Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Billie Joe threw himself into a chair on the big tour bus, taking in a big breath and exhaling noisily. The thunderous sound of teen and adult voices chorused outside the bus, shrieks mingling with screams of “Billie! Mike! Tré!! I love you!!”

Only a moment later Mike burst in and did the same on the other side of the small table from his singer and shook his head. “Is it just me or are fans faster than they used to be? How the Big Three got to their buses, I’ll never know.” He paused to listen, “Damn, and louder, too.” Both listened to the chaos outside then Mike chuckled, “maybe we’re getting old.”

“Maybe you are, but I’m not.” Tré quipped before Billie could respond, pulling the bus door shut with a mock royal wave to the people waiting. The sounds of security could be heard outside as they began clearing fans away from the vehicle. “I’m eternally young.”

“Says the man with the much younger wife,” Billie said raising his eyebrows and then smirking. “If you’re eternally young it’s all Sara’s doing.” The dark haired man saw the look in his drummer’s eyes though, that need to extend the conversation to one step past comfortable. Maybe bring up Adie being the older one… However, instead of rising to the bait, he was met with Tré rolling his eyes and settling down in a chair next to Mike.

“She could kick your ass.” Tré stated flatly.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, I’m old, too.” Billie replied with a big grin.

“Didn’t that journalist in New York once joke that we got older and our fans stayed the same age?” Mike asked and he was met with silence and two nodding heads.

“That’s good though,” Billie said as he stood, he needed to move around before he got stuck sitting in one place. Little insecurities reared their heads accompanying little pains here and there. Those were natural for someone who was forty-five, he chided himself and with the amount of exercise he got touring he knew he was in shape. Reaching back he grabbed a Coke Zero from a mini fridge and a bottle of water for each of his comrades, sliding them to Mike and Tré before he sat back down. Cracking open the can of soda he gestured with it, resuming his previous train of thought. “Isn’t it? Good, I mean, it means we’re staying relevant to kids today.”

“Relevant? You sound like a marketer Bill,” the bassist said following a gulp of water. “I hate all those buzzwords... social media, relevant, digital content, instagram.”

“We figured out instagram,” Tré added proudly, “and the puppets are digital content.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point,” Billie said shaking his head. “Green Day keeps growing and becoming more than just music and live shows and photoshoots. Every time I think I have a handle on whatever the next “it” thing bands need to be, I… ugh,” he ran his hands through his product-filled stage hair in frustration. “Wow. Nevermind, I feel old just having this discussion. Mike, this is your fault.” His voice was teasing and his bandmate gave him the finger back in the same good-natured way with a big grin on his face.

The buses had pulled away with the goal of reuniting further outside the city and redistributing the passengers. “Well boys, I’m heading to my bed, since we were forced into MY bus.” Tré broke the comfortable silence that settled on the group a few minutes later, the emphasis apparent on the word ‘my’. The fans screams outside had been replaced with that of tires on highway and the television’s soft murmur breaking down about the latest Raiders game. Billie tore his attention away from the football highlights to narrow his eyes at Tré.

“Already? You’re usually the last one to bed.”

“Tired, that’s all.” Tré said innocently, perhaps too innocently. He saw Billie’s failed attempt at covering a smile on his face and naturally turned quickly to look at Mike, always the co-conspirator, who immediately stopped making the jacking off motion he had been doing behind the drummer’s back. Billie laughed and Tré picked up his phone with a grin and a shrug. “Well I was going to try to be polite, but fuck you both, yes, I’m off to jerk off to the sound of my wife’s voice on her Instagram story. Good evening to you gentlemen.” He doffed an imaginary cap.

Billie and Mike burst out laughing after the blue haired rocker went down the hallway to his bunk. They knew Tré’s face would be covered in a big grin too, even if they couldn’t see it.

Billie slowly woke, opening his eyes and then stretched out his arms and legs. The last remnants of his dream were slipping away and while he was sad to see it go, in few more weeks and he would see Adie again. That made him smile. The contented, quiet smile that was on his face now strained as reality came into view.

He stared, his groggy mind trying to process what was wrong with the picture in front of him. Aside from his bed being uncomfortable, moreso than usual, he was staring at the roof of the bus and not the bunk ceiling he had been staring at when he fell asleep. “What the…” he muttered. Maybe, he considered, he had gotten back up for something during the night and fallen asleep on the floor. Stranger things had happened and he had been extremely tired by the time they had found a truck stop to gather together and go back to their own busses. Then he and Jason had stayed up a bit longer talking through a new song idea...

Wait.

Billie focused on the ceiling, tilting his head slightly and squinting. That wasn’t even the right colour for the roof of the bus, whether it was Tré’s or Mike’s or his own. This wasn’t the bus he fell asleep on. He didn’t like to think that he was on a different bus, that perhaps he had been kidnapped or something, but it made more sense than just randomly waking up on the floor especially now that he didn’t drink.

He sat up and pushed a hand under himself to stand, letting the blanket fall and then shoving back the blanket with a converse covered foot. What the fuck? The sprawled forms of his bandmates weren’t far away, each of them haphazardly tucked under their blankets and heads mostly on pillows that had seen better days, in front of two sets of bunks.

There was a strange level of calm both inside and outside the bus. Billie broke the calm when he threw his pillow first at Mike’s head and then a cushion at Tré’s. The realization of where they were… where they might be, he mentally corrected himself, while it didn’t logically make sense also made the most sense.

They were in the Bookmobile.

