Author's Note: Hey, everybody! I hope you've all had a splendid week. Mine could've been better (a lot on the 'meh' side), but at least the weekend has finally arrived, so there's always a silver lining. This next blurb will probably put me straight on 'The Public Enemy' list, but it has to be said. To any Seddie fans who happen to be reading this story (or any of my other Creddie stories), I'm gonna have to ask you (should you decide to review) to keep your comments as constructive as possible and relevant to the actual content of the story. I understand that you don't like Creddie, but it might actually just be better if you avoided any stories that have obvious Creddie (or 'Cruddie' as you so aptly put it) in the plot line. I don't want to have to delete any more anonymous reviews just because they don't *ahem* make any sense. With that said, this chapter's just for you, baronvonmilo.

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly or the plot line from 17 Again.

For Freddie Benson, he seemed to be floating in the water for hours. But in reality, it was only several minutes before his head re-emerged above the surface, his gasp of surprise deflated by copious amounts of mud trapped in his mouth. With the little strength he had, he managed to do a weak doggy-paddle all the way back towards the river bank, where he collapsed into unconsciousness on the rain-sodden shoreline.

When Freddie finally came to, the sun was already rising faintly in the distance, signalling the beginning of a new day. When he had gotten his breath back sufficiently, he trudged painstakingly back towards his car, which was exactly where he had left it the night before. With a few turns of the key in the ignition, the engine finally roared to life and Freddie made it across the bridge.

The car engine finally cut off into silence when Freddie parked his car haphazardly in Gibby's driveway. Then he exited the car, one muddy footstep at a time. He really was a sorry sight to behold; his clothes and face were completely caked in mud. Freddie definitely wanted to take a shower, but the idea of removing his muddy clothes and depositing them somewhere in Gibby's home didn't appeal that much to him. And the less questions that Gibby asked him, particularly about the events of last night, the better it would be for him.

Freddie still couldn't make any sense of what had become of the old janitor. Had he really jumped off the bridge? Or did he imagine the entire thing? Freddie still had no idea; all he knew for certain was that a hot shower would give him enough presence of mind to decide on whether he had to call the police to go check out the bridge.

He hopped into the shower (clothes and shoes still on) and removed the shower nozzle from its holster. Then he turned on the water and began slowly siphoning the mud off his clothing until the water ran brown into the drain. When Freddie was satisfied that he'd gotten all the mud of his clothes, he stepped out of the shower and onto the plastic floor mat so that he wouldn't make any wet splotches on the floor.

Which put him right in front of the bathroom mirror.

Freddie locked eyes with his reflection and had to blink several times. It felt like something was in his eye, so he kept blinking and blinking, trying desperately to dislodge the thing keeping him from seeing his face. Because the face he was currently looking at in the mirror just didn't seem possible.

And the memories of the night before hit him like a ton of bricks. It was the face he had seen in the swirling water, staring blankly back at him right before he had fallen in and nearly drowned. What was going on? Was the face trapped in Gibby's mirror? How did it follow him all the way back here?

That's when Freddie finally chanced a look downwards and gasped. He expected to see his hands (which had grown slightly pudgier over time) resting at his sides. What he saw instead were thin, nimble fingers attached to small and strong hands, fitted with skin that wasn't lined or wrinkled, but soft and smooth. That's when he realised that his work clothes that he'd been wearing yesterday didn't fit his body. His body seemed to have shrunk dramatically, making his clothes seem impossibly baggy on him.

And then his hands went to his face, fingers tracing the smooth contours of his cheeks and sifting through shaggy brown hair that hadn't been there yesterday either. It was his face, his body, all of it changed and youthful from when he was a teenager.

"Don't freak out, Freddie. You're just having a dream – a really elaborate dream." Freddie declared firmly to himself, even though his knees were shaking beneath him.

"You're gonna put your hand to your cheek and then you're gonna pinch it. If it doesn't hurt, then you're definitely having a dream. And then you'll wake up." He continued while staring at himself in the mirror.

"1…2…3." Freddie counted right before gripping a piece of his flesh firmly between his fingers and pulled.

"Ow!" he cursed right before clutching his face in agony.

His face was still the same, robust and smirking back at him through the mirror.

And then it hit him.

This wasn't a dream.

This was real.

Freddie emitted a loud and terrifying scream which shook the entire house, which was sure to wake the neighbours. But he didn't care while he continued clutching his face and body in horror.

Gibby, who'd been asleep in his replica Galaxy Wars cruiser bed, opened his eyes wide at the sound of a scream in close proximity.

