Chapter Text
For once, Connor was not woken by the usual warm rays of sunshine streaming in through his windows, nor was he by the soft complaining and poking from his husband, insisting that it’s not healthy for him to sleep in this late. Rather, the jarring music of My Chemical Romance made him jolt upwards in bed, almost hitting his head on his slanted ceiling as he did so. He made a note of how cold it was; unusual for Florida. With a groan, he fumbled towards his phone, turning it off and falling backwards in his bed. He blinked the sleep from his eyes.
“Haha. Very funny, Ev. Is this because I forgot to wash Cecily’s hippo yesterday?”
He let out a weak chuckle. He knew that Evan was the type to occasionally play jokes on him, but this was borderline cruel. Or maybe he was just being dramatic. His laughter, however, stopped, when there was no response from the other side of the bed. He turned sleepy, lidded eyes towards the empty spot.
“Ev?”
He let himself dwell in his confusion for a moment, before the distant smell of less-than-appetizing food from downstairs filled the room and made Connor recoil. Evan was trying to make breakfast again, wasn’t he? Rolling his eyes, Connor got up, and only then did he realize that the bedroom he was in was not his own. He stopped, looking around. The plants on the windowsill had been replaced with an ashtray and crumpled up pieces of notebook paper, and the childish scribbles that usually hung proudly above his and Evan’s bed were gone, a hole punched in the cream colored wall instead. Connor’s eyes roamed the room in a daze, not really registering what was happening. Why was he in his old bedroom? Or rather, why was he in his parents’ house? He paused to take a deep breath.
Right, there’s a logical explanation for this, Hansen. Maybe I just got drunk last night and completely forgot Evan and I went to stay with my parents. Yeah, that sounds about right.
He smoothed down his shirt absently, before walking down the stairs.
“Hey dad, have you seen Evan and Cecily anywhere?”
He walked over to the dinner table, where Larry was sitting and drinking a cup of coffee. He seemed to look younger today. Must be the caffeine. Larry paused, setting down his chipped off-white mug and glancing up at Connor with furrowed eyebrows.
“Who?”
Connor narrowed his eyes. Age must’ve been getting to his father.
“Cecily. Your granddaughter.”
Larry started at Connor, face painted with confusion, before his face lit up in revelation.
“Connor Lawrence Murphy, you’re high, aren’t you?”
Connor blinked, bewildered. So many things were wrong with that statement, like his dad referring to him as Murphy, and the fact he just accused him of being high. Everyone in the family knew that Connor had been making an effort to stay sober ever since him and Evan adopted Cecily.
“What? No, of course i’m not. Jesus, if something is wrong, you don’t need to take it out on me.”
He growled angrily at his father and walked off to the kitchen, wondering what the hell Larry’s problem was. Once in the large kitchen that adorned their stereotypical suburban house, he sat down on a bar stool, tapping his chipped black nails on the marble counter. Odd, he could’ve sworn he painted them purple just the other day. He glanced up to see his mom humming as she made what looked like a greenish-yellow version of eggs, covered with what looked like every spice in their Lazy Susan.
“Whatcha making?”
Cynthia paused to look at Connor, surprised, before going back to cooking and looking oddly happy.
“Well, I was going to make eggs benedict, but it didn’t exactly work out. So scrambled eggs it is.”
She paused, hesitating as she cast a worried glance to Connor.
“You’re going to eat today, right?”
Connor looked at the eggs, stomach churning at just the thought of eating them. He gave a resigned sigh. Sometimes he was too soft for his own good.
“Yeah mom, i’m always up for your cooking.”
He gave her a forced smile, and she practically radiated sunshine as she began to collect plates to put the sad excuse for a breakfast on.
“I don’t know what has you in such a good mood today, but I really appreciate it, Connor.”
She gave him a generous helping of eggs, and he reluctantly shoved a forkful in his mouth, giving her a pained thumbs up.
“It’s uh…”
He paused to force himself to swallow, resisting the urge to down every possible liquid in the fridge.
“It’s delicious, mom.”
She looked almost tearful at this, smiling and bringing the rest of the plates to the dining room and leaving Connor alone in the kitchen. He immediately bolted from the chair over to the fridge, grabbing the almost-empty container of milk and finishing it off. Not like Evan was here to yell at him for it. Just his luck though, since Zoe decided to walk in at that moment. She stared at him, crossing her arms and shooting him a glare that brought down his good mood immediately.
“You finished the milk again, didn’t you?”
He paused, swallowing and setting down the empty carton.
“Uh… Sorry. Mom’s cooking, you know…”
He gave a nervous laugh, before glancing around her.
“Is Alana with you?”
Zoe blinked.
“Like, Alana Beck? From school?”
Connor narrowed his eyes. God, why was everyone acting so weird today?
“Not sure why you would refer to her by her maiden name, but sure. I didn’t know you guys were visiting mom and dad too.”
Zoe cocked her head at him, confused, before she gave a resigned grunt, shoving past him.
“You’re so weird…”
He watched her leave, unmoving, before giving an annoyed grunt and crushing the empty milk carton in his hands. God, what was everyone’s problem today? Mood permanently soured, he stormed into the dining room, slumping down into a seat.