There were numerous problems with that though. It had been professionally cleaned and restored when it was donated to charity months ago, and yet here he was standing on a blanket dotted with chip crumbs and there were weed stems all around him. The all too familiar smell of weed and body odour clung to the walls and the crude graffiti near his head in one of the wooden cubbies was still there. BJA HEART 80

If this was a prank, someone had gone above and beyond in their execution of it. The whole environment was comforting in the worst possible way, reminding him of a very specific time of his life, something he doubted many people outside the band could appreciate or duplicate.

Mike’s cough indicating his decision to join the land of the living made Billie turn around and see the look of confusion crease Mike’s face as he rubbed his head and then his eyes. “What’s going on? Where the fuck are we?”

“I don’t know,” Billie admitted scratching his head. “If I didn’t know better I’d say we were back in the Bookmobile.”

Mike leveled him with a stare. “Very fucking funny. Where are we really, Billie Joe?”

“I’m not being funny, look at it!” He gestured broadly and threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m as confused as you are!”

The bassist looked around for something, anything to prove him wrong and then got to his feet. “We donated the Bookmobile!” Mike exclaimed. He made a noise that seemed to say he was speechless and he walked over to examine the round table covered in a checkerboard, stickers, and stains. “How is this possible?” Neither man could answer.

Billie looked over at Tré’s sleeping form and tossed Mike’s pillow at him; the cushion had apparently done nothing and been co-opted as another pillow. Tré’s sleeping noises turned to a snort and then a yawn and his head rose from the pillow. “Why are we in the Bookmobile?” He asked, his eyes still half lidded and heavy with sleep. Billie was about to answer him when Tré raised an eyebrow and pulled a face. He wriggled to the side and dug underneath himself, pulling out a pair of old drumsticks. His face twisted into a questioning grimace and he looked at Mike and then at Billie.

“I broke these.”

“They look okay,” Mike offered off-handedly as he turned back towards the sink near the door and Tré shook his head quickly.

“No, I mean I broke them in Japan during the Warning tour. I had one set and I thought it would be funny to break them when the tour was over. They were shitty, unbalanced sticks so I gave the four pieces out to some fans after the last show.”

Billie and Mike exchanged glances. Then something like recognition crossed the shorter guitarists face, “I think I remember that. You were making bad anime jokes and the fans were loving it.”

“They weren’t bad. They were great! I know I only had one set, or I’d do it all the time.”

“So why aren’t they broken?” Billie asked and three sets of eyes glanced at each other.

Mike quickly glanced at his band mates. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are we suggesting we... went back in time?” His face was unreadable, changing between confusion and a bit of… excitement?

“Maybe you’re suggesting that, but that’s impossible,” Tré said. “This is probably some prank someone is playing on us. We can call someone and get things straightened out. Ha ha, very funny, great joke while it lasted.”

It was the mention of a phone call that made Billie realize his phone wasn’t in the usual spot in his back pocket. He reassured himself that it had probably fallen out and dug through the blankets for it, not finding it anywhere. “Where’s my phone? Anyone else have their phone?”

Tré pulled blanket, pillow, and duffel bag aside and shook them with no luck. After patting his pants pockets he shook his head. Two heads turned toward Mike who duplicated the behavior with the same result.

“Ok, it wasn’t fun before and now it’s definitely not with our phones missing.” Mike stated, double-checking his pockets and growling out a note of displeasure. “Time travel or not. This is fucking lame.”

“Guys,” Tré began as he stepped forward to join his band mates. “If we were brought here and this isn’t time travel,” he glanced at Mike. The possibility of time travel of all things, was now seeming more likely with every passing revelation, “why are we all dressed in normal clothes? I didn’t fall asleep wearing this.”

Both Mike and Billie glanced down and noted they were wearing what they had changed into after the show the night before, but they were wearing more clothing than they had fallen asleep wearing.

“I was just wearing sweats,” Mike said and Billie echoed that statement.

“Just boxers,” Tré chimed in.

Now all three of the musicians were wearing pants and shirts and Billie Joe had a comfortable but worn hoodie over top.

An uneasy silence fell over the vehicle. The sounds of morning traffic outside hummed along, joined by the occasional chatter of people walking to wherever they had to be. Billie’s mind had begun to drift to the what-ifs. What if this wasn’t a harmless prank? What if this was something with malicious intent? What if they had somehow, some way, actually fucking travelled in time? That was the hardest to swallow.

They could just leave and know for sure. Yet he hesitated to even mention it. Part of his hesitation to just leave the Bookmobile was not knowing what they might find outside the vehicle. He glanced at Mike and Tré and then brought himself back together.

Tré was the one who looked out the window in the door of the Bookmobile, shaking his head at the view. Billie joined him, temples touching as they stared. Although it was light out, early morning he decided, the way the vehicle was parked meant they were staring at the side of a non-descript gray building with some trees beside it. Tré walked away from the door, stopping to study the cubby holes that at one time had held books and now held some equipment, a few photos, burnt ends of joints, the occasional lighter and... Tré picked up the pieces of lined paper that sat there covered in Billie's scrawling script. He read down through the lyrics, his other hand subconsciously tapping a drum beat on the wooden shelf as he silently read.

"What's that, Tré?"

Tré glanced up and extended the paper to the older man. "Early lyrics for Good Riddance."

Billie's face scrunched up when he first took the paper, but it relaxed as he read until he was staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the object. "It looks like I just wrote them maybe a day or two ago," he began turning the page over and scanning the rest of the words, "how far would someone go for a joke?"

"I don't think it's a joke." Mike said, “and if it was it’s not funny.” Tré nodded his agreement as he picked through some clothes tucked away on a wooden shelf. "We should go out and look around," Tré said hesitantly, "what's the worst that can happen? If we're wrong then someone will pop up and we admit we got pranked."

