Chapter 2: The Welcome Party
The door creaked softly as Blaine slipped into the Warblers' choir room. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting long beams of light across polished wood floors. The room buzzed with a low hum of anticipation—the kind that usually came before big announcements or competitions. Eyes turned to him, eyebrows arched, some faces curious, others almost... accusing?
"Hey, stranger," David's voice broke the silence. He leaned back in his chair at the Council table, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Decided to grace us with your presence?"
Blaine paused, caught off guard by their expressions. He'd expected confusion, even anger. Instead, he found a roomful of Dalton uniforms casually watching him like he'd just stepped back from a quick trip to the vending machine rather than some bizarre leap through time. It felt surreal.
"Uh… hi?" he offered lamely.
"'Hi,'" Wes echoed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "That's it? No dramatic reveal? No, 'Warblers, I've changed the fabric of reality, and now we're all doomed to a Groundhog Day-style existence'?"
"Sounds likely," Nick chimed in with a grin, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Biggest teenage scandal of the decade, and he still looks like he's apologizing for being late to rehearsal."
"Because I *am* sorry!" Blaine blurted, his hands coming up instinctively. "I didn't know—didn't *mean*—to drag you all into this."
A low whistle sounded from the back row. Trent, sitting cross-legged on one of the armchairs, gave a lazy grin. "If that isn't vintage Blaine Anderson: accidentally nuking time himself and feeling nonchalant about it."
"Yeah," Jeff piped up from beside him, propping his feet on the edge of the chair in front of him. "You sure it wasn't, like, premeditated? Thought you'd pull a 'Back to the Future' just for old times' sake?"
Blaine gaped at them, words dying in his throat. "What—no! I—I just…"
David leaned forward, eyes dancing with amusement. "Wanted a second chance?" he guessed quietly, voice softer than the rest. "Thought you'd fix something?"
Blaine swallowed, caught by the gentleness in his gaze. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah. Something like that."
A murmur went through the Warblers, faces turning toward each other, expressions shifting—understanding, exasperation, even a flicker of empathy. Wes cleared his throat sharply, and the room fell silent again.
"Well," he said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the Council table. "We're all here now. Somehow." His eyes flicked over Blaine—studying, assessing. "In case you hadn't noticed, we've been… downsized."
Blaine's mouth twitched. "Yeah, kind of hard to miss."
Wes's lips quirked. "Oh, you'd be surprised. This is Dalton—we've seen stranger things. But still. One minute, we're sleep-deprived twenty-somethings slogging through conference calls and caffeine addictions. Next thing we know, we're in our old dorms, clutching textbooks and wondering why our IDs suddenly say Class of 2025."
Jeff shifted, folding his arms over his chest. "Feels like being trapped in one of those teen soap opera flashback episodes."
"Except with Thad brooding," Nick murmured.
"And more acne," Trent added glumly.
They all turned back to Blaine, gazes expectant. Waiting.
"So?" David asked lightly, propping his chin on his hand. "What happened, Blaine? You didn't just stumble into a magic time portal.?"
Blaine hesitated, his gaze darting between them. "I, uh… might have made a deal."
"Of course you did," Wes muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "With who, exactly?"
"Calliope," Blaine admitted, shifting awkwardly. "She's a… pixie. Or at least, I think that's what she was. Kind of glowy, a little smug. Had this really annoying habit of—"
"Blaine," Nick interrupted, lifting a hand. "Focus. You made a deal. Then what?"
"Then… I asked for a reset. A chance to relive everything—to go back to where it all started. I—I wanted to change things. Make things right. But—" He gestured helplessly at the room. "It didn't turn out quite like I thought."
David let out a low chuckle. "No kidding. You wanted a do-over, so you hit the reset button on all of us?"
"Well, she didn't tell me that was how it worked!" Blaine protested, throwing his hands up. "I thought it would just… I dunno, change my timeline or something. I didn't know I'd be dragging the entire class along for the ride."
Nick's gaze narrowed, though his smile stayed teasing. "Let me guess: Classic Blaine logic. 'If I suffer, we all suffer?'"
"No, I—" Blaine faltered, looking around at the roomful of faces—familiar, beloved, and fresh faced. God, they were so young again. A wave of guilt washed over him.
"Relax," Jeff drawled, eyes half-lidded with amusement. "We're not holding a grudge."
Wes leaned back in his chair, studying Blaine with an unreadable expression. "You made a choice, Anderson. Maybe not the best one, but—" He spread his hands, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "We've made worse."
"Definitely," David agreed, raising a finger. "Remember the Great Choreography Debacle of sophomore year?"
"Or that time we tried to prank Thad and ended up setting off every fire alarm in the building?" Nick added.
Jeff snickered. "Point is, you're not alone in messing things up. But…" He tilted his head, grin fading slightly. "What are we supposed to do now? Just… pretend everything's normal?"
Silence stretched. Then Blaine lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders. "We do what we always did," he said quietly. "We perform. We win."
The Warblers glanced at each other—eyebrows raised, skeptical, intrigued. Then, slowly, a few smiles broke out.
"Well, when you put it that way…" David shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Guess we're back in business," Nick murmured, reaching for his pitch pipe.
Jeff leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "Who doesn't want a second crack at things?"
Blaine's lips twitched, heart lifting just a little. " You're all taking this well..."
Wes lifted his gavel with a flourish. "All in favor of reinstating Blaine Anderson as a Warbler in good standing?"
A chorus of "ayes" echoed around the room, some mockingly serious, others bright with genuine amusement. The gavel came down with a sharp crack.
"Motion passed," Wes said, eyes
Blaine smiled, a real, genuine smile. "What the actual fuck."
The boys made room for him on the couch.
…
