I'm not this TV show's creator, nor its characters'; I just got carried along their stories… and once with this result:

('Hope you enjoy and comment!)

Gleeless

This insanity begun in the infirmary of William McKinley High-School.

Actually, the first few minutes were pretty cool. Suddenly feeling his legs and his toes moving, then getting to sit up easily, turning, and finally dropping from the edge of the bed onto his feet without collapsing... Well, there were so many stimuli as to make Artie dizzy with shock. Or maybe disconnect? Like: I don't have glasses? – is this a really a letterman jacket? – oops, hello gravity! – damn, it's high! – how tall am I really? Apart from that, it was awesome, in a video game, out-of-body experience kind of way.

So that's how Artie came to walk awkwardly in the hallway: wondering why jeans pants were chaffing in such weird places, or if people weren't looking at him funny, then the happy – soon to be not-so-happy – surprise of crossing path with Tina. For an instant there he felt as if he was looking back in time. He saw the shy, kind and opinionated girl she had been when they dated as freshmen. Maybe it was the sudden rebirth of her soft punk, Goth look? Bonnet down her eyebrows, straight hair, black skirt with a chain and platform shoes... Except at the time he never got to see her at eye's level, never saw he cower from him either...

And that's when awesome became not-so-awesome. With a couple of evasive glances and a quick escape from Tina. And Rory's sudden appearance, of course! A guy who was supposed to be on the other side of the ocean – not in this school and coming with over-the-top explanations for what was happening. A Christmas wish granted, seriously? There was one of his closest friends bailing on him like he was something to be scared of. Then another friend accosted him wearing an awful combination of slutty lipstick, pigtails and a cheerleader uniform accommodated to fit a pregnant girl – had Coach Sylvester found out who had knocked up Becky yet and had him disembowelled? And all the while, Rory explained how Artie was suddenly a complete jock jerk, with the straight face of a disinterested storyteller – exactly the same way he crashed the previous year's Christmas Special.

Artie had troubles getting his head around the apparent changes in himself already. So he sort of had an excuse for not comprehending the whole inner, outer changes of it all. Because this was insane! The wish part was one thing – plus he did have mobility in his legs, more than he could ever remember anymore. But the butterfly effect? From one moment in time – when he had his accident at eight – to the result of an alternate universe – because of his totally different personality growing up? That was another thing altogether! From where Artie stood Rory seemed like a lousy Guardian Angel! Because this universe he was describing deserved the Rotten Christmas Present Award. Plus for an Angel to tell his protégé that his disability was the only reason he hadn't turned into a douchebag: rude – like Grease's Teen Angel level of rude! Thinking about it, there seemed to be others more suited for the Angel role. And wasn't Rory supposed to be a Leprechaun according to Brittany? Maybe Artie had his mythologies mixed up but he didn't think Leprechauns were supposed to guard people. There may have been something about two edges wishes or something. And truth – if he could recall properly – Leprechauns couldn't outright lie.

So of course, it had to be when he was lost in thought that Rory left him to fend with three nightmarish results of his allegedly granted wish: namely Kurt, Mister Schue and Rachel.

Well, the first wasn't a nightmare himself, more like the eye in the middle of the nightmarish storm. Four bully jocks against one wasn't the shocking part, neither unfortunately the location: unusual but not unheard of in the hallways of McKinley. Artie remembered with a shiver the all-on-one-slushie-shower from his sophomore year, not long after Kurt's transfer – maybe mainly because of it and the bullies' loss of their main entertainment. But here the main issue wasn't how many but who they were... And how they acted. Artie had witnessed his fair share of shoulder-checks and ankle-trips in his three plus years at this school. But actual grabbing and body-slamming had always been kept for two-way scuffles when both teams or participants went at it. Or so he had thought until Tina had told him about how Karofsky had lifted Kurt off the floor and knocked him in the lockers, hard. And a couple of weeks later he had understood that she hadn't been exaggerating: he faced the bully himself and saw how far his shoving could throw a tall guy like Mike... But it wasn't Karofsky, this time. It was Finn! And that was another level of not-okay!

Later Artie wouldn't regret intervening. Even if his "What are you guys doing?!" didn't get him very far. Or maybe it did because Finn, Puck, and Ryder stopped playing push-pull with Kurt's clothes long enough for Artie to put their alleged straightness into question. After that, Puck's reaction shouldn't have been exactly surprising. But Artie had last seen his friend for a last video game night with the guys before a graduated Puck left for LA. So it was unforeseen and inconvenient to find himself pushed back to the metal lockers by a not-friend fisting the lapels of not-his letterman's jacket. Frankly, Artie had been too shocked to react to the threat about breaking his legs next time, or Finn crowding him before leaving with a confused-looking Ryder and a silent Sam who had stayed in the background the whole time. Those three worried him the most. Puck – failing to grow and graduate without the help of the other Glee club guys – he could sadly understand. But Ryder, who had just transferred as a sophomore? "Having some fun with little Lord Gay Boy"? For real?! That he was deep in bully territory didn't make any sense. He had fought with Jake over Marley, sure. He was gullible, insecure one moment, arrogant the next, but all in all, a good guy. He did remind Artie a bit of both Blaine and Sam, actually. Speaking of... Artie had seen Sam face Karofsky to help Kurt – and yes, Mike and Artie himself – after knowing them for less than two months. So it was definitely out of character for him to be getting along with this kind of bullying, even as little involved as Finn used to be before starting Glee. Finn, he almost couldn't recognize. Artie had never seen such aggressively in his eyes since the day Finn found out Quinn's baby was Puck's and punched him square in the face. What had happened to him since Artie hadn't had his accident? And what had happened to Furt? Would it be worse if Finn's mother and Kurt's father had never gotten together because of Artie? Or if they actually had and Finn treated his step-brother like trash? There were so many questions he couldn't ask Kurt as he looked at him retrieving his messenger bag from the floor. Maybe he could begin with something simpler like why none of the not-step-brothers had graduated.

Except, of course, nothing could get simple in this insane universe. For Kurt – who had endured one year of intense bullying with no friend, then one plus year with Glee until nothing less than a death threat had made him transfer – answered with a soft spoken "... I couldn't bear to go to school more than twice a week because of all the bullying." And here was another thing that didn't sit right with Artie: how tame Kurt was. Not once had he looked up or answered to his bullies. No raised voice, no sass, no complaint. Even his clothes: he was overdressed – with something surely both expensive and partly self-made – but it was more classy than experimental or attention-grabbing like anything "fabulously" Kurt. Once out of the high-school's doors, he could easily pass as a simply well-dressed, white-collar young man. It was probably as close to blending in as Kurt could get. Short of dressing back in the flannel and sleeveless jacket from his Brittany week, maybe.

And seeing his friend leaving with such a defeated expression sat heavily in Artie's stomach. Surely, this couldn't be it. He tried to hold Kurt back with a last question only to have another bombshell dropped on him: "Who's Blaine?"

And what could Artie answer to that? Your... first love? – ex? – kind-of-everything? – maybe, hopefully, future all-of-the-above but nothing yet apparently?

Artie was still grasping at the inexistence of the Kurt-and-Blaine concept when he found hope again while looking around. Right there in the Spanish classroom stood William Schuester – soon to be his second nightmare of the day.

At first, Artie hadn't been paying attention to him with the relief he was feeling. Here was an adult who could help! But he soon found out that Mr Schue apparently couldn't, or – to be fair – he wouldn't! Because Artie didn't know this Will Schuester either. The one he did know was a driven and kind teacher, always willing to help when one of his students asked. Sure, Mr Schue had several flaws, like having clear favorites, trying to get the club to solve his (many) relationship problems, always wanting to repeat what had worked in the past, sometimes entirely missing the point with his unconventional methods, believing you could resolve everything with a song – and yes, singing to someone was a great discussion-opener, but not followed with real discussion it could be kind of worse, actually... like make-up sex: great high, then confusing disappointment. Also, yes, he did have a little problem with alcohol, maybe. But this? This was a drunkard – one far less agreeable than April Rhodes – a badly-shaven, vest-lacking wreck of a man, who answered at the beck and call of his mythomaniac harpy of a not-ex-wife. Suddenly, Artie missed Miss Pillsbury. She was weird – in her neat-freak way. And it had been tiring to watch Mr Schue and her dance around one another for three years. But she was kind, not dumb, and she had been the only one who was effective in telling him when he messed up... Apart from Rachel, maybe...

And that's when his third nightmare came. Artie hadn't been looking for her at first. He was searching for Rory. But he could have been satisfied with Brittany, or even one of the new kids... Except for Unique – because seeing how Kurt was treated, no way should Wade put one foot in McKinley High!

So, once again, Artie found someone who had no business being there. Well, at least Rachel seemed to have graduated since she was the new librarian. But the way Artie's friends weren't being themselves was really getting very old, very fast. So he couldn't really be blamed for having a breakdown after facing not-Tina, not-really-Becky, not-really-Puck, not-Kurt, not-Sam, whatnot-Ryder and definitely-not-Finn! Because Rachel saying "I'm just in the choirs"... Seriously?! What kind of crappy director happened to be at the head of the "Lima Community Players production of Music Man"? What happened after Artie's non-accident to affront the dignity of good directorship? What happened to make all his friends into the worst – and unfunny – parodies of themselves? "What happened to all of us?!"

Artie took a couple of seconds to appreciate the irony of his breakdown revealing a sliver of true-Finn and true-Puck – and what they were doing in the library was another mystery. It's true that Artie never thought that he could be seen as a threat before. Before losing the wheelchair, gaining a letterman jacket, intimidating poor Tina by addressing her in the hallway, seizing Rachel by the hand to get her to – what? – witness him flipping his lid? Well, good to know two bullies like them draw the line to grabbing a panicking girl's hand! Not much for grabbing, pushing and slamming an outnumbered guy, though! Artie let the thought sink in him. With her hand suddenly loose, Rachel had fallen backward and been caught by two suddenly helpful Puck and Finn. But Artie couldn't stay there a second more. He turned tail and ran.

Through the schoolyard, through the hallways, Artie ran for the first time in ten years. Until he came into the auditorium and called for Rory – his lousy Guardian Leprechaun who couldn't be bothered to understand there was something wrong! "What's wrong? Everything!"

And it turned out – through truth-telling Rory – that what was wrong wasn't what happened but what didn't. Glee! Or rather him, Artie, keeping the group together. "No glue: no Glee."

So for the first time since gaining back his legs and running left and right with no direction Artie had something to aim for. He was going to bring back New Directions – or what was left of them!

First order of business: find someplace where every member of the team – old and new – could gather on the school grounds. Someplace safe, with no locker – to pin someone against – no dumpster – to throw someone into – no porta'potty – to lock someone in – nor slushie-machine – to gather staining, cold ammunitions. And there was only one room that fit in Artie's opinion.

The choir room was easy to find – even if Artie's new height and speed did throw him for a little while. What he found in there, though – no piano, but two rows of sewing stations and shelves of fabrics – wasn't exactly what Artie had been looking for. He hadn't expected to see Becky again so soon either. She was busy sewing pieces of white and red fabric together. Which was another proof that with Artie's not-accident another piece of McKinley's soul had been taken over. It seemed that the Arts had all but disappeared if Sue Sylvester's Cheerios were considering Glee's room as conquered territory. Artie couldn't keep from sighing. Well, at least no one sane would dare ruin one part of Sylvester's dominion with slushies, trash or fist-fighting... If he managed to have the Old'n'New Directions meet him there, that is.