"Or we'll get mobbed by fans," Billie added with a smirk, "come on, that's the real reason none of us has left yet, this is the longest I've been with you two in public without security or a camera crew." It lightened the mood a little, and took the edge off. "But I guess we can stick together and see what's going on. You’re a big guy Mike you can protect us."

"But, if we did time travel," Mike interjected, pointedly ignoring the look Billie was giving him at the mention of it, "we need to avoid ourselves."

The sound of laughter and excited speech seemed to materialize outside the Bookmobile side door, their approach lost on the three as they had discussed their plans and explored. With a thud, Billie thought it sounded like someone falling against the side of the vehicle, the door was pulled open from the outside and three figures stumbled inside.

Chapter Text

All three of them were drunk or impaired by some substance with their eyes only on each other, so they didn't notice the three men already in the vehicle. The shortest of the three, his hair poorly dyed green had only taken a couple steps before he stumbled over a blanket left on the floor, catching himself after almost hitting his chin against the wooden shelves hooked to the wall. The other two (after only the briefest pause to see if he was OK) burst into laughter. The tallest man wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the shorter blond haired man to keep him from stumbling back out the door they just came in.

"Told'ja not to leave your fuckin' blankets on the floor, Tré." The shorter man slurred to his grassy haired companion in a purposefully deeper tone. "That'd look really great. Sorree, can't tour Mr. Big Label company, our drummer broke his neck on a fuckin’ blanket." The words 'Mr. Big Label company' were over articulated and accented with a sneer. The taller man let out a big laugh which made the shorter man soften and laugh as well.

However, the green haired man didn't reply or even turn towards his two bandmates. His face had gone stone cold sober, his eyes huge even though he was still barely aware of what they had wandered into. He was standing where he had picked himself up from his near faceplant, ending up face to face (and almost toe to toe) with a blue haired man that bore an uncanny resemblance to him. Both men were silent and stared at the other. The green haired one swallowed and glanced back at his companions. "I thought that was just weed!” He exploded suddenly, “Billie! What the fuck was that stuff laced with?"

Like a weird fun house mirror, the older of the two Tré Cool's remained still, resisting the urge to wave his hand like you always saw clones do in the movies. The older drummer glanced at his companions with a puzzled expression. The older Billie felt a pang of sympathy as he watched the younger man struggle to freak out enough to get his point across, but not freak out too much. Oh, he did not miss that bravado facade on any of them. If he wanted proof they weren't in Kansas anymore, this was it.

"He said it was just weed!" The blond exclaimed and ran his hands down over his face. "This is why I hate taking free shit from people at gigs, never know what you're going to get. It was good, strong shit too! Man, fuckin' figures!" He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and then looked at the older Billie Joe, repeating the action a couple more times before shaking his head. "It's like a goddawful Christmas Carol remake with bad costumes."

"It's just a bad trip Billie Joe, just ignore it and we'll sleep it off." The taller man suggested calmly, even as his words occasionally slurred and he wasn't standing entirely upright.

The older men who had remained silent while this was happening glanced at each other. Tré glanced from the green-haired youth to the blond and then settled on the taller and seemingly calmer man. Then his eyes went back to his Billie who was staring at his apparently, younger self like he could and would light him on fire with the power of his mind. Sober Billie was watching a swaying, inebriated, younger version of himself ramble about something to his companion, both helping to keep the other upright.

While the younger frontman was ignoring the strangers in their bookmobile, the younger bassist was taking everything in. Younger Billie and Tré were easily convinced to ignore the older versions of themselves and to go to bed (Mike reassuring them they were safe) leaving a younger Mike and the Green Day from the future staring at each other amongst the snoring.

When he was sure his bandmates were asleep, the younger Mike Dirnt gestured towards the door of the Bookmobile. The four went outside and Mike shut the door behind them. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing from the other Mike to the ground and back again. “It’s not a bad trip, is it?” He stated rather bluntly, an edge rising in his voice. “Care to fill me in on who the fuck you guys are and what the fuck is going on?” The question was meant to be directed at all three men but the younger man naturally was staring at his older doppelganger rather pointedly.

Mike sighed and shrugged his shoulders, checking in with Tré and Billie offered little help. “Listen man, I don’t know what’s going on either. We showed up here and we’re lost too.”

Billie was watching his Mike, noting how calm he was and the effect seemed to be rubbing off on the younger man as well. His best friend was portraying the very essence of calm, cool and collected even as the younger man seemed stressed and confused. He still wasn’t standing completely straight and his eyes were red and slightly lidded, but he wasn’t all over the place like his now sleeping friends had been. He glanced at Tré who now wore a mask of disinterest, even as his eyes moved to take everything in. Billie knew the drummer was on edge and wore that mask to keep that facade intact. He wondered how he looked, if he was as startled and stressed as his younger, drug-addled self. He scratched the side of his face, needing to do something other than just stand there as the two Mikes (that was a weird thought, bet Brittney would love this) spoke.

“What year is it?” The older Mike asked glancing at his watch (which wasn’t working) and shook his head, barking out a rather startling laugh. “I can’t believe I just asked that.”

The younger man shook his own head. “Uh,” he looked up thinking for a moment before snapping his fingers as though he had just answered a rather difficult question. “1994.”

“Cool.” Billie breathed, noticing Tré’s look of interest appear and disappear rather quickly. “I barely remember 1994.”

Mike glanced at his friend and snorted, “that’s because we were high all the time.”

“It’s the way to be man,” the still less than standing upright version of Mike replied back with a grin. “Decompressing is the name of the game, especially when we have to talk to label men trying to ruin our record.”

“Dookie, right?” Billie asked and the younger man nodded. “Yeah, it’s fucking great. Have you heard it?”