"There's an intruder in the house," Gibby mumbled frantically to himself, his brain finally computing his shock and confusion.

With moves like a jungle cat, he quickly hopped out of his bed and performed a complex combat roll. Then he got to his feet and dislodged a battle-axe and a bronze helmet hanging on the wall. And then he was situated in the hallway, a few meters away from the bathroom, the sounds of screaming louder in his ears now. He crept silently down the hall and nearly bypassed Freddie, who was still staring at his appearance in the bathroom mirror.

"I can't believe this, it's really me. Only it's not me, it's me when I was 17. Or 18." Freddie rambled on frantically.

Then he got the fright of his life when he encountered Gibby in the bathroom, sporting a bronze helmet and carrying a battle-axe in his hand.

"Hey, Gibby. You're not gonna believe this, but something really weird happened to me last night –"

"Intruder! Thief!" Gibby cried out manically before charging Freddie.

"No, no! Gibby, it's me, Freddie!" Freddie tried, but was forced to duck out of the way when the extremely sharp blade of the pick-axe bounced off of the marble bathroom sink with a loud clanging noise.

The more that Freddie tried to reason with Gibby, the less Gibby seemed to listen. As the axe made contact with the wall in the hallway, Freddie decided to defend himself better. He grabbed hold of a metallic shield off the wall and brought it flat across his chest to ward off Gibby's assault, who came at him this time with metal numb-chucks. They made it all the way across the landing on the second floor, getting dangerously close to the wooden railing.

Gibby had Freddie backed up right against the railing and charged forward with his weapon of choice in hand. Freddie only had a second of warning to spin out of the way, but watched in horror as Gibby sailed right over the railing onto the ground floor below. Freddie looked over the edge in alarm at Gibby, who lay sprawled out on his back, moaning and groaning in pain.

"Gibby!" Freddie called out in alarm.

Without thinking twice, he hopped over the railing and landed gracefully on his feet. Realising the height he had jumped from, Freddie began grinning happily and marvelling at his sudden strength.

"Wow, this is amazing. I feel great." He murmured distractedly while looking at his hands.

Sensing the intruder's digression, Gibby took the opportunity to roll away from him, grab the carpet he stood on and rip it out from underneath him, causing his assailant to land on his back with a loud smack. Before Freddie could stop him, Gibby ran around the corner of the ground floor, grabbing a medieval sword hanging on the wall.

"No, Gibby!" Freddie reasoned, but was forced to grab a wooden spear from the coffee table in defence as Gibby charged him once again.

Try as he might, Gibby's persistence was paying off and he reduced Freddie's spear to little more than firewood. The last blow caused Freddie to fall into a leather chair located in the corner of the room. As Gibby charged once more, Freddie rotated the chair so that the blade missed him, gouging a hole right through the upholstery.

"Aargh!" Freddie exclaimed, shrieking at the blade which had embedded itself a few inches away from the headrest on the chair.

Before Gibby could strike again, Freddie jumped out of the chair, leapt over the coffee table and scaled the foos-ball table located near the patio door all in one fell swoop. Gibby, who had retreated to another corner of the room, returned once more with a light-saber in his hand.

"Gibby, stop!" Freddie pleaded from behind the foos-ball table.

Gibby ignored him and swung at his head, missing Freddie by inches as he ducked behind the foos-ball table.

"It's me, Gibby! It's Freddie!" Freddie tried again before ducking back behind the table.

He managed to push a lever out of the foos-ball, hitting Gibby in the stomach and winding him momentarily. Freddie ran past him and grabbed another light-saber from the umbrella stack.

"Gibby, I'm telling you right now, stop with this craziness!" Freddie yelled impatiently.

Gibby stopped short and eyed Freddie's particular weapon of choice. Freddie didn't like the look in his best friend's eye while he glanced down at his own weapon.

"I see your choice of defence is an elegant weapon…from a more civilised time." Gibby began in an ethereal voice.

Gibby pressed a button on his light-saber, causing a long beam of red light to erupt from the handle. Freddie rolled his eyes in response at Gibby's facetiousness, but responded in kind, a blue beam shooting out from the handle. And then Freddie began the same song-and-dance, trying to convince Gibby that he wasn't an intruder while trying to stop his best friend from killing him.

"Gibby, it's me, Freddie Benson! Your best friend!" Freddie implored urgently.

"Oh yeah? Prove it!" Gibby hissed menacingly while blocking one of Freddie's blows with the light-saber.

"Principal Franklin had you tested for guessing that there were 5 Fat Cakes in a jar to win Locker 239 at Ridgeway!" Freddie protested emphatically.