"Becky, hey! Do you know if this room is free after-class?"

"Hey again, Stud!" Becky turned her sewing-machine off. "Changed your mind about makin' out?"

"Uh, no? Listen, Becky! There is something I'd like to work on with a couple of people. And I could really use the room." Becky frowned at him, so Artie had to add. "I promise we won't make a mess of things!" At least not more than he already had. Still no answer. Well, betting on her holiday spirit was a long shot but: "Ahem... it's for Christmas?"

"Tough luck! The place's busy for the whole day. We, Cheerios have costumes and props to finish for the assembly tomorrow. Coach's room, Coach's rule!"

"Ah, I guess I'll have to find something else then." Artie sighed. The auditorium wasn't his first choice but it would have to do. He turned to the door and barely remembered a last: "Thanks Becky, have a nice day!"

"Hey, Stud!" She called as he was walking out. He was already hearing her sewing-machine clicketing again. "It should be free tomorrow noon!"

Artie turned around. Becky wasn't looking at him anymore, busy with whatever prop Sue Sylvester had ordered this time. Both she and her coach had awful tempers... which made it all the more essential to make the most of their moments of kindness. Plus, Becky could be kind of cool!

"You know what, Becky?" The sewing-machine stopped again. "I'll thank you tomorrow evening. BreadstiX at six, my treat!" Artie exclaimed with a hand wave before moving to his next order of business. Maybe something could turn out right after all.

So, now that Artie had the place, what came next? Should he prioritize reaching out to the ex-future-alternate members of the team? Or maybe how to animate his tomorrow meeting? He had to recruit the Band! But as he roamed in the now deserted hallways, Artie found out that he had no idea where to find them in not-his-McKinley. He had almost made his mind to call for Rory again – there was no one around to talk to, so maybe he could appear out of nowhere again – when there came the tell-tale song of a guitar. Could Artie be lucky for once?

The room wasn't familiar, which made sense as it seemed more like a meeting room than a class one. The face of the guitar player was familiar, though.

"Joe?" Artie called the junior boy with the unmistakable dreadlocks and sandals – those he wasn't actually wearing at the moment. "What are you doing here alone? ... Shouldn't you be in class or something?"

"Hi, Jock-I-don't-know-the-name-of. I had a free period before lunch. So I chose to play a little something to get a closer to God while waiting for the rest of the Squad. You?"

"Oh, I... was let go of the infirmary." Technically, Artie had just left... probably since a couple of hours already. "Is this the God Squad's room?"

"Yeah. And the Chess Club's room. And I heard it used to be the Debate Club's and the Celibacy Club's too. But I don't think these exist anymore... Did you want to join, man?"

For a brief instant, Artie thought about what prayers could do for his predicament. Then an idea jumped to the forefront of his mind.

"Actually... I'm not there yet. But maybe I could convince you to join me tomorrow noon in the choir room."

"I wasn't aware there was a choir room. Is this a place where we can sing about God?"

"… Well", Artie tried after an unmistakable silence, "I'll have to ask the others about that. How about the rest of your squad? I'm not sure I know who they all are." Or what they did, really.

"Oh, there are only four of us this year. Sam Evans is a senior", Joe began with holding up a thumb and Artie tried not to show his surprise, "a football player too, you may have already met him. Then there is Kitty Wilde, the Head-Cheerio..." – would you look at that? – "Then Marley Rose, both of the girls are sophomore." He had raised his fore and middle finger, keeping his ring finger for last, "And me, Joe Hart, junior. But apparently you already knew me?"

"I knew of you!" Artie rushed to correct. "What with the guitar and the singing. It's exactly what I was looking for! And your squad mates, would they be interested too?"

"Maybe. Sam and Kitty have this agreement where they disagree on everything so they take turn as head of the Squad for the meetings and sometimes projects... I don't really know what the other is doing when they aren't attending. Some Cheerio or jock thing, probably? So if you get one of them to agree there will probably be three of us. The fourth will have to be convinced personally."

"You have a head person for a four-man squad?" Damn, and Artie thought New Directions were kind of unmanageable sometimes!

"Technically, it's two head people, for a two-woman-two-man squad... or a three-and-a-half-person squad, I guess."

Was it what politics looked like? Because – no, whatever! Artie wasn't there to try and solve the God Squad management problems. He already had enough with his team-that-wasn't-yet. There was a dozen people to bring together and one of them was just in front of him. He should focus on that. Just at that moment, the bell rang and Joe looked up from his guitar with a smile.

"Hey, it looks like you'll be able to ask them. Thursday is Sam's day. Marley and he should be here any minute."

And, surely, as the footsteps of everyone hurrying to get to lunch could be heard in the hallway, Marley was the first one to enter the room after a quick knock. Artie was a little surprised – he thought she would take the opportunity to give a wordless "hi" to her mother working in the cafeteria. But apparently not as surprised as her when she turned back from shutting the door. Marley's almost jump when she saw Artie could have been funny if it didn't remind him of Tina's first reaction that morning.

"Hey, Marley. How're you doing?" Joe began before pointing to Artie with a move of his head. "And this is... uh..."

"Artie Abrams. I know who you are; you are the Titans' football star kicker!"

"I am?" Well, wasn't this ironic? It was a post Artie surely couldn't have had in the team he remembered; and there was only one kicker who got to be famous in his three plus years at McKinley – definitely not him. At least, he wasn't the quarterback... "I mean, sure, I am but... I didn't know about the star thing."

"Hello guys", a new voice cut in, "... and Abrams?"

"Evans", Artie replied while looking up at his... not-friend – not yet, "I came with an offer for you."

"Me?" Not-Sam raised an eyebrow and bend his head a little on the other side, exaggerating his expression in an almost-Sam way. Well, let it not be said that Artie was a coward. He inhaled and jumped.

"You as the three of you, four with Kitty if I can get her to join in." Artie saw Evans frown but kept on. "I know you sing, all of you, and that you love it. Meet me tomorrow noon with a couple others and we'll... well, make music, not war."

Silence followed his rather ridiculous proposition. Marley had her lips pinched but her eyes wide. Joe seemed half-high like usual. And Evans crossed his arms with a frown.

"It has something to do with what happened in the hallway, doesn't it?"

"Maybe."

Marley turned to Evans with a frown, as if asking if they could trust Artie or whatever. But Joe simply shrugged with a: "I don't know many songs but I do like to sing. I'm in, man."

It left their leader – or half-leader... Evans uncrossed his arms and put his hands in his letterman jacket's pockets, bowing his shoulder a little.

"OK", he sighed, "is there anything else's you want? You spoke of others..."

"Well", Artie thought about it, "there are some other football players I'd like to have tomorrow too."

"Really?" Evans crossed his arms again, Marley following like a little duckling.

"Yeah. I'd like Finn – Hudson", Artie amended when Evans's eyes widened in surprise, "Puck, Ryder Lynn", he looked for any expression of shock but didn't get one, "... and Jake."

"Jake? As in Jakob P? Sophomore?" Marley asked.

"Yes, you know him?" Artie wondered if Jake had managed to hide his relation to Puck this time around. Thinking about it, he wasn't sure he remembered seeing him, alone or with the other jocks.

"Not really", Marley shrugged without even blushing, "we're together in Literature an US Geography."

"I'll see what I can do." Evans said – very business-like – before his stare turned into a glare. "Anything or anyone else?"

"Well, yes. I'll try to gather Kurt Hummel, Tina Cohen-Chang, Kitty and Brittany Pierce myself. Maybe even Sugar Motta if I can find her."

For a moment, Artie regretted mentioning Kurt. Considering what he had seen from the football team, having them prepared could actually lead to a disaster. He was surprised by Evans's reaction though.

"I think you can let Hummel to Jake." Artie was about to give a nasty reply but he was cut short by what came next. "Nothing like what you're thinking. Chill! They know each other, something to do with Chem tutoring... or maybe History? Look, don't ask. Personally, I don't. I'll just speak discreetly with Jake after basketball practise tonight. For the Cheerios though, you're on your own. But I don't think I know a... Candy Motta?"

"Sugar! Whatever... The Cheerios: you think I have a shot in convincing them?"

Marley and Evans shared a look, and then answered as one: "Definitely."

"O... –kay. I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow noon then. Bye Joe, Marley, Evans."

"Hey Abrams", Evans spoke over his squad's goodbyes and Artie slowed his hand on the doorknob. "You haven't told us where to find you tomorrow yet"

Artie thought about it. He could say "choir room", but it probably wouldn't get them anywhere. They would find "Sylvester's sewing-room" but he couldn't bring himself to call it that way. 'Guess he would have to find the less heartfelt description ever.

"On the first story, two doors down the Guidance Counsellor's office: room I-103."

There Artie was again: alone in the hallways with no idea how to find the band because he had forgotten to ask God's Squad. And there were too many teachers and students around to call for Rory. His stomach growled and Artie remembered he probably hadn't eaten for four hours or so – who knew at what time this body had actually gotten breakfast? And what? He rummaged through his pockets and founds his wallet with relief. It was probably early enough in lunch hour so that he wouldn't be wasting time getting something to eat, right?

'Turned out going to the cafeteria had some advantages this time. First no one actively or unconsciously shoved Artie in the food line. Surprisingly, he even deserved a couple "yo, man", "whassup?", high-fives or fist-bumps from random jocks all around. He was the one to surprise Marley Rose's mother with a simple "hello" though. And the way she politely but suspiciously served his dish reminded him that all changes weren't necessarily good. But he could join the Cheerios' table without getting his head bitten off, at least. And it was a good thing as he saw right away there was a free chair just opposite to Kitty's. On the other hand, Brittany was far down the table. But she seemed busy with her fanbase, so one step at the time.

"Hi, Kitty!" Artie said sitting down. For a second her eyes widened, the noise around seemed to deem and he was afraid he had miscalculated his popularity.

"... Hi", she replied after a beat and her left hand jumped to her big red flask – the one he knew was personally filled with Sylvester's emetic brew – but she composed herself and added with a barely bitchy voice, "... and the answer is 1800. That's the time when I'm free after Thursdays Cheerio practice."

Artie had one Cheerio coming onto him previously, so he wasn't completely clueless. But there was a difference with Brittany – being so high on the food-chain that she could date him for his voice and despite his wheelchair without losing her fans – and Kitty – clearly aiming for his jock popularity. Still, spending years around girls, divas and girlfriends had taught him to be weary of being indelicate to their feelings. He knew that "slighted pride" was high there with "betrayal" on how to get a high-school girl to want you publicly destroyed. He had seen it all in Glee: from turning down a lead role in the musical you're directing, to getting round your girlfriend so that she doesn't know she's cheating on you, to fooling around with your best friend because you had sex with another, more popular and experienced girl the year before when you weren't even together... Thank God he wasn't the object of that last one! So even if he had no car window to get busted, he knew about tact. He sucked at it though.

"Hum, I'll keep it in mind for another time." Please, let it be something totally tactful, please! "But right now I'm more interested in what you're doing tomorrow noon."

Kitty quickly blinked. She had this pout, which Artie thought was supposed to be hot-cute but was really distracting and making him kind of worry. He preferred to dig into his pasta than to look too much at it. Finally Kitty replied almost neutrally.

"What for?"