The three men blinked and Tré smirked, the first time he had showed any real reaction to the entire situation. “A few times, yeah.” He said and the other two snickered despite the weirdness of the situation, unable to help themselves.

“Wait, are you three from the future? Do we…” the bassist paused to collect his thoughts, really digging in deep and thinking before he spoke, perhaps because of the drugs clogging his brain and partially, Billie assumed watching him, because of the sheer fucking ridiculousness of the situation. “Do we,” he started over again, “become you guys?”

“We don’t know what’s going on,” Mike admitted even as Billie was nodding in response. Mike shot him a look. “We went to bed and woke up here.”

“Ha, you woke up here and we’re just going to bed. Good timing.”

Billie snorted, even as he tried to keep it in and maintain the seriousness of the expression on his face. He’d always liked Mike’s sense of humor. He saw Mike, his Mike, maintain his expression a little but even he smirked slightly at the bad joke. A quick glance at Tré revealed someone who looked totally unimpressed, to the point he was examining one of his tattoos.

“Listen, I’m Mike.” The younger man held his hand out and the three older musicians glanced at each other. ‘We’re actually doing this?’ silently ran between them before Mike stuck out his hand to shake in return. “So you’re Mike too, huh? This is going to get confusing.”

“You’re taking this really well,” Billie said as he and Tré introduced themselves. The younger Mike shrugged and gave a sheepish grin. “I’m sure I’ll freak out later, until then, if you’re me I’m just glad I didn’t become some fat guy. I get some sweet tats, too. Who’s Brixton, anyway? Like the place in England, the Clash song?” The younger man stared at the large tattoo on Mike’s arm who reached over to cover it with a cough and looked around like he had no idea what was going on.

The lack of an answer didn’t seem to bother him as his mind was already moving on. “Wait, wait.” The still slightly swaying man said, although he seemed to be slurring a little less by this point. “If you’re me,” he pointed to Mike, “shouldn’t us meeting,” he paused again to collect his thoughts, “cause some kind of temporal… time paradox thing? Like ruin the future?”

Mike shrugged having angled himself slightly away from the other so his kids tattoos were slightly less visible. “I dunno. This is all new to me, too.”

“Like,” the younger man continued, unswayed by the answer, “if Han Solo went back in time and warned himself not to go to Cloud City he wouldn’t get captured by Boba Fett —“

“Then Jabba would never be defeated,” the sober Mike finished and nodded in complete agreement. Billie laughed from beside him and while the younger bassist squinted in confusion Mike gave a goofy grin in response and shrugged. “We’ll just make sure not to warn you away from Cloud City I guess.”

“We’re not going to be here long, hopefully,” Tré added, “less time for us to screw things up.”

Billie noted his usually exuberant drummer was rather somber and tucked it away, he could think of a few reasons this wasn’t going to be a holiday for him. Then a question dawned on him even as he watched the bassist sway on his feet slightly and lean against the Bookmobile. “So it’s 1994, where are we?”

“Dunno, Billie said earlier the plan was West Coast going east, some city we’re playing in tonight. Tré’s dad drove us and then we put him up in some hotel nearby. He’s been mentioning the late hours and we thought it was a nice gift not to hear us snoring.”

Both Mike and Billie glanced at Tré who had a small smile on his features. “I remember that.” Tré said simply.

Older Mike waved a hand. “Probably wanna avoid him, two Tré’s might be one too many, especially one almost as old as he is.”

Tré nodded, but still rolled his eyes at the age comment.

“Go to bed before you pass out,” older Mike said watching his younger self teetering on his feet. He tried to not sound like a dad, but his tone wasn’t that far off. Alcohol, weed… he didn’t suspect anything harder than that, but watching himself stand there going in and out of consciousness wasn’t an easy thing to do. Was that what he looked like back then? Why didn’t he remember meeting himself and telling himself to go to bed. Or did he remember? Did he remember and then he forgot because of the substances that caused the situation in the first place. Did he only tell him to go to bed, because on some level he had hear himself being told to go to bed? Ugh. Time travel.

He expected an argument and was relieved when all that was returned was a shrug and a little dopey wave. He opened the door, the sound of two voices crying out ‘close the fuckin’ door!” greeting the three from the future.

It was quiet again, save the sounds of traffic nearby and a distant police siren.

“1994.” Someone breathed and the whole band nodded.

“Dookie is out,” Billie began, “we signed with a label and toured. I got married and Adie was pregnant with Joey…”

“Lisea is pregnant with Ramona,” Tré tacked on. “Really busy year for us.”

Silence trickled back over them and each waited for one of the others to say something to break it. It was Mike that finally spoke up, “we can finally see ourselves play.” Try as they might not to the other two laughed despite the situation. Count on Mike to quietly break the ice. “We won’t be that good, but we can watch.” He laughed.

“We need to figure out a way home. I still don’t believe we time travelled...” Tré started before Billie cut him off. “You don’t believe it? You almost fell on top of yourself. I remember you always tripping on blankets, even when you swore you put them away.” He was about to go on before Tré changed gears.

“Listen I don’t want to deal with me, young me, I hurt just thinking about it. I don’t know how to fall properly yet and my knees are fucked.” A grimace before he blew out a breath of irritation. “More importantly, why don’t we remember this?”

Billie shrugged this time, the battle to convince Tré lost for another few moments. “We were so fucking high for this whole tour. Someone could have given us unicorns and we wouldn’t have remembered.”

“I’d remember a unicorn.” Tré helpfully added and his mood seemed to lighten just a bit. “You don’t forget horny magical horses… well I wouldn’t.” Billie patted him on the shoulder.

