance at Blaine and Sebastian, and is relieved to note that, maybe due to the amount of drinks he's consumed, Kurt's boyfriend isn't paying the slightest bit of attention to them. Spurred on by the knowledge of What Was, he swallows hard and, before he can second-guess himself or before Kurt can abruptly change his mind, Dave places his trembling hands on Kurt's hips.

He hears Kurt's sharp intake of breath, and for a moment he's sure that Kurt is going to jump away and grab Blaine, but he doesn't. He relaxes into the touch and rests his hands on Dave's forearms, a simple gesture that makes Dave's breathing a little uneven.

For several seconds they remain just like that, gently swaying, complete silence between them. Dave tries to think of something to say, but the only thing that comes to him is, "What do you see in that jerk?"

He immediately knows he's made a mistake, because Kurt's arms drop away from him, and he steps back angrily. "What is that supposed to mean," Kurt snaps. He crosses his arms over his chest in what Dave inwardly refers to as his "bitch-I-could-crush-you-with-my-thumb" stance.

There's a split second where Dave considers blaming it on the alcohol, but it doesn't really seem right. And plus, this is something he's wondered about for a while, something he always wondered about, actually. He nods over at Blaine and Sebastian. "You realize that he's danced with that Sebastian kid more than you tonight, right?"

Kurt flushes pink. "He's being friendly," he replies in a clipped tone.

"Right."

"He is! It's not against the law for people to be friends, David."

"If you say so. But you didn't answer my question."

Kurt takes another step back, and Dave's heart clenches. He can't salvage this now, he can see it so clearly in Kurt's eyes, and he has to remind himself to breathe through the pain. But he has learned a thing or two in the past ten years, so he harnesses what he's learned. "Kurt, I'm sorry," he says. He hopes Kurt can see the real remorse he feels.

"It's fine," Kurt answers, though it's obvious it's not. "I'm going to get some air. Tell Blaine I'll meet him outside when he can peel himself from Sebastian." And he turns on his heel and stalks off.

The rest of Dave's evening goes the same as before. He throws back another couple more beers, then drinks about a gallon of water to sober himself up. Once he's absolutely certain he's able to drive safely, he heads home, quietly tiptoes upstairs and crawls into bed. As he falls back against the pillow he considers what he's going to do. Obviously, he's been chosen for some sort of miracle, a do-over, so he tells himself that he's not going to screw it up again. He'll go to Fancy's house tomorrow and stand outside until he lets him in. Call him fifty times, if that's what it takes. E-mail him every hour. Because this time it's going to go the way it was always supposed to.

*

"David? Dave!"

Soft hands. Gentle nudging. These are the things that Dave notices first.

Then there's the headache.

"Fuck," he gasps, and presses the palms of his hands against each side of his temple to try to relieve some of the pressure. Slowly the pain begins to dissipate, and only then does he chance opening his eyes. Kurt's kneeling by him, one hand resting on his shoulder, and one that is, from what Dave can surmise, checking his temperature. He's back in the classroom at McKinley and he's so disappointed that he feels tears form in the corners of his eyes. "I'm lying on the floor," he suddenly realizes in confusion.

Kurt laughs and there's something in that laugh that makes Dave peer at him more carefully. Maybe it's his imagination but Kurt's eyes are looking a little red too. Reading Dave's expression, Kurt blushes. "I thought you were dead."

"I think I fell asleep," Dave groans, as he works to move into a sitting position. "I was sitting in that desk. I dreamed we . . ." His voice trails away as he realizes how silly the whole thing was, thinking he was actually going to rewrite history. He's not a character in a fucking Dickens novel.

"What did you dream," Kurt asks as he helps Dave to his feet.

He almost lies, but it's not really something he enjoys doing, especially where Kurt is involved, so he decides to just gloss over the details. "It was that night I ran into you at Scandals. I dreamed that we . . . Danced, or whatever." He chooses to leave out the part where he pissed Kurt off so bad that he felt the bar in a huff.

Kurt smirks at him. "Leave it to you to sustain injury just by falling out of a desk."

"What do you mean?"

"Dave. We did dance that night. Don't you remember?"