"I'm meeting a couple people then and I immediately thought about you." He bended his head forward and dropped his voice lower. The Cheerios around were actively trying to appear as if they weren't eavesdropping – which meant they totally were. "It's kind of special... like an exclusive, secret meeting."

Kitty frowned, so she had to be thinking about it. Whereas Artie looked around and saw Brittany was about to leave the table. Fast, he got through his pockets for a paper and a pen. He found a gasoline receipt and a marker pen. It would have to do: Artie wrote "I-103" on it, folded it in four and gave it Kitty.

"There", he said as he stood up, making Kitty raise her eyes to him, "meet me tomorrow at twelve."

And Artie took his tray away, already grieving for his lunch. Luckily, he had picked a yogurt drink and a cookie so he would have something in his stomach. But he hoped that he wasn't in the basketball team or he would be starving at the end of the day. As he hurried to catch up with Brittany in the schoolyard stairs a thought almost made him stumble. A gas receipt... Damn! He did have a car – and windows to get busted after all!

Artie could have recognized Brittany's Cheerio pony-tail anywhere. He had been quite fascinated by it, actually – long before they even dated. So finding the Head-Cheerio – or apparently not-Head-Cheerio-anymore if Joe's words were correct – in a well-known courtyard wasn't that difficult to him.

"Hey, Britt! Brittany!" He called while lightly jogging toward his target near the auditorium. But he should have known no one could be prepared for Brittany.

"Who are you?" She asked when she turned to him.

"You..." Artie looked around this quiet part of the yard, there didn't seem to be anyone hidden around for a prank, "you don't know me? I'm Artie, Artie Abrams!"

Brittany raised her eyebrows, then blinked twice as if the whole concept was baffling to her – which might as well be considering the very special way she saw the world.

"Are you sure?" She asked candidly, but Artie had really no time to even think about an adequate answer before she blew his mind again. "You are 1.5 inches smaller than me, same as Artie Abrams. You have brown hair, same as Artie Abrams. You have big blue eyes and a sad puppy expression, same as Artie Abrams." Artie supposed his expression was more of the confused puppy variety at the time. "You have sticking-out ears, same as Artie Abrams." Or self-conscious puppy, maybe? "You have a big nose..." What? "Not a big-too-big nose, but a little-too-big nose, same as Artie Abrams. And your timbre of voice is the same as Artie Abrams'... But I don't think you are Artie Abrams."

"... Why?" Honestly, Artie couldn't for the life of him understand Britt's reasoning – which still made her the most unchanged friend he had met since this morning.

"Because you don't really feel the same?" Artie raised a brow at that... Was it really possible? "And you don't move the same, and you don't speak the same... Has Artie Abrams been taken by aliens and you have replaced him?"

... No? Except that weirdly from this Brittany's point-of-view Artie used to be a popular jock, Titans' kicker, and dumpster-dumping bully, and now he was... well, him? So really none on the above. Still, it's not as if Brittany had gotten the time to speak with him since this morning, or even look at him for real! How could she have gotten the idea that he had more or less been dumped in this Artie's place?

"Are Leprechaun aliens?" came out from Artie's mouth before he had the time to think about it.

"Hum", Brittany was definitely considering his question seriously, "Maybe, I don't know if I ever met one. Do they come out of nowhere while you sleep and don't understand simple English?"

"Erm", Artie suppose that half her assumptions could be applied, but something was beginning to bother him, "Britt, have you met many aliens?"

"Only a couple, none that kidnapped me." Brittany bowed her head forward and added in a whisper: "But I know there has been some roaming in McKinley."

Look, Brittany was weird, no doubt about that. But she was a cheery person, generally. At least Artie's Brittany was. And this Brittany seemed very much the same. So if she was as grave as this... well, it had to be about something serious – even if she was a bit lost in metaphors most of the times. Problem – or one of them – was that Artie thought they were actually having two different conversations. And with how they were bordering on creepy territory... Damn, he wasn't sure he was prepared to dip in it.

"Britt, I'm not saying I don't believe you." Artie saw right away in Brittany's eyes that his sentence had too many negations to be any clear to her. "I think I believe you, actually. But I wasn't abducted." Except he kind of was – from his universe where he sat in a wheelchair and sang in Glee – "I... Can you keep a secret?"

Damn, what was he thinking?! Telling Brittany? And then what? Getting locked in a padded room like a crazy person? Artie definitely didn't ask himself if he was indeed crazy because there laid craziness. He asked himself if Brittany would believe him, though – probably – if she would keep this secret – totally unpredictable – and if anyone would actually believe her if she didn't – probably not. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. It would be good to speak about it with someone who didn't appear and disappeared at the drop of a hat – and whose reality he wasn't going to question, because there laid craziness, again.

"I don't know", Brittany replied with her baffling honesty, "sometimes I say things passing through my mind without actually knowing I am saying them until someone tells me I'm actually speaking out loud."

Yeah... Artie remembered such a conversation he had had with Brittany – the one from where he came from. It had been both enlightening and pretty frustrating.

"Let's say you're not supposed to talk about this." He began with a tried method – the most effective with Brittany, which meant not very much. "And if someone asks you about it or you think you talked about it where someone could hear you, tell me. I won't be angry." He would definitely try not to. "But you'd be making up to me if you did tell me someone else knew. OK?"

"I'd like that." Brittany smiled, all sunny and like any Brittany he knew. "I think I like you not-Artie-Abrams."

Ouch! It was something to think about his not-friends in his head. But getting called that way out loud wasn't very fun actually. Maybe Artie could begin to see them as something else than sub-versions of those he knew... like real people – and not symptoms of this messed up universe? Yeah, no. He could fix this, he could fix them. It wasn't time to give up hope yet.

"Well, Brittany, I'm from another universe."

"So aliens did take you!" Brittany exclaimed with wide eyes. "Or was it Leprechauns?"

"I... I don't know. But where I come from you – or the Brittany I know – are my friend." And ex. "We have several other friends actually, a whole team. Tina, Kurt, Finn", Artie saw Britt's frown at the juxtapositions of those two names, but he went on, "Rachel, Puck, Sam, Joe, Sugar even Marley, Jake, Ryder and Kitty."

"I don't even know half of them", she replied thoughtfully, "weird! Why? What's the reason you met?"

"Glee, actually."

"Glee? What's this? Is this the name of your planet?"

"No", Artie tried not to laugh, "it'd be better if I could show you. Come meet me tomorrow noon in the room I-103!"

"Letters and numbers..." Brittany's defeated expression resembled the cutest pout Artie had ever seen, "what does it have both letters and numbers. They don't even come in the same colors. How am I to find this room?"

Surprisingly, Artie had forgotten all about Brittany's problem with directions, and letters, and numbers... OK, he had to find a clearer way to explain it to Britt, hopefully without the dreaded "Sue's sewing-room", and with no letter, number, nor use of "left" or "right". Easy!

"Britt? What lesson do you have tomorrow fourth hour?"

"Hum", she took out a colorful, laminated sheet of paper from her backpack, "what is the day tomorrow?"

"Uh", let me see, "here! Today is Thursday!" Sam's head-of-the-God-Squad day. "Tomorrow is Friday and you have... Spanish." Ugh, class with not-Mr-Schue! "Cool, probably class with me then. So I'll be there to take you to the room I-103."

Artie was just giving Brittany her timetable back when the bell rang. His friend – ? – widened her eyes like a deer in headlight and he took a couple of seconds to understand why.

"You don't have any idea where you're heading next for class, do you?"

"Home Ec, I think", Britt shrugged, "you said today was Thursday. I was going to the auditorium because I mixed it with Friday. But I'm not sure I know how to go to Home Ec from here."

Artie checked and – "Right." – one of the only white boxes was for Thursday, fifth period: Home Economics. It was one classroom he remembered well for never having taken these lessons. Nothing like getting blown out by Brittany for a Prom'posal in front of half of his friends...

"Cool, can you bring me there, not-Artie?"

OK, not this Brittany – even if they were so alike. If Artie really wanted them to be friends, it was time to prove that he could be trusted.

"I'd say 'after you' but I rather no getting lost so... Follow my lead, Britt!" Artie replied while offering her his arm. What you wouldn't do for Glee!

Only once he had dropped Brittany at Home Ec did Artie realize it was apparently Tina's fifth period too. Still no trace no sign of Sugar. But class was about to begin. So he had only time to ask the Cheerio to recruit not-Tina in his stead before he had to leave. Alone, again. Well, he had checked many boxes in his mental list since he swore to Rory he would fix it all. There was that, at least. Secure a place to meet: check. Inform the whole (present) team: check for the boys, almost check for the girls – he still wasn't sure how he should reach out to Rachel Berry, or if Sugar Motta was even there. Then there was still the issue about finding the music band.

The solution came from a half-hidden, little memo on the clubs board. The jazz ensemble – or simply the Band – was exactly where their post advertised them to be. It turned out that they were also very much not prepared to be found out by a jock.

"Uh..." Johnny Shenton – the guitarist Artie used to be on a first name basis with – cut through his band mates' silence, "I think you've got the wrong classroom."

"Pretty sure it says you're all meeting here after two", Artie replied while waving the little yellow sheet, "12/13-p.14:00-I-002-KMG". Then he looked around the room for the first time, noticing its familiarity for the first time. "Wait, isn't this normally the Secret Society of Superheroes' room?"

"There is a Superhero Club?" A boy asked. He was handling a bass and looked a lot like Johnny but with darker hair – probably his little brother or cousin, as Artie had never seen him before.

"Wait", Keith McGee, the drummer – and probable signatory of the post spoke for the first time, "what are you doing with that?" He frowned. "I know jocks are supposed to have free reign of the school space as long as their marks are C+ and higher. But that's quite a low blow to stop music players from gathering while you are playing truant yourself."

"Oh", Artie looked down at the paper, suddenly realizing how his interruption and memo stealing could be interpreted, "I think we're having a misunderstanding. I'm not here to pester you or whatever. Quite the contrary, actually! Let's try again..." He said, handing back the yellow piece of paper: "Hi, I'm Artie Abrams and I'm asking for your help."

Silence followed. Keith and Johnny exchanged meaningful frowns while the six other members of the Band shared confused glances and whispers. Finally, the drummer stood up to take his memo back.

"It's for tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yeah, actually! I'd like a musical demonstration for tomorrow noon... or instrumental back up at least."

"You know we're not a juke box, right?" Keith replied with scepticism. "We can't actually play something we haven't prepared at the drop of the hat."

"Sorry about that", Johnny added with a sympathetic expression, "but we're mostly in Christmas music right now."

Artie thought about it. Considering he was actually aiming for a rallying piece, Christmas wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"It could work, actually. Do you have any music that can be sung?"

Shenton Junior hurried over with a stack sheet music. Artie thanked him with a nod and looked it over. Some of it was predictable but unsuitable for him. All I want for Christmas is you would definitely lack any luster only Mercedes could put on it. He had a bad memory of Jingle Bells creating a riot when New Directions had tried carolling. Baby, it's cold outside was a duet, so it was out as well. And he wasn't sure he would know every lyric of Elvis's Winter Wonderland for the next day. He considered MJ's Santa Claus is coming to town but went on with his leafing through. Some of it he definitely hadn't seen coming. David Bowie's Moonage Daydream made Junior blush and put those sheets away. Next came some slow number Artie was pretty sure came from the fourth Harry Potter soundtrack. Then, finally, he knew he had found it: merry, easy to remember, and with notes of a musical arrangement that could be more memorable than the original!