He already ate, or at least tried to, so Connor resigned to pouting at the table. Old habits die hard. He pulled out his phone, sighing as he realized the screen was cracked, before swiping along it to unlock it.
Connor thought back on the the morning as he scrolled down tumblr. This day had been odd, and that was just putting it lightly. Larry and Zoe had both been complete assholes to him, and Cynthia and nearly started crying at a mere compliment from him.
Connor’s train of thought stopped when he saw the date on his phone.
August 15, 2016.
He dropped his phone, and it clattered abruptly on the finished wood as he stood up from the table. The puzzle pieces suddenly fit in place, and he took in a sharp breath, gripping the edges of the table and digging them into his palms in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of his emotions.
His family all looked up at him in unison, and two out of three were giving him unamused glares. His mother, however, looked worried. She stood and immediately put a hand on his back.
“Connor, honey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
He sucked in the air through his teeth, staring at his phone as it shut off from inactivity.
“It’s… It’s 2016.”
She paused, hand lifting away from his back slightly. When she spoke again, she had a confused, yet cautious tone to her voice.
“Yes, what about it?”
Connor’s mind was racing a thousand miles a second. He fought back the urge to scream, and prayed that this was a nightmare.
“No, no no no, it’s supposed to be 2024. The year is 2024.”
It was like someone had used a mute button on his family, because they all fell silent, not knowing what to say. The tense moment was only broken when Zoe spoke up, a disgusted snarl in her voice.
“Jesus Connor, did you move on from weed to crack?”
Cynthia turned around abruptly, looking down at Zoe disapprovingly.
“Zoe, you do not accuse people of such things, especially your brother.”
Zoe stood, the chair screeching violently behind her. She was fuming, staring at Connor with a hatred that he hadn’t seen on her in years.
“Why not? He’s obviously high on something! I don’t want him freaking out and killing us all!”
The two women of the house launched into an argument, leaving Connor sitting there in his chair, clutching his hands against his ears desperately and hoping, praying to wake up from whatever hellish nightmare this was. He had a husband. He had a daughter. This had to be some kind of sick fever dream. All three of them were snapped out of their confusion when Larry’s fist pounded on the table, akin to how a judge would bang his gavel. It commanded silence and obedience.
“That’s enough, all of you. Connor, I don’t know what you’re on, nor do I care. It’s time for your first day of school, and before you ask, no, you will not be skipping today. You two go grab your things.”
Zoe merely glared at her panicked-looking brother, before storming off to grab her things for school. Connor slowly stood on shaky legs, struggling to take in a breath and comprehend what was happening. He was hoping, no, praying for Evan to walk in with Cecily, and then they would all have a laugh about how much they scared Connor, and he’d be too relieved to be upset, and then they’d all go out for pizza, and then Evan would give him apology kisses.
Unfortunately, as time passed and Connor sat there in a daze, he soon came to find out that wasn’t happening. He cast a glance towards his parents, who were busy clearing up breakfast and getting ready for work, respectively. He stood, deciding absently to go along with whatever kind of tomfuckery this was, and left to his room.
Connor stood in front of the mirror, trying to process what was happening. He seemed younger. No, scratch that, he was definitely younger. He looked more tired, and his hair was a greasy, unwashed mess. He was wearing his painfully familiar black hoodie, the one with the brownish-gold paint stains from when he was forced to help dad paint the kitchen. Connor sucked in a deep breath, before pacing around his room and stumbling over discarded pieces of clothing every so often.
“Alright Connor, this is, uh… Shit. You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you can do this. Just go along with whatever is happening, and maybe you can fix this.”
He sighed, before stripping off his dirty clothes. Just because he’s in the body of teenage Connor doesn’t mean he is teenage Connor. Totally different, he reasoned to himself. He opted instead to change into a dark red button-down and black skinny jeans. Maybe a bit too formal for the first day of school, but he didn’t want to see Evan while looking like a walking trash bag.
Evan.
Connor let out a shaky sigh. That’s right. Cecily, his relationship with Evan, everything they had built together over the years was just… gone. He willed himself to calm his shaking hands, before glancing at the digital clock by his bed, the neon green lettering blinking 7:40. He had a bit of time. With a small glance down at his old black nail polish, he grabbed a bright crimson color from under his bed, along with some nail polish remover. It wouldn’t be the most precise in the world, but he had a bit of time to touch up his nails.
Ten minutes later, Zoe was impatiently honking the horn of their parents' brand new SUV, the stereotypical kind you find in the driveway of every suburban home. Connor was inspecting his now red nails, which vaguely reminded him of the ruby slippers from Wizard of Oz. He let out a small sigh, remembering how he never painted his nails black once he and Evan moved in together. To him, it was a sign of him going back to his old ways. Color meant progress. At least, that’s what Evan told him. It didn’t exactly make sense, but he was just trying to make Connor feel better, and he appreciated that. Nonetheless, he followed that quote, and all the other stupid nonsense quotes that his husband cheerfully provided on a daily basis. Connor smiled fondly at the warm, albeit overly-bright color, until Zoe’s persistent honking snapped him out of his reminiscing. With a small sigh, he picked up his messenger bag and ran out towards the car.
First thing’s first. Find Evan.