"That appeared in an article in "Education Editorial"! The entire schooling district had access to that publication!" Gibby fumed impatiently.

"You once took off your shirt and danced on a table at The Cheesecake Warehouse to get a girl to go out with you!" Freddie tried loudly.

"That was in every copy of The Seattle Times the next morning!" Gibby retorted defiantly.

"Sam Puckett gave you a wedgie while you were wearing a trash-can during an episode of iCarly!" Freddie yelled shrilly.

"It's a web-show! Anyone could've seen that! It's Google-able!" Gibby roared indignantly.

Both of them turned around on the spot, their light-sabers colliding in mid-air, lasers crashing together in a cataclysmic siren in the living room. Freddie finally managed to gain the upper hand and aimed a blow at Gibby's chest, causing him to fall backwards. Then Freddie drew back his light-saber and swung forward again, sweeping Gibby's feet right out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the hard wooden floor.

"Wait, wait!" Gibby pleaded painstakingly, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I can't breathe, I can't breathe!" he murmured hoarsely while gasping loudly.

Freddie dropped his stance when he saw his best friend's humbled position. Gibby smiled weakly at him and held out his hand to him, silently imploring him to help him to his feet. Just as Freddie let down his guard and moved forward, Gibby aimed a well-placed kick at Freddie's groin, sending Freddie onto his back in agony. Then Gibby sprinted towards a glass cabinet and grabbed a hefty photo frame made out of chiselled marble and ran at Freddie.

"Oh my God, my balls." Freddie complained, on the point of sobbing.

"Gibby, no." he pleaded when he saw Gibby advancing on him with the photo frame in hand, ready to smash his head in.

Gibby emitted a roar while preparing to hit Freddie, but stopped short when he saw what photo he had taken from his cabinet. It was a picture of him and Freddie taken nearly 18 years ago dressed in royal blue robes, wearing matching blue hats on their heads and carrying diplomas in their hands. It was their day of graduation from Ridgeway and he and Freddie were smiling broadly, their arms around each other's shoulders. Then he glanced down at the intruder lying at his feet, who looked just like his best friend when he was 17 years old.

"Oh my God," Gibby whispered in awe while staring down at his best friend, finally recognising him for who he truly was.

In his state of horror, he inadvertently dropped the marble photo frame onto Freddie's head, knocking him out cold.

30 minutes later, Freddie and Gibby sat around the kitchen table. On the table surface were hundreds of books of every kind: encyclopaedias, comic books, graphic novels and even a few pop-up fairy-tale books just for good measure. To alleviate the pain in his groin and head, Freddie had retrieved two ice packs from the freezer and placed them appropriately on the throbbing parts of his body. To soothe the pain in his head from falling off the landing, Gibby had tied a bag of frozen peas around his neck like a collar. Freddie scowled at Gibby, who had been staring him unblinkingly for a good 3 minutes.

"Gibby, would you please stop staring?" Freddie asked abashedly.

"I'm sorry, man. I'm just a little freaked out right now." Gibby admitted hoarsely.

"Well, I'm freaked out too. I'm pubescent." Freddie pointed out hysterically before stopping himself short.

Gibby paused for a long time before deciding on his next course of action.

"Well, as you can see from our consultation, the changes you're exhibiting have appeared time and time again in the literature," Gibby began soberly with a wave of his hand at the multitude of books on the kitchen table.

"Now I must ask: Freddie…have you been hit by a gamma ray at any time in the past 24 hours?" Gibby questioned gravely.

"No, Gibby." Freddie answered irritably.

"Are you a vampire of some sort?"

"Not the last time I checked."

"How old are you?"

"17."

"And how long have you been 17?"

"I don't know! Give or take about 20 minutes, Gibby!" Freddie snapped impatiently.

"Okay, I guess we can rule out 'vampire' then." Gibby returned in somewhat of a snubbed tone.

"Now…have you now or ever been a time-travelling cyborg sent from the future?" Gibby asked cryptically.

"Gibby, if I were either of those things, don't you think I would've told you by now?" Freddie demanded sarcastically.

"Vampire wouldn't tell. Cyborg wouldn't know." Gibby responded assuredly, causing Freddie to slap his forehead in exasperation.

"Gibby, could we please be serious here for a minute? What's my next move while I'm 'like this'?" Freddie queried anxiously while glancing down at his youthful body.

"As far as I can tell, an individual only undergoes a transformation like this when there's some kind of lesson to be learnt. And the life lesson is usually administered by some kind of spirit guide." Gibby continued in a professional manner.