Keith didn't comment on his choice. He even dug up maracas for Artie when he asked him for percussion instruments. Johnny seemed quite happy with moving everyone's place a little so each member could see both his head gestures and Artie's. But Junior – Simon – seemed the most enthusiast. His energy was infectious enough to get his band mates to half-dance and Artie to take a page in Blaine's book: furniture jumping – something he hadn't gotten to enjoy for ten years.

All the time singing with – and listening to – the Band passed in a flash. Artie got to really enjoy himself for once since awakening in the infirmary. When they finally had to disband at the half-past-three bell, he even got an instrumentalist – Randy, the contrabassist – to invite Rachel for the next day.

So it was with light feet that Artie went back to his locker in order to gather his stuff and go home. Luckily, his code was the same – 07734 or "hello" when reading a calculator upside-down. And it wasn't even twenty-to-four when he arrived in the parking lot. There he became somewhat disenchanted. He had guessed that he owned a car but he had no idea of what model it was. Finally, he found his car keys in one of his backpack's inner pockets. Thank God for remote opening! He barely had to roam the closer aisle of the lot before hearing a tell-tale beep. There he found a car with blinking headlights – his car apparently. But as he took the driver seat, he found out another fundamental problem. He didn't know how to drive!

After who knew how long of staring at his steering wheel, Artie was woken up of his panicking trance by a soft tap on the driver window. A confused face looked back at him. In his immaculate pants, vest and designer cape stood Kurt. Or – well – no: not-Kurt.

This Kurt Hummel tried to say something to him but Artie couldn't make it out through the glass. And, of course, the window couldn't be opened manually. He looked down at the car keys in his right palm. For some reasons – to do with his own car crash at eight – he had never gotten to learn how to drive. Or rather he had refused to go to the second lesson. Because – even if it was in an adapted car – the simple thought of having the power to drive into another car or over a pedestrian had him freezing at inopportune moments. Artie debated whether turning the engine on to get the window down was worth risking the car going accidently backwards on someone. Yes, he was kind of clueless with cars even if he used to hide it well. Another knock came from the passenger window and Artie saw that not-Kurt had moved around the car without him noticing. He raised his eyebrows in an unimpressed expression when Artie failed to react. Then he made a much exaggerated hand gesture to get him to open the passenger door. There was an electronic click when Artie pulled the door handle. Oh, automatic locking system, OK! Then he sat back to let not-Kurt get in.

"I won't ask you why you did it back then", not-Kurt said softly in a forced, monotonous voice, "but thank you."

Artie blinked in response, not really understanding at first. Not-Kurt would be standing as straight as an arrow if it weren't for his shoulders – turned almost imperceptibly inwards. Knowing Kurt as he did, Artie saw that this one was definitely tense. He had made the first move nonetheless. So he deserved an answer at least.

"You're welcome..." Artie said without much conviction. Not-Kurt seemed to be searching for something in his eyes. Yet showing here made him obviously uneasy. Was he thanking Artie for his ineffective help that morning? Or was it something else?

"Are you...?" Not-Kurt began... then frowned as he sat down and shut the door. "Is there something you can help with?"

And suddenly, Artie was laughing hysterically because – really? – was there anything anyone could help with? He looked up to not-Kurt, ready for an affronted frown. But there was sympathy there – even if the way he had suddenly his back glued to the door meant Artie had frightened him at least a little.

Truth be told: it really had come as a surprise to Artie. Being independent despite his disability was a something he was proud of. So helping him came more as a reflex to his friends than a thing to offer. When Tina pushed his wheelchair, she had something to do with her hands and someone to share her ideas with. When Mercedes did it, it was to keep the rhythm of their musical debates as she walked. When Mike did it, they generally spoke about girls – or girlfriends. When Puck did it, there was another plan at the back of his head – often chicks baiting, or how not to go back in Juvie. When Brittany did it, it was a rare time when she had remembered both that he had a disability and what it meant. When Kurt did it, they were "partners-in-cahoots"... Though there was one friend who had asked if he needed help – that he remembered at least. It was Finn. But Finn – true-Finn – wasn't there. None of them was.

"Is there... " Artie tightened his fists on his lap – focusing on the discomfort of his keys in his right hand. "Have you ever felt as if you'd just woken up in a body – in a life – that should be your own but doesn't feel like it? Like you've forgotten how it's supposed to work? And you're not really sure how to control it anymore?"

Artie's childhood seemed so far away. As if there was a veil on it – making everything kind of fuzzy. He used to run, to jump, to dance, to scale monkey bars... But he couldn't visualize it. He'd fantasized – and even dreamed – of walking again. Yet at the moment, when he was actively thinking about it, he wasn't sure that he would be able to move his legs. Nevermind jumping on tables like he'd done maybe a dozen minutes before. He was so lost in his head that his limbs seemed suddenly unreachable.

"Everyday."

The soft whisper resonated in the car with more power than a gunshot. The fog around Artie's mind dissipated enough for him to make out Kurt's profile. His eyes were on the windshield but his stare was definitely somewhere else.

"Some days..." He blinked and turned so slowly back to Artie that it had to be pretty damn forced. "I don't know how to breathe anymore."

Artie swallowed. Kurt's – not-Kurt's? – eyes were shining in a way that leeched all the color out of them. It was like looking at a ghost... A ghost who'd offered his help – whatever help he could give.

"Then how? How do you do it?"

Kurt smiled: something small, pale, almost intangible.

"I remember those who are waiting for me upstairs."

For a horrible second, Artie thought this was a morbid metaphor. He was this close to grabbing Kurt's shoulder and making sure his hand wouldn't be going through smoke.

"For me it's remembering the healthy breakfast I promised my Dad I'd make... the follow up in European History I promised a sophomore... the book I promised a clerk I'd buy after an animated debate on biographical novels... Promises. They are the failsafes with which I go to sleep. My Mum always told me to keep my promises. That's what it is for me. If my mind remembers my promises, my body remembers the rest."

"I..." Artie felt as if he was seeing Kurt – this Kurt, any Kurt – for the first time. "I don't know how to drive."

Kurt's smile was more real this time: "I can help with that."

And he could. After giving Artie a crash course on automatic gears – more of a "brake, push this lever to go forwards, pull to go backwards, put back in the middle to park, accelerator to move" with a bit of "you athletes and your words... I said push-forward, pull-backward, middle-park... brake to change... good!" – Kurt directed him to a corner of the parking lot so he could drive in circles for a bit. Finally, he judged Artie as "not totally useless under supervision" and asked him to take aisles and bends with right angles. He even offered another more challenging parking lot as an option. It was supposed not to be far from there, at the entrance of town. After listening dutifully to "the importance of looking left then right for any priority", Artie followed Kurt's directions with hopefully as much dedications as his own actors during West Side Story. Maybe his body did have more memory than his mind could recall. That or Kurt really was a great teacher. Because he found himself parking his car in front of the Lima Bean just before four. Artie didn't think it was supposed to be this easy – apart from the indicators, those Kurt used liberally in his stead. He was still suspicious of Artie's driving license though.

"Did you pass your exam on another planet?" Kurt asked while assuring himself that Artie had put the lever back in park, engaged the handbrake, and could rightfully cut the engine.

"I... don't remember", was Artie's lame answer. He felt weirdly closer to Kurt than he had ever been. But he didn't know how to tell him the truth without ending in a straightjacket – or even if he should tell him. The Kurt he remembered wasn't exactly a believer. "Want a coffee for helping to refresh my memory? I'll pay!"

Kurt didn't answer right away. "Are you sure? You've been lucky that the athletes and most upperclassmen were too busy with extracurricular activities to see us together on the parking lot, least of all in the same car. We could be meeting anyone in there." He paused and looked up to the shops windows. "Well, anyone who can appreciate good coffee, that is."

"It's the least I could do." Artie insisted with a frown.

He stepped out of his car before another word could be said, hoping to escape from the unease Kurt argument had woken in him. His friend finally caught up with him at the Lima Bean doors and Artie remote-locked his car a little too vindictively.

Kurt's relaxed demeanor while teaching him how to drive had almost entirely disappeared when they stepped in the coffee shop. He allowed himself a second to shut his eyes and raise his nose so he could enjoy the place's smells – Artie could swear he saw his nostrils flare. Then he was all straight lines and professional posture as he led the way to the counter.

"Hello", he spoke to the waitress a soft, polite voice – Artie was pretty sure he had forced-deepened it, "I'd like a non-fat mocha please. And for him..."

"Uh..." Artie didn't know their whole menu, actually.

"A mocha with whipped-cream then", Kurt decided in a heartbeat, "and do you want anything with it? Cookie, muffin, biscotti?"

"Something with..." Artie remembered his sad lunch, and the poor yogurt and cookie he had eaten on his way to the Band. "Nuts? Something filling."

"A piece of your cranberry and chestnut cheesecake, then." Kurt turned back to the waitress, then added: "And to stay in the Christmas theme, a cinnamon shortbread for me, thank you."

The waitress pointed out to where another employee was brewing their drinks before she calculated the bill. Artie decided this was his cue and took out his wallet while shooing Kurt to gather their order.

It wasn't long before Artie had his receipt in his pocket. Kurt was still elsewhere occupied. So he took it upon himself to find somewhere to sit. Probably not somewhere too much in the open if he didn't want to worry Kurt with blowing his jock reputation. His eyes were roaming for a table beyond the self-service counter for sugar and other sweeteners when they were caught by something familiar. Familiar hair to be exact. Sitting almost entirely with his back to him, and opposite a svelte, taller young man – whom Artie tended to want to punch on sight was...

"Blaine!"

And it really was Blaine who turned his head when Artie called his name. But a different Blaine than the one he had eaten with in the cafeteria of McKinley just the day before – or a different day before? That Blaine had been wearing a male Cheerio outfit and hair plastered to his head with gel. This one was in full navy-and-red, Dalton uniform – the open blazer and loose tie were the only clues of his schoolday having probably ended – and without so much gel as to make his curls impossible to guess. But, most importantly, he was having coffee with Sebastian. And considering Blaine's confused, open mouth and Sebastian's annoyed, raised eyebrows Artie had interrupted their... moment? Date?! No way! Blaine dating Sebastian was like... Eric choosing Ursula in disguise? Or – you know – Han shacking up with Lando, but after having been sold by him in frozen parts. Well, this time around Sebastian probably hadn't gotten to show his backstabbing-bully persona – what with having no Kurt to get hate-obsessed with. So maybe this metaphor didn't work. Plus Blaine wasn't really much of a Han anyway... He was more of a Luke, to think about it. Let's say Lois getting together with Lex rather than Clark, then. There had to be fanfictioners flying this boat. But, really? Anyone with eyes or a little heart knew it just wasn't meant to be in the long run. They were like... so incompatible! Unbelievable! A bit like this weird version where Lana had kind of ended with Lex and Artie's reaction had been: What? Totally lost! So maybe Artie didn't believe in soulmates, or love-of-one's-life concepts – or maybe he did, but that wasn't then nor there. Yet he had been more than three years in the Glee family. Which meant that – even if he wasn't one to meddle, much, anymore – he just couldn't escape Glee gossip. Which meant: he knew that Blaine did believe in soulmate-love-of-one's-life concepts! So how could any Blaine who hadn't met his Kurt end up with a Sebastian? It made no sense!

"Artie", Kurt soft, deepened voice came from not two feet away, "your coffee."