"We should grab some food," Mike added with a helpful attempt at a smile. "We can wander up the street and see what we can find, they'll be out for hours."

Chapter Text

Young Billie, well, younger Billie woke and groaned. His head was pounding, his feet fucking ached and his hand that was over the side of the striped sofa he was delicately balanced on was lying in something wet. He pulled his hand away and gagged when his brain caught up with the sensation, from whatever it was, he hoped it was water. “Uhnnn,” he groaned, lying belly down and blinking at the light coming in the window above the door. “My fuckin’ head…” his voice whined and his hands came up to clutch his blond locks.

“Shut uuup! You sound like a grunge band!” Came a response from the back of the vehicle, a higher pitched grumble. “I had the weirdest dream…” Tré continued almost as though he had forgotten just telling Billie to shut up, “I was there plus there was another me, but I was older…”

Billie squinted, pressing his palms into the top of his head as he slowly rolled up into a seated position. “What are you rambling about, Cool?”

“A dream,” Tré said, pulling himself off the bottom bunk and crawling over to where Billie was sitting. Standing seemed impossible at this stage. “There were old guys that looked like us. Really old.” He punctuated it with a shiver. “They came from the future!”

“Oh, fuck off!” Billie said, pushing the drummer and then clutching his head. “You’re nuts, dude. Let me guess, I was some fat, ugly guy and you were bald and crazy. And fat.” Billie spat out the last two words, then laughed as Tré shoved him just as hard as he had been shoved.

“Screw you, like I’m going to get fat and old. I’ll end up dying in a rogue elevator or rodeo accident before that happens. Maybe I’ll catch fire!” Tré said proudly, before his band mate retaliated for the pushing and tackled him. The headache now seemingly lost, the two rolled on the floor, bouncing and wrestling from nearly one end of the touring machine to the other.

The sounds of grunts, exclamations of brief periods of pain accompanied by giggling carried into the top bunk. The tall bassist groaned and lay still, eyes slowly opening and then slipping shut. A crash, swearing and only then did Mike finally keep his eyes open. He jumped down from the top bunk smiling broadly at his friends as Billie finally pinned Tré on his stomach, one arm twisted behind his back into an extreme and uncomfortable position the other pinned beneath Tré’s own body weight.

“OW! Sonofabitch!” Tré exclaimed, wriggling as much as he could. Billie’s knee dug into his back as he pulled Tré’s arm further up his back. “Leggo! Dammit Billie! Fine! You cock-sucking bastard, uncle!” The expletives flew out of the drummers mouth loud and fast.

The blond cackled, jumping back at the word and grinning to show crooked teeth. He took a second to relish the win before showing his good sportsmanship and put out a hand to help the drummer back to his feet. He gave Tré’s shoulder a little massage and earned a mock shiver of pleasure from his touch and a full body lean.

Mike stretched, pulling on his t-shirt from the night before, rubbing his eyes and scratching the back of his neck. “Do I get to take the winner?” He asked with a grin. Tré nodded with a big smile, but Billie shook his head.

“Only if you want last night's dinner all over you. Hangover, Tré’s just easy.” Billie slouched back down on the couch ignoring the shout of indignation from Tré at his comment. Mike joined him, both of them watching as Tré dug in the cooler near the door. He pulled out a beer triumphantly, most likely the last, condensation dripping off the bottle mingling with the completely melted ice from the afternoon the day before. He popped off the cap with a swift downward stroke of his hand against the cap wedged against the counter. He took the few steps back towards his band mates and offered the bottle first to Billie (who took a swig and grimaced) and Mike (who waved it off as he began to roll a joint).

“Hair of the dog!” Tré toasted the air, before taking a long, draining pull from the bottle, sighing as the still cool beverage washed down his throat and then belching. He helpfully tossed a lighter from his shorts pocket to Mike before he asked for it and then took another sip.

Mike twisted the end of the joint and lit it from the tossed lighter watching Tré attempt to drain the bottle of beer. Billie occasionally snatched it from his hand to take a drink himself. There was an easy going camaraderie between the three of them, like brothers, even with their hangovers. He was amazed how he could feel so at home even out on the road in what was essentially a big van. That made this even more difficult. He had heard their comments about their “dream” and even though his brain was still foggy with sleep and residual alcohol, he had enough clarity about what had actually happened. He still didn’t completely believe it was possible, but he had seen it with his own two eyes and he had learned from an early age that he needed to trust his own judgement sometimes. The older version of him had done everything right, and the two guys with him didn’t have any problems he could see.

It came back to a few simple questions. Did he tell them now? Did he wait until after the show? Would that affect their performances? It could throw Billie completely off his game, he was sure of it, and might drive Tré to smoke more than he usual did. Hell, if he had to tell them he would need a drink or six, or this blunt to himself. He glanced down at the burning paper and weed considering his options.

Billie put his hand out, like he did a thousand times before and Mike automatically passed the joint over after taking a drag without a complaint. So much for having it to himself. “This isn’t the shit from last night by the way,” Mike said as Billie exhaled and offered the joint to Tré, “that shit was gross.”

“The stuff that probably gave us the fucked up dream,” Tré said balancing the drained beer bottle on the edge of the counter. It wobbled dangerously on the edge before he caught it with a flourish and joined it with another empty from the floor in a half-hearted juggle. “Three guys just showing up, looking like old versions of us. Old, but still kinda cool, I guess.” The joint caught his attention and he snatched it with a cartoony ‘yoink!’ from Billie’s offering fingers.

“Yeah, cool, what if it wasn’t a dream though?” Mike said off-handedly, he could feel both Tré and Billie’s eyes turn to him and he cleared his throat. “We’ve seen lots of time travel movies, what if it was true?”