"A 'spirit guide'?" Freddie asked quizzically.

"Yes, a spirit guide, Freddie. A spirit guide is a type of mentor to the person who is 'transformed', someone who guides the protagonist along the right path while they remain in their particular form." Gibby explained succinctly.

"And what exactly is the right path here?" Freddie questioned in bewilderment.

"What do I look like, your spirit guide? I don't know, Freddie! The right path can be any road, any avenue that you're supposed to be on. Metaphorically speaking of course." Gibby fumed in exasperation.

"Ok, I'm sorry, Gibby. So… every person has their own special spirit guide?" Freddie asked in a gentler tone.

"Something like that."

"Was does a spirit guide look like?"

"The spirit guide can take on any form: a beautiful woman, a young child, an old man..."

Freddie did a double-take at the mention of 'an old man'. His mind's eye inadvertently led him to back to the image of one person in particular.

"The janitor," he murmured in awe while staring off into space.

"…a wise-cracking leprechaun with funny brownies…" Gibby continued before Freddie cut him off.

"Gibby, it was the janitor I talked to at Ridgeway yesterday! He was an old guy: long white beard, weird twinkle in his eye. I've gotta go to the school now and try to find him. Thanks!"

And with that, Freddie sprinted out of the kitchen, leaving Gibby to muse over what his friend had just told him.

"The janitor. Interesting." He whispered in an ethereal voice while adjusting the frozen bag of peas still tied around his neck.

Freddie drove back to Ridgeway in record time. He found the closest parking spot to the main entrance and parked his car haphazardly. He got several frowns and quizzical stares from a couple of students he passed in the hallway, but he was too focused on his mission to care. As the bell rang overhead and more people began flooding the hallway, Freddie decided to stop a few of them to ask them some questions.

"Excuse me, have you seen the janitor?"

"I'm looking for the janitor, do you know where he is?"

"Have you seen the janitor? He's about 5 foot something, pot-belly, white beard, twinkle in his eye like Santa Claus. Anybody?"

Judging by his appearance, Freddie couldn't blame the students he approached for avoiding him. He knew that he looked like he'd been swimming around in a mud bath, but he couldn't focus on that now. He had to find the janitor.

Just then, he caught sight of a female janitor pushing a cleaning trolley in front of her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Yes, can I help you?" the middle-aged female janitor asked politely.

"Yes. I'm looking for the janitor."

"I'm the janitor."

"The other janitor," Freddie clarified.

"Son, I'm the only janitor at this school."

"No, there was another janitor here yesterday, an elderly man. I talked to him while standing next to this trophy cabinet. We were both looking at this picture, this picture of me and my old basketball team." Freddie explained in an exasperated tone.

"You?" the janitor asked in alarm.

"Yes, me." Freddie replied rapidly while running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"That can't be you. That picture was taken in 2010, nearly 18 years ago. You're just a kid." The janitor pointed out calmly.

Freddie gulped out air trapped in his throat when he realised the implication of his words.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Thank you…t-t-thank you so much." Freddie concluded in a shaky tone.

The female janitor gave Freddie one last sympathetic look before departing with her cleaning utensils, leaving him to his bewildered thoughts. Then another bell rang in the hall, signalling the start of another series of lectures. Freddie caught sight of Matt standing a few feet away, putting a set of books into his locker. A sudden impulse came over Freddie at the sight of his youngest son and he called out to him.

"Matt! Hey, buddy!" Freddie shouted happily.

Matt stared at him, widened his eyes and quickly scuttled away into a nearby class.

"What was that all about?" Freddie asked himself.

"I guess it doesn't matter what I look like. My kids still hate me," he muttered sarcastically while pounding a nearby locker with his fist in frustration.

That's when it him, he was a complete stranger now. Of course his son hadn't recognised him. But why he ran away so quickly (and in obvious fear), Freddie wasn't sure. He was distracted from that particular mystery when the lights above him began flickering, a humming noise reverberating overhead. Freddie glanced up in confusion and then looked down at his feet again. He frowned when he realised that he was standing in a puddle of water that hadn't been there a second ago.

While Freddie kicked water off of his loafers, he looked to his left and saw that the puddle had formed a thin trail, which carried on all the way down a badly lit hall. Curious, Freddie followed the tiny stream down a flight of stairs, till he stood in what looked like a locker room, a lone janitor's mop and bucket near his feet. His eyes widened in comprehension and he began glancing all around him.

"Hello? Is anybody down here?" Freddie asked of the room at large.