He was carrying a tray with their drinks and food with just one – very steady – hand, the fingers of his other one drumming casually on the shoulder strap of his messenger bag. With his impeccable posture, he looked a bit like an overdressed waiter, or – considering the way Blaine and Sebastian were staring – like an icon for an expensive brand of coffee.

"Artie?" Sebastian was the first to reply with a smirk and – was it a leer? OK, if that couple wasn't weird enough, Sebastian ogling him while on a date with Blaine definitely made him uncomfortable. "A nickname for Arthur, I guess."

Not really knowing how to react, Artie turned to look at his friend. Kurt rolled his eyes to Sebastian's obvious remark – or maybe his obviously unnatural suave voice.

"And what's your name, then?" Sebastian was eyeing Kurt up and down now. "Snow-White?" Wait, was it a dig at Artie's height? He couldn't be that much smaller than Kurt – pretty sure it was all in the hair, actually. And he was definitely taller than Blaine. "Or is it Guinevere?"

"Seb–!"

"I'm not sure how appropriate it is to call someone 'White Warrior' in a coffee shop." Kurt cut Blaine's feeble reproach. His fingers had stopped drumming and his eyes had turned into a cold glare. "One would think you're asking for a fight, which is not only very ill-mannered, but also very insensitive to anyone working here. I don't know where you learned to confuse rudeness and charm. But I pity anyone who would fall for it."

Oh no! Kurt had not just insulted Blaine by association! This was a disaster! Artie looked back to the occupied table. Sebastian was gaping. And Blaine... seemed to be trying to disappear from the line of fire?

"Actually", Sebastian put his smirk back on, "I was in Paris a little more than two years ago."

"And?" Kurt was totally unimpressed. "A fat lot of good it does me."

"I mean: I have learned in Paris until two years ago. I have attended collège and two years of lycée there. So you could say I learned part of my manners there."

"Really?" What? Kurt wasn't about to fall for such obnoxiousity, right? "So who are you trying to bring shame on with how you turned out? The French? Or us lowly born US Americans?"

There was a snort. But Artie couldn't say if it had been him – who hadn't seen Kurt so animated in an overcivilized way for a long time – or Blaine – who was definitely hiding in his coffee cup.

"But don't let us impose in your very privileged time. My friend and I will find another table farther away where we won't risk outshining your perfectly striking m'as-tu-vu?-personality."

"Oh, so you've seen it then?" Sebastian replied with a full on grin while Kurt was already turning to another corner of the coffee shop.

"Wait!" Blaine and Artie exclaimed as one.

They looked at one another. But to be honest Artie didn't know what to add without making it worse – or revealing his secret. So he shrugged to let Blaine say his piece.

"I think we've all started off on the wrong foot", he said softly, giving his hand to shake, "my name is Blaine."

Kurt paused. His eyes stopped on Artie's before he finally shook Blaine's hand with his free one.

"Nice to meet you, Blaine. I'm Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt." Blaine replied; he seemed barely fazed by how curtly Kurt took his hand back. "If I can say so, this is far more suited to you than 'Guinevere' ever will." Wait, what was happening? "Oh, and Arthur, or Artie, hi!"

"They're the Warblers!" Artie blurted when Blaine turned to shake his hand. "The a capella show choir of Dalton Academy. I mean, you are, right?"

"Well, yes, we are. What gave us away?"

"Probably the uniform." Kurt answered Blaine in a heartbeat. But it was Artie he was staring at.

"Look at this, Blaine." Sebastian remarked with something between glee and condescension. "Fans!"

"And this very polite young man who didn't introduce himself is Sebastian."

"Don't mind me", Sebastian replied while he slouched back in a way that may be supposed to appear elegant but mostly overhung more than half of the round table he shared with Blaine, "politeness is overrated anyways. I'm more interested by the two of you. What brings a... ", he was back to sizing up Kurt and Artie prepared himself to another dig, "... fashion journalist" – if only he knew! – "and a high-school jock" – the letterman jacket was a dead give-away – "in an improbable backwater coffee-shop, together?"

"You know what?" Kurt said as he straightened his shoulders. "Let's tend to our own businesses and drink our own coffees while they're still hot. Have a nice day."

And he left with as much attitude as Rachel's storming-outs. Artie was torn between letting this Blaine alone with Sebastian and not following Kurt – and the cheesecake he carried with him. Kurt and their snacks won out though when Artie's stomach woke up. So he left the Warblers with a simple shrug for "goodbye" as he tried to plan a way to get Blaine's phone number before they left the shop. Who knew when they got to see him again! He may not be Artie's friend Blaine but he probably deserved more than having only Sebastian to hang out with. A little solidarity: the enemy of my enemy is my friend – or the victim of my enemy, more like! Artie let Sebastian's annoying stage-whispers disappear in the background – "See that? Do you think this is jailb–! Ouch!" – and joined Kurt not far from the bathroom doors. He was already sitting, with a thoughtful look and the fingers of his left hand running around the open top of his mocha cup.

Artie waited for Kurt to speak first. But as no word came, he sat down and tasted his own drink. He must have pulled a grimace at his first sip. For a little sugar packet and a stirrer appeared in front of his eyes. He looked up to see Kurt's encouraging nod before finally following his silent advice... And, OK, Artie wasn't exactly a coffee person, but now this thing wasn't half bad!

"Is he an influencer?" Kurt asked with no warning as Artie dug in his cheesecake.

"Who? Damn, this is good! Do you come to this shop often or did you just guess the quality of their menu?"

"I've come a couple of time, always ordered to-go. So yes, I know most of what they offer is worth it. And don't change the subject: Blaine! Is he an influencer? A famous blogger? Or was he recently in the news?"

"What?" Artie paused in his wolfing down. "Why?"

"You know him. Or you know of him and you thought I did too... This morning, after you interrupted Hudson and his goons..." Artie winced and looked down at the quarter left from his cheesecake. "You asked me about Blaine. It was him, wasn't it?"

"Uh", Artie frowned around his last spoon of cake, "Yes. But no... He's just a singer in a show choir." He sighed. "It's complicated."

Kurt took one final sip of his cup but his eyes stayed on Artie. It seemed as he wouldn't wait for further explanations, though. For he put a couple of notes on the table for the tip. Then he gestured towards the way out of the Lima Bean with his head. Artie chose to take with him his paper cup – and what remained in it – and follow Kurt outside. They had just passed the doors when his friend brought the conversation back, his voice almost a whisper.

"Complicated how? Does it have anything to do with what we won't be mentioning?"

"What shouldn't we..." Artie tried hard to understand where Kurt was going with this. Was it something Kurt had previously talked about? Or something other-Artie should know about? As he tried to recall every discussion he had had since that morning, Evans' offer particularly came back to Artie's mind. "Wait, did Jake already talk to you about it?"

"Jake?" Kurt's eyebrows jumped up. "What does Jake have–? No! I was speaking about Q–"

"Excuse-me!" Blaine had just appeared out of nowhere. And considering the color of his face, he had either run or had just had a few words with Sebastian – or both. "Look, I'm sorry about Sebastian. He can be an ass sometimes." When were the other times? "When he's stressed, he tends to lash out at anyone in the vicinity. And with Sectionals just around the corner– Anyways! He shouldn't have sent you packing with ill-chosen words and it really is OK if you know of our choir and want to talk about it if there is no stalking involved and I'm rambling and– What I wanted to say is that it's not often that we meet people like us in backwater, Ohio and... Well..."

"When you said 'people like us', you meant people using 'backwater, Ohio' to describe a place were low-born mortals have spent their whole life?" Kurt asked softly.

Artie tried to decipher his carefully neutral expression. But some of Blaine's own words bugged him. Why?

"Wha– No! I didn't call– I did! Oh God, I'm worse than Sebastian, aren't I?"

"Wait a minute", Artie raised a hand – the one not occupied with his hot drink, "you said 'Sectionals', right?"

"... Yes?"

"As in: the first step of the Annual National High-School Show Choir Competition?" What a mouthful!

Blaine raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Kurt – as if waiting for a translation. But his only answer was a shrug.

"I thought your Sectionals had already come and gone", Artie explained, "that's all."

"Oh", Blaine's confusion waned, "that. Yes, apparently there's been organizations mishaps...", seeing two unimpressed expressions, he added, "Nationwide! Nothing to do with us. From what I gathered more than half of the contestants of two years ago didn't even enrol this time. Plus there have been a couple new choirs popping out of nowhere, others changing their names... So it seems that the whole sectional and regional grids have been reworked. I'm not even sure if all of the sectional dates have been decided on. Last year we had our Sectionals on November, the 27th. This year, it's this Saturday: December, the 15th."

"Really?" Artie had been thinking of gathering the Old'n'New Directions back, but what better way than making it a challenge? "Where is it?"

"It's in Fort Wayne, Indiana. At Westvale High. Why?" Blaine's frown disappeared with a smile. "You want to go and see it?"

"Of course!" Artie exclaimed, very much interested in seeing what the Warblers would be if they hadn't lost their lead singer. He turned to Kurt. But despite Blaine hopeful look, he didn't seem inclined to give his input. Well, he would need a little help, then! Artie kicked his shin, not very subtly as there was no table to hide it – Kurt had no more drink to drop, at least.

"Y–!" Kurt's glare was precious. "Why not? It's not often I see someone so passionate about something when more than half of the people don't even know it exists."

"It's called being a nerd, Kurt." Artie replied to the jibe with a roll of his eyes. He almost missed Blaine's affronted pout.

"Is that what it is?" Kurt definitely hadn't missed it either as he turned to Blaine to add. "I can admire that. Very... endearing."

"Do you..." Blaine tried with a blush. "Do you really know what 'Guinevere' means?"

Kurt looked at Blaine carefully. He seemed genuinely surprised to see someone so eager to listen to him.

"Maybe I'll tell you if we decide to drive all the way to Indiana on Saturday."

Blaine danced from one foot to the other. Apparently, he wasn't so sure if Kurt was flirting or politely telling him to get lost. Totally legit! Artie didn't know either.

"So, uh... I'll let you two, then. Just..." Blaine took one step back before vaguely pointing over his shoulder, "sorry again for this ass." He blinked and seemed to reformulate his words in his head before blushing. "I mean–! Oh God, I'll just stop talking and go. Bye!"

"Blaine!" Kurt called softly, making the Warbler turn back and bump in the door handles he had just reached. "What time Saturday?"

"Ten! In the morning!"

"Noted. Walk safe and try not to break a leg before your show." Kurt definitely smirked before giving Blaine a wave. "Good day."

Artie waved too – in solidarity of Kurt, or Blaine, he didn't really know – then turned back to walk towards his car.

"Do you..." Kurt faced him once they had reached it, "do you want me to drive you back?"

"At McKinley?"

"At first, yes. To get my car back. But I don't think you should be behind a wheel right now." – Probably never! – "I can let your car in the school's parking lot and give you a ride tomorrow morning. If we avoid the students' rush-hour by getting there early enough, they won't even have to know I was the one driving you around."

Suddenly, all of Kurt's words about reputation and sightings and whatnot made a lot more sense.

"You don't want them to believe we could be dating, do you?"

"Oh", Kurt snorted, "what I want or not is irrelevant in this case. A single gay, in presence of another guy, must be in want of some hooking up, isn't he? If they see us sharing a car I assure you they will believe it. Or one of them will, at least. Ben Israel or another, it doesn't even matter. You know how fast this rumor would run. And your car wouldn't survive the backlash unscathed, that I can guarantee you! So it's all up to you."