“Are you that high already?” Billie said with a snicker, “guess the joint is ours now Tré. C’mon Mike, time travel, are you serious? What’s next, Green Day writes a musical?”

“Green Day meets the circus,” Tré tacked on with a laugh.

Mike still felt tired and now he felt outnumbered, so he let it drop with a good-natured shrug, wanting to believe what he had seen was nothing more than a hallucination or a bad dream. “Yeah, ha ha, Green Day on ice.” It was kind of ridiculous when he really thought about it, time travelers didn’t exist. He had seen Back to the Future one too many times. Still, his brain argued, the guy had looked and talked just like him and the one with dark hair did look like an older version of Billie before he bleached the shit out of his hair. Even the other guy, even though he was quiet, had some of Tré’s qualities…

“Mike!”

Billie and Tré’s voices and a shove jarred him and he jumped, shaking his head to clear it. “What?” He asked before he saw the singer offering the joint back to him. He shook his head and then changed his mind and snatched it back before Tré could take it. He puffed on it, just to calm his nerves, he told himself and then exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Chapter Text

“Ok, if this is happening we need to figure out what the next step is,” Billie said examining his wallet and finding roughly a hundred dollars in cash and the rest in, now useless plastic. Mike’s wallet turned up a little less and Tré’s a little more. They had ventured down the street from the Bookmobile and now were seated in a busy pizza joint off to the side, slices of untouched greasy pizza on paper plates in front of them and bottles of coke. Customers grabbed pizza boxes or slices and headed out the door, a good amount of them kids in their late teens off school or ditching work and going skateboarding or biking with their friends.

“So we’re admitting we travelled in time?” Tré asked, as he became the first to take a bite of his slice. The appearance of the pizza place, closed in 2015 with a dead (now alive) owner, had apparently helped to seal any suspicion that this was just a prank. “We actually Back the Future’d ourselves and now we’re stuck in 1994? I’ll go with it, but I’m open to other suggestions,” he said. He took another bite and gave a little over the top moan, smiling at the looks he got from his bandmates. “The me that almost fell on me had all the bruises I had. Then the drumsticks. Some devine so and so did something to us.”

Billie nodded, “I think we’re past prank. When was the last time we could go grab pizza together and have all these kids ignore us?”

By eerie coincidence as he said that the two teen boys who Tré had noticed watching them when they had sat down were whispering back and forth, finally acted. The taller of the two shoved the shorter one forward toward the table. He stumbled a step and then cleared his throat as he walked up to Mike. “Uh,” he looked at the tattoos on Mike’s arms and then at his face, silently comparing the faces of the other two before he cleared his throat again. “Hey, uh, sorry to bug ‘ya, but um, my big brother wants to know if you guys are related to the band Green Day?”

“Older brothers,” all three chimed in with a smile. They had discussed this possibility on the way to the pizza joint and the boy seemed to accept it immediately and relaxed a little.

“Are you here for the show?” The kid asked and when Mike nodded the kid turned to the other boy who managed an awkward little wave before walking over, hands in pockets before he took up the talking. “Our dad used to live just outside of Oakland, we saw one of Green Day’s first shows at Gilman.” The taller boy’s chest swelled with pride at this fact.

The youngest spoke up, still shy around the three older men. “That was when they played with Al. He’s good,” he said quickly before adding, “but I don’t like him as much.”

“Yeah yeah, everyone knows you’ve got a total boner for Tré Cool!” The older boy said and shoved his younger sibling with a laugh.

“I do not! Take that back!” His eyes nervously darted to ‘Tré’s older brother’ and he turned red.

“That’s why you asked mom to buy you lame drums instead of a wicked guitar like dad has.”

“Drums are cool.” The boy protested with a whine, his cheeks blushing even further as he looked over at the three men watching the sibling interaction. The older boy shrugged, “guitars are better.”

The younger boy sniffed, not quite on the edge of tears, but clearly sensitive to the discussion and Tré jumped in to nod in animated agreement.

“They’re wicked,” he said turning a bit in his seat, “I should know, I taught Tré everything he knows, drums are the best.”

The younger kid sniffed, wiping his eyes and appearing half the 15 or 16 years Tré assumed he was. “Really? Well, thanks! Um, can you tell Tré, if it’s not too much trouble, to have a good show, ok? Please? We’re gonna be right in front.” Tré nodded with a smile as the two boys left, an echo of “Alex! You’re a bastard give me that back!” From the older boy echoing as the door to the pizza joint closed.

Tré turned back around and laughed as Billie and Mike made “awww” noises. He shrugged and took a bite of pizza trying to hide the rising blush in his cheeks. “Now that my ego has been stroked,” one of the guys said “gross” in response before Tré continued on,”we time traveled, so, where to next?”

Billie scratched the side of his head staring at a brochure he had picked up. “We need a plan before they,” he gestured in the direction of the Bookmobile, “move to the next city. We have some time, Frank used to leave at, like midnight, one am didn’t he?”

“If we were back by then, sometimes two or three…” Tré added, he paused for a moment, “think he’ll recognize me?”

“He’s your dad, he will.” Mike replied picking the pizza slice back up. “He may actually believe it’s us. Speaking of that, and I definitely sound crazy but, should we try to convince the younger versions of ourselves that we’re the real deal? Doesn’t seem to be the problem of us exploding if we meet them.”

“It would be easier to not have to avoid them,” Billie mused, “and cheaper not having to get a hotel room or something… two Green Day’s are better than one…”

“Which one of us is the cover band, then?” Mike asked and the others snorted around their pizza.