"S-spirit guide?" he called out, feeling like an idiot while cursing under his breath.

"If you can hear me, I need to know what the right path is. What am I supposed to do? I don't know what to do." Freddie continued, feeling more and more helpless as the seconds ticked away.

That's when he came to a door and heard the sounds of sneakers squeaking against a wooden floor and the swish of a muffled basketball. Freddie peered through a crack in the door and watched a group of teenage boys (much like himself) sprinting across a basketball, running drills by the looks of it. This was the boy's locker room where he had spent many a day in a lifetime ago, surrounded by friends and team mates who counted on him to deliver the winning shot every game. And through that door was his kingdom: the basketball court, his home away from home.

"That's it," Freddie breathed, sudden exhilaration sweeping through his chest.

"Ooh, can I get an 'ouch, that hurts'!" Gibby called out tauntingly.

He was still at home, having moved from the kitchen to his office. But it wasn't a regular office by any means. This particular workplace contained several computers (all state-of-the-art models naturally), TV screens (LCD and plasma models) and numerous video game consoles, each bearing the names of the biggest brand names in the gaming industry. He was sporting a high-tech head-set and currently in the midst of playing a particular video game in multi-player mode, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Did I get shot or what? Oh yeah, that's right, I didn't get shot. I guess that means that you got powned, sucker! In your face, Jiminy-Bob from Omaha!" Gibby exclaimed obnoxiously.

Freddie suddenly rushed into the study, scaring Gibby out of his wits for a moment.

"Gibby!"

"Crap! Oh, right it's just you, Freddie. Well, teenage 'you' anyway." Gibby remarked dismissively before returning to his game.

"Gibby, I think I've figured it out, what I'm supposed to do. I know what my spirit guide wants me to do." Freddie began excitedly.

"I'm going back."

When Gibby made no response save to keep playing his video game, Freddie elaborated.

"I'm going back to high school, Gibby!"

This got Gibby's attention because he craned his neck to stare at Freddie over his shoulder with a wild-eyed look.

"What? No, no, no way! Freddie, there is no way that your spirit guide would waste perfectly good 'transformation magic' on you repeating senior year and going to prom. Nope, ask again later." Gibby responded confidently.

"Don't you get it, Gibby? This is my chance for a do-over. I get to live my life again, but the right way this time. Wouldn't you do the same thing if you had the chance?" Freddie persisted vehemently.

"Are you crazy, Freddie? No, I would not! And you wanna know why? Because my life is awesome just the way it is! I'm rich and no one gave me an Indian wedgie at school today, that's why!" Gibby retorted heatedly.

"Ok, fine. But this isn't just about me."

"Sure it's about you." Gibby rejoined assuredly.

"No, this is much bigger than me."

"It's about you."

"Ok, fine! Maybe it is about me!" Freddie fumed impatiently while pacing around the study.

"But what's wrong with that? Gibby, when was the last time I got to think about myself, my own needs before everyone else's? I'll tell you when: 2010." He added painstakingly.

Gibby ripped his headset out of his ears and wheeled around to face Freddie with a determined look in his eye.

"Ok, fine. You're dissatisfied with your life, I get it. You do what you have to do. But don't you even think about sucking me into another one of your crazy adventures, Freddie. Ridgeway was the bane of my existence, and I swore I would never go back to that God-forsaken place!" Gibby yelled furiously, pointing an accusing finger in Freddie's direction.

"And in case you didn't hear me the first time, I'll say it one more time for your benefit. NEVER EVER, EVER!" he exclaimed manically while hopping around in his seat.

And just for emphasis, Gibby kept at it, grabbing Freddie by the tie and pulling him close till they were eyeball to eyeball.

"NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRRR!"

"I hate you." Gibby whispered at Freddie, a sour expression on his face.

He stood next to Freddie in front of the secretary's desk in the main office at Ridgeway High School. And on the adjacent wall was a sign which said 'Late Registrations' in bold print.

"I know." Freddie answered stoically, a giant smirk on his face.

Author's Note: I hope you all liked this Freddie/Gibby oriented chapter. A big thank you to PerennialKillJoy for helping me include the Twilight parody in the middle of the chapter (my apologies to any Twilight fans out there, I actually do like the series, it's all in good fun for comedy to prevail). And I hope I didn't offend anyone from Omaha either, just thought I'd get that off my chest. I'm going to introduce another iCarly character next chapter which I hope you all will really like. Thanks for all the reviews last week, you guys give me way more props than I probably deserve. I hope you all have an awesome weekend. Cheerio!