"Well, do you think you'd be able to avoid the students of McKinley?"

"Only one way to find out."

Despite his wording, Kurt left nothing to chance. As soon as he had Artie's keys in hand, he stepped behind the steering wheel and prepared his drive. First came the seat – apparently to close to the dashboard – then the central mirror, then a quick calculation – "OK, eleven minutes before the next school bells, five minutes before rush hour in the Lima-Bellefontaine direction, I know a shortcut!" – then they took off. Kurt's driving was definitely nothing like Artie's. He was always at maximum speed without going over the limits, he knew where and when to look, and he turned with no bump – nor forgetting the indicators – through bends and backroads. The drive back from the Lima Bean seemed half as long as what Artie remembered. And when they parked next to Kurt's distinctive SUV – coming from a way Artie didn't even know they could take – his driver looked at the time with a relieved sigh. "Three minutes before the bell: time to run, Abrams." Two steps out, two car beeps, and they were on the road again.

They couldn't beat all the traffic this time. But Kurt may have had a GPS in his head. For he didn't need much more directions than Artie's address to drive him home – and Artie couldn't recognize half of the streets he took, anyways.

"I think we made it", Kurt said with the ghost of a smile – his voice more natural than Artie had heard it all day, "but I guess we'll have to wait tomorrow for the moment of truth. So let's stay focussed until we know. I'll come back in the morning to drive you to your car. Seven sharp."

"The bells are at eight."

"Not for you if you don't want to be seen by most the student body. I'll be there at seven. Good day."

Artie sighed a "bye" before stepping out of the car.

It was only a couple of seconds after his friend had left that he had to face another uncomfortable surprise. It wasn't his house... Or it was, but different. First, the way to the house wasn't straight and in concrete, but a bendy slated path between rose bushes. Then, there was the step to climb instead of a ramp. And this was only outside. Once through the threshold Artie had much more to take in. The floor of the entrance hall was of marble, not wood. The first door on the right wasn't a small guest bathroom, but a simple closet for shoes and coats. And Artie stumbled over another step – no ramp there either – while walking to what was now a dining room in warm brown and ivory. The kitchen was still in the same place, but the counter tops were higher and older than what he was used to – plus there was a little table in the middle, kind of jamming the whole space. Next to it was a door, which had been filled in for so long Artie had all but forgotten about it. The downstairs bathroom – as he remembered it – used to open directly on his sleeping room and had been fitted out with a walk-in shower. This one seemed unusually wide for only a toilet-seat, a little sink, and a couple of shelves. Then his room – or not-his-room-anymore – was a living room, with a wall-to-wall beige carpet, a burgundy couch and matched curtains – this color had been one of his mother favorite, before.

Feeling as curious as he was confused, Artie took off his shoes and stepped inside. On the door's side was a shelf of hi-fi devices. And as he saw the projector – probably linked to the DVD/VCR-player – he was pretty sure other-Artie had a taste for the cinema, at least. But he skipped over the impressive collection of movies pretty quickly when a stack of vinyls caught his attention. It was exactly in the place where he used to put his bass guitar – in another world where this was his room. And he found himself going through it with nervous energy. His mother had many records of jazz and soul, while his father preferred 60'-70's classic and folk rock. Yet Artie couldn't find The Sounds of Silence, nor the 1969-1973 album from the Carpenters... No album from The Doors either. Which meant that other-Artie's father didn't live in the house anymore.

This wasn't exactly a surprise to Artie. His own parents were separated since the summer before his senior year. But he had wondered – in silence – if he himself, his disability, and the strain it put on their relationship had played any role in that. He had even looked back on the first months after the car crash – what he could remember of it, at least. And his older mindset had made him realize how much this upheaval in his own life had also resulted in a big change for his parents. His mother barely hesitated before letting go of her job as an architect to stay full time at home with him – fitting out the house and taking care of appointments and the like. Whereas his father began to work more hours, yet closer from home – Artie was pretty sure he used to commute as far as Columbus before taking a job as an accountant around Lima. It was a relief – yet with a little sadness – to know that his parents' separation wasn't all due to his accident.

Artie let his fingers skim through his mother's records, suddenly needing something to keep the silence at bay. He wondered about The Classic Christmas Album from Elvis Presley but let it at the end of the shelf. His adventurous spree in the variety of his mother's collection stopped on two vinyls he didn't remember hearing for a long time: By Popular Demand from the Andrews Sisters, and the second an all-time classic. Almost reverently, he took the record out of its jacket and placed it in the player. The stereo amplifier was a little harder to work with. It took him a couple of tries to find out which of the audio sources was linked to the record player. Then the first song was already in full swing.

...
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world!

Oh, it may not have been Artie's best idea.

I see skies of blue
And clouds of white,

Did he, though? Since waking up in the infirmary, Artie had all but beenliving in shades of grey.

And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world!

The colors of the rainbow

Where were they?

Are also on the faces

Unknown-known faces...

I see friends shaking hands,

Where? Where was anyone who would still tell him...

..."I love you!"

I hear babies cry.

He could hear Quinn cry. Then all he could see was his friends holed up in the hospital waiting for the baby – Beth – to come; later after Blaine had disappeared in the emergency room; then again after Quinn's car crash... Together as family...

What a wonderful world!

There were arms around his back and a shoulder under his chin. There was hair softly brushing against his closed eyes. He felt warm, safe, engulfed in a familiar scent.

"Mum?"

Artie opened his eyes and realized he had been weeping. The record player had been turned off and the light on. The sky had darkened beyond the windows. How long had he been standing there? He felt his mother loosen her hug and looked up – no, eye-level – to her. She was in a black pantsuit, with a dark red blouse, her hair in a high bun and golden-rimmed glasses. There were only her slippers or the vest she had left on the back of the couch to break her professional persona.

"Hello there, honey." She said with a sad smile. Her left hand was still softly rubbing his shoulder.

"Uh... Hey, Mum." He tried to brush away his tears as subtly as he could. But his mother offered him a tissue without a word. He dried his cheeks, then let himself blow his nose before speaking again. "You look nice today."

"You flatterer!" She laughed, but he was pretty sure her eyes weren't entirely dry. "I'm sorry I've come home so late today." A pause. "Artie, I saw your car wasn't in the driveway."

"No, a friend of mine drove me home today." Artie hesitated before adding any precision. "He's giving me a ride again tomorrow... seven a.m." This he said in a grimace.

"Good", his mother replied, "remember you are not alone. So, is there anything you want us to do together before dinner? Maybe a film to take your mind off things?"

Artie wasn't sure it would be a good – or rather an effective – idea. Standing still didn't appeal to him at the moment. Truth be told, there had only been one time all day when he had felt remotely happy – or free from what was burdening his mind, at least. When he had been singing, dancing, and furniture jumping with the Band.

"Actually..." He looked back to the record player. "Do you have anything lively we could dance to?"

"You..." There was both happiness and surprise in his mother's expression. "You want to dance?"

What? Did his dream to be a dancer really come after his accident?

"Yes?"

"Just checking. There's nothing wrong with that, honey. Well, I think we'll avoid Armstrong for the time being..."

Artie didn't have anything against Louis Armstrong. A Wonderful World, though... Yeah, it definitely was the wrong time.

"So what is it you've been looking through?" She put the first record he had taken back in its place before examining the second one. "The Andrews... Why not? Would you rather dance the polka or the foxtrot?"

Was it strange that in his eighteen years he had never known that his mother could dance? Or what those dance were even? Artie looked at his mother's expectant smile and answered to the top off his head.

"The second one?" Fox trot: the words had a funny ring, right? And he had rather not cry again this soon.

"As you wish."

His mother placed the record on the platter before raising the tonearm carefully and estimating where to put it down on the vinyl. After a soft crackling came the lively tunes of a little jazz band in an instrumental interlude. Then, three female voices for a line.

Let's do the beer barrel polka!

Artie looked over to his mother. But she seemed quite pleased with herself. And rightfully so as the song finished. It was followed again by the crackling of old vinyl records.

"Come here", his mother said with a hand gesture, "mirror my steps."

She took his left hand and placed the right on her waist. Then she used her feet to nudge his own into place. When a trumpet launched the melody for another tune, he barely had the time to widen his eyes and stare down before she began to move.

Left, right, left-right-left.
Back, back, back-back-back.

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!
How you can love! ...

… back-back-back.

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!
Heavens above,

Ba– No! Turn!

You make my sad heart jump... with joy!…

… left-right-left.

And when you're near I just can't... sit still a minute I'm so–

Again!

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!
Please, tell me dear
What makes me love you so!…

… two-three-four-five.

You're not handsome, it's true.
But when I look at you... I just

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!

OK, so, Mum's not as good a dance teacher as Kurt a driving teacher! Artie was a bit lost at first with how his mother made him jump in the tune without previously showing him the steps. And he was more running than dancing, really. Trying to catch up. But he began to feel the rhythm after a couple of verses. So maybe starting with the music right away wasn't such a bad idea after all. It seemed to work for him, at least. His feet were so caught up in the rhythm that it took Artie several seconds to realize that his mother had stopped – and he almost stumbled backwards. The records had begun crackling again.

"Artie", his mother complimented, "I must admit you're holding your own quite well!"

"Thanks, Mum. You too!" He added as the Andrews Sisters began another song. "We should do it again some time."

Artie's mother offered to teach him the polka another time. And they moved to the kitchen – letting the doors open to hear the end of the album. Cooking with his mother was a new experience. She had baked with him when he was younger – once the measurement done, waiting for the oven timer to ring was all what was left to do. But then he had grown. He had his accident. And while he could still cut and measure while in a wheelchair, then he had been banned from lifting hot dishes or managing the stove. But this time – in this world – he discovered what it was to work alongside her – and seeing over the countertops. Funnily, while she had insisted on this cooking-together, there wasn't anything that fancy to eat at the end of it. Not that the coleslaw or the omelet and pasta weren't tasty! But maybe Artie's mother hadn't spent so much time at home and diversifying her dishes palette this time around.

It was a quiet evening, all in all. Artie thought once or twice about what his father would be doing at the time. But he didn't know how to broach the subject. Instead, they spoke about music, cinema, cooking... Nothing heavy. Yet he found himself telling his mother about dining with a friend at BreadstiX the next day – he had almost forgotten Becky, but he would better not do it again or who knew what could happen to him. Surprisingly, she didn't ask for more details, just if and when he would need her to drive him. "There's no shame in knowing when you shouldn't get behind a steering wheel, honey. You're still a teenager: let me do these last things for you until you open your wings and fly away." That was the most serious words of the dinner before they prepared for the night.

Artie hadn't thought one day could ever be that tiring. But even the re-newness of visiting his old-new room upstairs wasn't enough to keep him up. He barely had the time to shower sluggishly and prepare his alarm call for the morning before falling in a deep slumber.

First came the electric guitar: playing and replaying a couple of notes in a more and more distinct melody. Then came the drums: accompanying the melody again, and again. Artie turned his head on the pillow and moved his left hand around in search of his smartphone. His legs got tangled in the sheets, but he finally got enough support from his right elbow so he could sit more or less up. Then he managed to stop his alarm before the first line of Eye of the Tiger could be heard – and wake up anyone else, hopefully.