Billie was thinking and not for the first time Mike and Tré stared until he glanced between them and nodded. “They’ll have a show tonight, we can go see the show and introduce ourselves afterwards before they start partying.”

“And if it doesn’t go well,” Mike continued the thought, “we can slip away and try to find a way home.” Billie nodded in agreement.

“One problem,” Tré interjected, “we don’t have tickets. You kind of need tickets to get into concerts. This show sold out, remember and we can’t just sleep with Pansy Division to get in, they’re not on the tour yet.”

“You’d... sleep... with Pansy Division to get in?” Billie asked suspiciously with one eyebrow raised at Tré. The drummer just gave a little shrug. “Younger me is an open minded sort of guy, that makes me open-minded.” The statement was acknowledged with some hesitation with a little nod. Tré couldn’t resist, “did you ever notice how many shirts of theirs I had?”

Mike, who had been finishing his pizza and staying quiet finally spoke up, changing the conversation on a dime. “Time to talk to Papa Cool then.”

“Can you connect me with Frank Wright, please?... Who’s calling? His son. Ya, thanks.” Blue haired Tré held the receiver to his ear and tapped his foot while he waited for the sounds of the calls connecting finally faded to brief silence and then after three rings, a man picked up.

“Hello?”

“Uh, dad can the guys and I come up to talk to you about something? Or you come down, either one.”

“Is everything OK?” Tré noted a hint of worry in his father’s voice. If Tré’s voice didn’t sound exactly right, he was pitching up a little bit to be safe, the older man didn’t say anything.

“Yes and no, you might have a hard time believing it.”

“With you lot? I doubt it, room 306, come on up Frank.” The phone hung up, leaving Tré to walk out of the phone booth and sigh.

“So?” Billie was the first to break the silence even as Mike had the same question written on his face.

“We can go up, room 306. Let’s see if he lets us in.”

Chapter Text

Papa Cool did let them in, saying hello cordially and only narrowing his eyes slightly in suspicion at their hair. He sat down in an armchair and waited for them to do the same thing on the sofa opposite him. When they collectively finished their story thus far all three of them held their breath until Papa Cool spoke. “Let me get this straight, you three are Green Day, as in the boys I’m driving around and my son from 2017.”

Three nods.

“You came back in time? Wait, right, you’re not sure about that part. But you know this isn’t a drug hallucination?”

“No, it’s not Frank.” Billie said, “it would make things a lot easier. We wouldn’t be sat here trying to figure out a way to prove to you that we’re who we say we are.”

“I think you’re telling the truth,” Papa Cool said ignoring the surprised expressions on the trio’s faces. His face became a little determined highlighted with a flash of irritation. “I like to think I know my son even if he’s older than me right now.” Tré didn’t blush, but he didn’t suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you boys mind if I talk to my son in private for a minute?”

Billie and Mike nodded and crossed the room to leave and stand in the hallway with the door shut without a second word. “Nice to know we’re still boys at 45, I don’t feel nearly as old anymore.” Billie said with a smile and Mike chuckled.

When the door opened back up maybe ten minutes later, Tré’s father gestured for them to come back in and this time his face was more relaxed, as was Tré’s who was still seated in the same spot. Whatever had been said must have reassured him that they were telling the truth.

“I’m convinced,” he said before sitting back in the hotel armchair. “We’ll get you tickets and then you said you were going to tell the younger versions of yourselves who you are? Is that how it’s going to go? How the hell do they not know that already?”

“Drugs,” Mike stated simply. “Younger Mike, young-er me... believes us I think, but Billie and Tré don’t. They think it was a bad trip.”

“Very coherent trip,” the father added and then nodded. “I’ll help where I can, but we need to figure out how to get you three back, younger you’s don’t need older versions of them reinforcing that they’re going to become big stars. They may not work as hard, as hard as that is to believe.”

“As soon as we can go back, we will.” Billie said, “I’m sure people back in 2017 are missing us. Our wives and kids for one.” The frontman saw Tré’s father glance at the three wedding rings and smiled a little before saying, “before you ask, the same woman I’m with now.”

“Good to hear. I wasn’t going to be nosy though. Not in my nature.” He smiled, and Tré snorted. “Let me call the venue and get you three on the guest list. You’ll need fake names though.”

Tré spoke up this time, glancing between them and pointed as he named them off starting with himself. “Edwin Wright, Ryan Pritchard and William Joseph?” When there weren’t any big complaints, aside from Billie Joe rolling his eyes, Tré’s father grabbed the phone and set about getting them on the guest list among the representatives of the press and friends of the opening acts to avoid raising any suspicion.

The show had gone as well as Mike remembered it on stage, if not better. The band was tight, the music was loud and rhythmic and the audience seemed to swell with every note and word. He wished he could give himself a few pointers, little things he had learned over the years but otherwise it was a great show. They had even seen the two kids from earlier near the front, jumping and headbanging along. One kid really did only have eyes for Tré and the older one was darting between his younger self and Billie.

The show was wrapping up and to get backstage before the three younger guys Mike, Tré and Billie slowly moved through the crowd as Christie Road played and ducked into the small area the venue was offering as “backstage”. None of them said it but all three wondered why security was so damn lax. No one tried to stop or question them as they went backstage and here they waited sitting on cases and leaning against the wall.

The audience erupted and all three of them straightened their posture slightly. After one final song, three sweaty and hyped up band members finally came off-stage, clapping each other on the back and rapidly discussing certain parts of the gig they enjoyed. Then they stopped cold in front of their older doppelgangers.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t a dream.” Younger Mike said, his statement sounding more like a confession, glancing back at Billie and Tré before gesturing to his older self. “These guys are us from the future.”