His eyes burned a little. His toes felt a little cold. And he could see something disturbing in how his sleeping room was lay out, except he wasn't sure what. Wait: eyes – seeing – feet – feeling... The insanity was still there!

There was this moment of panic when Artie rubbed his burning eyes – trying to make his roomscape change – ended up with something wet, flabby, see-through; and believed he had peeled a layer off of his cornea. But by chance there was a bottle of clear, blue drops for "eyes & contact lenses" on his side table. And his heart stopped trying to rip itself out of his chest. When he was younger, Artie used to wear glasses at the end of the day. But he could easily get by without it most of the time. Yet, after his accident, his ophthalmologist had told him he would have to wear them all day, every day. And even if he could probably get contacts in later teenage years, it was strongly unadvised for his right eye as it had been scratched in the crash. So glasses it had been. But he had still made his own research on the subject later. He had even got his mother to buy a small set of disposable ones to try on his left eye. 'Turned out having one eye seeing clearly and the other in the fog screwed deeply with your tridimensionnal sense. And bumping his chair in a couple of table legs and doorways was enough for him to decide the four-eyes style wasn't so bad after all. Still, it got him enough experience so that he managed to change his lenses in less than fifteen minutes – yeah, his first try had taken around twenty-three and a half. Which meant that – between this and finding where every piece of garment was in his new-old room – he still got time enough for a quick breakfast before seven. He had to race back up when Kurt arrived, though. Artie brushed his teeth while hopefully packing what he needed for school – it was more of a throw-anything-relevant-in kind of packing. He skipped on the letterman jacket entirely. Instead he took a denim shirt and a scarf at random on his clothes-railing, which revealed an art-house patchwork of pictures, tickets – and was it an X-ray? – at the back of his closet. Nevermind, he didn't have time to think about the most teenage decoration in his weird, almost-adult room. Artie rushed downstairs then out with a "Good day, Mum!" over his shoulder. Walking – and running – could be a blast, sometimes.

"You're four minutes late." Kurt said by way of hello – this time, he was in a buttoned-up dark trench-coat, definitely less controversial than the cape from the day before, if probably no cheaper. "So I hope you won't mind a little speed to wish you good morning." Kurt cut through Artie's musings, but despite his words, there was warmth in his voice. "Put your seat-belt on."

"Hail, Captain." Artie complied and earned an almost smile.

They were silent for a while. But as they waited at a STOP sign Kurt spoke in a non sequitur.

"I did a little research last night."

"Erm, yes? What about?"

"About your show choir contest." Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes before driving forth again – as smooth as ever. "I learned a few things. The first of its kind for US high-schools was in the 1963-64 schoolyear: they were sixty-three choirs for Sectionals, sixteen for Nationals, and the winners were from the high-school of Westvale in Fort Wayne, Indiana... Exactly where we're headed tomorrow."

"Wait!" Artie exclaimed when he recognized the name of the school from having faced their choir three times in three competitions. "Aural Intensity won a show choir competition?"

"Technically, no. At the time, only the Warblers from Dalton Academy had an original name. Some did the same in the following years. But it was mostly when the Warblers won in 1989 with Enya's Onorico Flow that the real trend begun. Ironically, the name Aural Intensity didn't bring luck to its choir as they never won since they chose it."

"But the Warblers did win!" Artie didn't know if he should be surprised or not. He knew that their choir was old and respected. Maybe he should have researched himself how much before – taken a page from Tina and Blaine's book and spent more time on the blogosphere.

"Twice, they won again in 2002 with Norah Jones's Nightingale and they came close several other times. They even tied for second place with a high-school of El Paso, Texas, in 2007. Justin Timberlake's What goes around... against Nat Cole's Smile." Kurt replied as they left the residential neighborhood. "The one and only tie, by the way. Probably because there were four judges instead of three that year."

Really? Had the tie between the Warblers and New Directions at Sectionals in 2010 been the second tie ever? Or even possible? How many judges had there been?

"And what about Vocal Adrenaline?"

"Funny that you ask about them. They are in second place for the most awarded show choir in the US. The first is Portland Scale Blazers in Oregon, with twelve victories since 1970. Vocal Adrenaline has won eleven times: once in 1990, and they won consecutively each year since 2003 when they first had Shelby Corcoran as their coach."

"Miss Corcoran is still their coach?" Artie asked, dumbfounded. "Didn't she stop in 2010?" – when she met her biological daughter, Rachel Berry?

"I'm pretty sure she brought them to their win in the 2012 Nationals." Kurt replied with a frown. "But it's true that I don't know for this schoolyear... By the way, the official registration deadline for the 2012-2013 competition was just yesterday. Funny thing, isn't it?"

Artie didn't know what to answer to that. The very day he woke up in this place-world-alternity? It seemed too much of coincidence. Where was Rory when you needed him? Wait, was it part of his granted wish? Had Artie just lost his chance to fix everything? Or was there a way to do it still? It may be possible to trick the system into believing an enrolment had taken too long to be fully registered. If he knew a hacker, that is.

"Hey, do you know where I could find the Audio-Visual Club President?" Artie asked suddenly. Damn, hopefully it wouldn't be Jacob Ben Israel!

"Lauren Zizes?" – nevermind, it could be either better or worse – "Why?"

"I have something to ask her."

"Something like a favor?" Kurt side-eyed him before looking back to the road – with what Artie was pretty sure was a shiver. "Rather you than me, my friend."

"It's not that bad!" Artie replied, they had been kind of friend-adjacent when she had sort-of-dated Puck. "It could be – I don't know – Ben Israel..."

"I wouldn't be so sure. You know she's the scariest person in school, don't you?" – no, that was Coach Sylvester, definitely! – "This is the Queen of Blackmail we are talking about. I hope you have good reasons to be asking her any favor. Or that she already owes you."

Well, Artie hadn't really thought about that. But it made sense. He still remembered the posters of a pre-teen, pre-nose-job, chubby Quinn Fabray that Lauren Zizes had put all around McKinley in order to win the Junior Prom Queen campaign. While it hadn't actually worked, it had sure showed what Zizes was capable of. Plus, Artie knew all about the deal Puck made with her so that she joined New Directions.

"Anyways..." Kurt said after a moment of silence. "Here we are."

Artie looked up and saw that Kurt's SUV had just entered McKinley's parking lot. His friend chose a place out of the way for his car. Then he parked and shut the engine.

"Well, twenty-past-seven." Kurt looked at the clock then sighed. "I guess this is it. Once you're out of this door, we'll be strangers again."

Artie stayed silent. Should he mention the meeting Jake had hopefully told his friend about? Or the Warblers' Sectionals the next day? He looked as Kurt stepped out and went to get something from the back. Well, here goes nothing? Artie followed and shut his door.

"What's this?" He asked, looking at the roll of pale fabric Kurt was carrying.

"It's for the assembly." Kurt replied as if it explained everything. Then he stepped away and remote-locked his car. "Maybe you can find Lauren Zizes in the AV den, on the second story... Also, you probably shouldn't walk with me. We're early, but there can still be weird birds in the area. I heard Ben Israel put an all-nighter once to go all paparazzo on Berry, the librarian. You never know."

Artie paused and considered it. That... seemed fairly plausible, actually. But as he looked up, he saw that Kurt's long legs had all but shaken him off without a goodbye. Well, they would only be strangers until noon, then. For the time being, he had someone else to find.

Lauren Zizes was indeed in the den of the AV club – rarely known as Room II-105. She was sitting at one of the club's two-screened computer, wearing a headset and eating a small box of Christmas chocolate candies – probably some bribe or other. Whatever she was doing had to be pretty interesting, though. For she didn't realize that he was there until he knocked on her desk – he wasn't suicidal enough to tap on her shoulder, it would surely get him knocked out.

"Oh..." Zizes clicked on something before taking her headset off. "The Titan Star." She said this as if he was the most boring thing she'd seen in a long time.

"Why are you all calling me that? Whatever! I have something I'd like your help with."

"Dunno", she replied, biting in another candy, "maybe 'cause we don't all remember your name. And you're always shining in your red-and-white package... Except for today?" Zizes eyed him and the absence of not-his letterman jacket. "OK, you made me curious. I'll bite and let you present your grievances. But I'm saying 'yes' to nothing yet."

"I want someone to hack into the registration system of the Annual National High-School Show Choir Competition and add another group of contestants."

"... Say that again."

"We're past he deadline for entering the Annual National High-School Show Choir Competition", Artie said – and damn, what a mouthful again! "But I want someone to break in their system and enrol another team."

"Yeah, I heard you right... Still the dumbest request I've ever had, congratulations."

"Will you find a way to do it or not?"

"Oh, I'd find a way alright! I'm not sure I want to do something so stupid, though."

"Why?" Artie exclaimed, she was really beginning to get on his nerves. "Are you scared?"

"Because it sucks, that's why! You're offering me a hacking job, then you tell me that it's nothing flashy but just adding a nice, boring hoax of a couple of lines without getting caught?! Even without the insult, I'd make you pay double!"

"It's not a hoax: I want to add a real team!"

"Re–? What pathetic request is that?"

Zizes seemed genuinely more surprised than annoyed. So Artie tried for tact. Not his forte!

"Listen, I messed up yesterday..." He began. Instead of biting his head off she seemed to almost soften. Weird! Normally, it was risky to let a girl believe she had too much power. Maybe Artie should walk the line between baiting her and pretending to be a disaster – which he kind of was. "And the only way I see to fix this is if you manage to create a fake registration for a real team. Without getting caught, if you can."

"Hmm..." She stared and took two other candies from her box – hopefully a sign that she was thinking about it. "Two pounds of Hershey's Kisses, four dozens of Cadbury Eggs, five pounds red-white-blue M&M's and twenty Chocofrogs."

What? Was that... the whole year in industrial chocolate?

"... What?"

"My price: take notes." She said and threw him a pen with a piece of paper. "Plus one piece of blackmail material as a down payment. I'd add seven minutes in heaven, but it'd be difficult not to crush you, so... You have to owe me big this time!"

"Deal", Artie replied while writing Zizes' demands on the paper, "and when will you have your mission accomplished?"

"It's seven-thirty. Take this other sheet", she decided and handed another paper, "and write the name of your team, participants, supervisor, headquarters... If the security of such a stupid competition sucks as much as I think, I can crack this before the bells. In case of an immediate achievement, you'll owe me another piece of blackmail by the end of the day... So, what's your first payment?"

Good question. Artie didn't really know what this Lauren Zizes knew or didn't know about other-him. On the plus side, he could reveal something that Titan Star – or whatever – would have found uncomfortable to share but that he – Artie – couldn't care less about. And he did know a couple of students' and teachers' secrets that may never have been confessed without Glee as a catalyst. On the other hand, there were some things he knew that may never have happened in this alternate world. And he was pretty sure Zizes would make him pay if he gave her false intel.

"Erm... I'm short-sighted?" Artie tried. But as he saw Zizes unimpressed look he rushed to add: "I mean, if I didn't have contact lenses, I'd have to wear big, thick-rimmed glasses with how heavy my corrective lenses have to be."

"Screw you", was Zizes' first reply, "this is the lamest secret ever – like – lamer than your hacking job... You're a 'four eyes', well, you've seen me? We're not in the pre-Harry-Potter era anymore: glasses are cool! No, I want something else. Now pay!"

"I like to sing... and dance. And I'm not half-bad at it – singing especially. I can do rock, rap, reggae, soul, pop, you name it!"

"Ugh... you're so boring! Me outing you as an illegal choir competitor would be much more entertaining and memorable than whatever you're giving me right now. Last chance: give me something good or the deal's off."

"I'm..." Artie searched for something and let Zizes' words resound in his head. Oh, he had it. "I'm not straight. I'm pretty sure I'm bisexual."

The AV club president's gaping mouth was answer enough: Artie had hit gold! He would probably realize later how much he was risking by telling anyone in this version of McKinley. All in the weak hope of fixing what was left of his Glee club...

"Holy shit", Zizes whispered, "you're serious."

Artie felt his cheeks warming a little, but he held his ground and didn't let himself look down.

"I am. I'm also your employer now", he said with as much self-control as he could while keeping his eyes on Zizes', "so can I let you to your job?"

"As if I needed supervision", she replied with a deameanor not nearly as abrasive as her usual, "I have a strict work ethic, you know. A job well paid is a job well done. Now shoo!"

Artie stood there for a couple seconds, not really sure about how he had avoided a complete interrogation. He trusted Zizes, though. Kind of... It seemed that he'd gained a little respect from her somehow. And he knew she was both dependable and no coward – or it was the case for the Lauren Zizes he knew, at least. So if she wanted to ask him something, she just would. Not much he could do about it. He kept from sighing before turning around and walking back to the closed door of the AV den. And just then...

"Does it have anything to do with the rumor about you keeping your douchebag teammates off of Kurt Hummel yesterday?"

Artie looked back. She had spoken softly from her computer and her eyes were focussed on one of the screens – even when her hands began to type in a fluid rhythm.

"It depends of what you're meaning by 'it'. And how is it that you know his full name but not mine?"

"Hummel and I've been sharing classes for around four years", she said with her eyes and hands still fully occupied, "and I do know you're name, Abrams. It's just the first time I haven't seen you as more than that jock, Titan Star Kicker in a mass of Titan Losers."

"Uh, thanks, I think."

"Yeah, so... The bisexual thing... something to do with Hummel or not?"

Artie scrunched his nose. Technically, he didn't need to answer anymore of her questions. She'd already been paid.

"If I answer that, am I eligible for a discount?"

"That's how you want to play it?" Zizes asked, side-eyeing him for once before staring back at her computer – smiling. "OK, it'd count as your second blackmail payment. And if my mission isn't accomplished by midday you can cut the amount of Hershey's Kisses by half."

Artie weighted the pros and cons – mainly how much she was likely to get pissed and start a rumor if he didn't answer. Then, he thought about Kurt and how his life seemed harsh enough as it was. So: truth, lie, or no answer?

"Deal. And the answer to your question is 'no'. He's not really my type, actually."

"Really?"

Zizes' stare was on Artie this time – gauging his truthfulness, definitely. So he thought about it instead of running away. He'd seen how Blaine and Sebastian had looked at Kurt the previous day. And he could kind of understand. Kurt was... elegant, long-limbed and in good shape if one was looking for a model – the suit-or-long-coat special, not the swim-trunk one. Plus they'd actually seen him dressed the part. But Artie found his face... too delicate maybe? His features were harmonious, sure. And, since it had lost its baby fat somewhen around Kurt's junior year, he was less likely to be mistaken for a twelve year old. Truth be told, he stood out in the student body with how adult he looked now – probably another excuse for the jock crowd to treat him that badly. Yet Kurt lacked something to turn Artie's head. Was it that his brows were too round and delicate? Or his jaw not square enough? Or maybe darker hair and a five o'clock shadow were what would make Kurt worldlier and less... otherworldly? fairy? angelic? Fine cheekbones, though! Whatever it was that Artie would surely find appealing in a girl... It apparently didn't do it for him in a guy. Weird...

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Hum, shame that." Zizes said before turning to her screens one last time. "I'm sure you'd've been hot together... Now, go away: I've work to do!"

So Artie went away as unsettled as many of his interactions with Lauren Zizes had left him. How Puck had managed to more-or-less date her was still a mystery.

Artie arrived at his first class of the day – AP European History – in time for the bells and without expecting the rest of his morning to be anything exciting. He was proven right. Whether it was because he was constantly checking his watch – and estimating how much time he had left before meeting the Old'n'New Directions all together – or because he had no one to distract him from how barely challenging the lessons were to him: he was bored. And he couldn't leave soon enough. Thank God for Brittany sitting next to him in Spanish! Artie had no idea how he could have survived an hour of drunkard-not-Mr-Schue with no emotional support – nor a couple of weird questions about whether all the many different tenses were because Spanish speakers lived in so many alternative times at the same time – yeah, that was confusing for both of them. Still, the noon bells thrilled him down to his bones. Probably half-relief, half-anticipation... And he packed his things before offering his arm to Brittany.

"May I escort you out m'Lady?"

"Is that an insult?" Britt replied while taking his arm and following his steps. "Like calling someone gross or mouldy? Because some bad people tend to bully Kurt with this word. It's not very nice!"

"Uh, it's a compliment, actually. It tells someone they're... very elegant. But maybe those people are too st–", Artie backpedalled quickly – the last time he had said the S-word in front of Brittany she had broken up with him, "... stumped!" – phew! crisis avoided! – "Maybe they're too stumped, too disappointed they can't have Kurt's elegance. So – you know – they lash out."

"Sure", she said with a sunny smile, "it fits. Kurt is so elegant it's a little intimidating... Those people are capital-S-stupid, then!"

Artie was too dumbfounded to say anything else for the short walk to the not-choir-room.

Not-Tina was already there – at the very right of the front row when they went in. Why was she sewing things with one of Coach Sylvester's machine, though? Artie was more than puzzled. Britt kissed her hello on the cheek and left him in a sauntering pace. She went to retrieve something in the back shelves, then she took the seat next to not-Tina. Artie felt suddenly a bit left out for someone who had actually organized a meeting. But the Band arrived, thankfully. And there was work to do: placing everything and everyone in the best way. It was all acoustic, at least.

Artie barely registered Rachel coming in with the lasts of the Band. But he saw Kurt – and was Jake carrying his load from that morning? – when he was in the adjacent office placing the maracas and Mexican cape he'd prepared for his demonstration on theatricality. Despite their supposed feud, the God Squad came in all at once. And it was just when Keith had put the last percussions in place that not-Finn, not-Puck and whatnot-Ryder arrived. Artie was immediately on his guard – as were apparently Kurt, Jake, Evans, Keith... and Brittany?

"What's this?" Not-Finn asked with an almost grunt.

The way Kurt tensed more than he already was told Artie he probably felt targeted by "this".

"Look", Artie said in his most diplomatic voice, "why don't you all sit down. Then I'll explain everything... There is a place free at the back behind n– uh, Tina", he showed and whatnot-Ryder followed his directions, "and two at the front next to Rachel."

Artie prepared himself for an explosion as one of them was in front of Kurt – whose shadow, Jake, was leaning from all his height on the back shelves. But there was surprisingly no real objection. Not-Finn sat down next to Rachel – Artie asked himself quietly if there was something there – and not-Puck slouched in the last chair with a weird expression on his face. If Artie did know this Puck a little more, maybe he could read him as contrite... Well, time for the show. Artie exchanged one look with the brass next to the door from which the jocks had come. Then he inhaled deeply and began his speech as he walked towards the rest of the Band.

"You're probably wondering why I've asked you all to meet me in the choir room."

It was probably wishful thinking from Artie's part to expect the Old'n'New Directions to welcome him – and his words – warmly. But it wasn't so bad. Apart from Kitty's and not-Finn's dry retorts – the Head-Cheerio was probably preparing her revenge for having been dragged to spend time in the same space as so many losers. The rest seemed to wait quietly for the other shoe to drop, as if he was using metaphors like an introduction for something more consistent… And to be honest he kind of was. He had bribed Lauren Zizes into enrolling all of them in a show choir competition after all. Well, if they were too chicken to admit they knew what loving to sing and dance was like… Artie looked at Keith and received a nod in answer. The whole Band put themselves into position and Johnny was the first to begin with the piece they had worked on the day before.

"Feliz Navidad", Artie began to sing and dance…
"Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad, prospero año y felicidad!"

And the more he sang, the freer he felt. He got to be the one dancing and making Tina roll-around for once – even if it was in a wheeled desk-chair. He got to be the one turning people's head and shoulders to catch their attention. He got to waggle on the two steps raising the floor at the back of the room. He got to be the one making people raise their heads to look at him – no need to look so frightened, Kurt; it's just fake-drumming, not beating on anyone. He got to lean his elbow on someone's shoulder for once – and yes, Jake was definitely taller, still. He got to play with Joe's dreadlocks – OK, not his best moment. And he actually got to dance with Brittany! Left, right, left-right-left. She followed his lead happily and he couldn't have felt prouder to have retained something of his mother's foxtrot lesson. The steps felt almost natural on this song's rhythm. One turn, one swirl… he attempted a couple tango steps next; but he wasn't a born dancer after all. Nevermind, there was still a cape to put on – thanks, Rory – and the maracas to play – and even Sam's body-roll to try! He got to run and slide on his knees – as he'd only seen Mike and Kurt do and always felt a bit jealous about. It would probably hurt like a bitch later, but he was too engrossed in his performance to really feel it. Oh, and furniture-jumping: a shame that Blaine wasn't there to see that! But he could be content with Johnny and Simon enthusiastic smiles. Even Rachel's grimace couldn't disturb his dancing, pointing at everyone and singing:

"I wanna wish you a merry Christmas,
I wanna wish you a merry Christmas!
I wanna wish you a merry Christmas from the bottom… of my… hea-a-art!"

He finished with one last knee-spin on the teacher's desk. The faces of the Old'n'New Directions varied: from Kitty's pout to Britt's smile, there was also Sam's frown and… Damn, Kurt! The over-raised brows, doe-eyes, gaping-mouth… Just when Artie had been thinking that he didn't look like a pre-teen anymore!

"That was…" Finn cut through Artie's silent adrenaline descent – and were his eyes sparkling? – "… so gay!"

Artie hadn't fixed anything. He hadn't even made anything better – except for winning himself a couple of smiles. None of his friends – past, present, or future alternative – was taking him seriously. Even when he had his second break-down in as many days – or was it the third break-down? – and told them all that they could either try and be great together doing something they enjoyed or stay and die as lonely losers in this place without even fighting to make it better… Well, all he received were outraged gapes, pitying stares, and a whole lot of shameful, uneasy silence. So he left. He stepped out of the – not! – choir room. And then he saw the wheelchair… The dark wheelchair with a white rose on the seat. And he felt… wishful?

"Is that mine?" He asked the deserted hallways.

"No." Rory answered as he had any of his questions no one had any reply to. "It's Quinn's."

Quinn who "texts and drives in every timeline", who had an car accident even when there was "no Finchel wedding for her to drive to", who had no Glee club to support her because Artie had messed up everything… who was dead?! Never before had he wanted so much to wake up: with his glasses, his legs paralyzed, preferably in his wheelchair, the whole loser-yet-winner special.

So Artie took the rose. He smelt it. And the fragrance he perceived had to be all in his mind – such a glasshouse-grown flower normally had barely a scent – for it woke in him the want to rage and to cry, and the need to press a hand on his ribcage to make sure his heart had ripped itself out and flown away somehow. Then he sat down, maybe in hope, maybe in shame. But all it left him feel was numb, empty, drifting to the wind.