“Bullshit!” Younger Tré exclaimed as he narrowed his eyes at the three people in front of him. “That guy looks nothing like me. The only one who looks anything like us is the tall guy, he looks a bit like you Mike.”

The blond haired Billie, however, was sizing the other Billie up, looking for little details he could say were wrong. “If you’re me,” he paused and looked at the wedding ring on his hand comparing it to his own newer wedding band. “What’s your wife’s name?” The older Billie didn’t answer straight away, instead he pushed up his sleeve and showed the younger man the photostrip tattoo of Adrienne. The younger man’s face fell, some of his bravado visibly evaporating.

“2017, still together.” Billie stated with a smile that was full of pride. “Rocky bits sometimes, but still in love.”

The blond briefly looked like he was getting misty eyed, or maybe that was just a trick of the poor backstage lighting, before he turned the aggressive and skeptical facade back on. “Anyone who can read a magazine would know about 80.”

“Billie Joe,” wow Billie reflected, that felt weird saying his own name, “your wife is currently pregnant and due soon with your first kid. You’re nervous as fuck.” He debated this next part and worried he was giving too much away. “You and 80 are thinking Joseph… Joey for short as a name.”

“And Lisea is pregnant, you’re definitely naming her Ramona.” Tré interjected in a deadpan tone before the other could ask, staring at the younger man across from him who looked like he didn’t know if he should fight or run, or both. “And Dad already believes it’s me.”

“I need some air.” The younger Tré was stomping out the backdoor in a flash, the sticks he had been holding thrown down at the ground with a clatter. After a door slam he had the older Tré going after him in a huff.

The sweaty, blond haired Billie sat down on a case next to his doppelgänger, tipping his head and staring at the older version of himself with piercing eyes. He spat behind him and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “God, your hair is boring.” His lips turning into something akin to a Sid Vicious sneer.

“Stop that.” Billie said, knowing his time raising two kids gave his voice that Dad edge. “I invented that look. Besides, your hair is disgusting.” The older Billie put on an effeminate, almost Valley girl tone to his voice, barely containing his smile as the other man wrinkled his nose. “I remember how often I didn’t wash that.”

The blond narrowed his eyes and retorted, “fuck you, it’s punk.” His next words were spat out with a bit more venom, “Not that you’d know, you dress like a middle aged loser.”

The singer from 2017 couldn’t contain himself and laughed. His reply was warm, if a bit annoyed at having to repeat himself. “Billie, don’t you get it? I’m you. We’re both losers, man.” His eyes went over to where both Mike’s were and he shrugged, “I had forgotten how annoying I was as a kid.”

The two Mikes were the only two standing quietly next to each other, the younger Mike occasionally glancing at a tattoo on the other or watching the banter between the two Billies. Two Billies, that was weird. The older Mike glanced over and then towards where two Tré Cools had disappeared outside, thinking enough to prop open the back door instead of letting it lock behind them.

“You want me to prove it?” The older Billie was saying, standing up and beckoning the other Armstrong to do the same. “Fine. Where’s Blue?”

“I’m not letting you touch my guitar, are you out of your dumbass mind? I want to be playing Blue when I'm middle aged.”

But younger Mike was already walking over and handing the older Billie the guitar, giving apologetic looks to his singer who was flabbergasted that he was being betrayed. “Et tu Mike?” The blond whispered and shot daggers.

“Name a song,” Billie started, “oh, OH,” before he gasped, his face lighting up. “Even better, what if I play the part for that song,” he snapped his fingers, “the one you’re writing right now that you haven’t shown Tré or Mike yet?”

This seemed to somber the blond and he crossed his arms. “You can’t, I haven’t finished it yet.”

“Exactly, I’ll play what you have so far… What I… we have so far.” He corrected himself and slung Blue’s strap over his shoulder with an ease that made the younger Billie’s eyes widen. He adjusted it slightly with furrowed brows. “That should prove I’m an older version of you. You’re the only one that knows what you’ve written so far. If you know it, so do I.”

“Whatever, fine, go ahead.” But the younger man was clearly listening and Billie felt a little trickle of smug satisfaction trickle into his heart. He snatched a pick from the case and started working through the middle verses to Good Riddance.

Younger Mike couldn’t help but see his older self tapping his foot to the beat.

“Go away.” Younger Tré said. He was leaning against the back of the venue, the green hair that needed soap beginning to fall into his eyes, but the older Tré now knew from the hostile tone in his voice that he could see him. “I need air, not a chaperone.”

“I don’t remember being this emo,” The blue haired drummer said, idly picking up a rock to toss at the side of the building. “I always thought Billie was the emo.” The other man avoided his eyes and let out a huff that was almost a scoff. “Still don’t believe I’m you?” Tré asked, and if the answer was yes he couldn’t blame the kid. Billie and Mike looked damn similar to their counterparts and he, well, he had grown up. His visits to the fountain of youth had been more for his energy levels than perfect skin. Still, he had a smear of doubt that this was even happening and wasn’t just a dream, how could he convince the kid when he didn’t believe it himself? He had stopped walking when he felt the other man’s eyes on him.

The upset Tré was now staring at him, looking more like a cornered wild animal than a punk rocker. “I believe you,” he began hesitantly, “as fucked as that is that’s half the damned problem. I become you. YOU! At least I still dye my hair and I’m not fat...” He groaned and made a frustrated noise. “So, I suppose you’re going to tell me that Lisea and I grow old together, have twenty children and open a dog rescue.”

The older Tré laughed, properly laughed at the ludicrous statement and observed the others confusion. He tossed a rock and the other Tré caught it and tossed it back, watching the rock plummet to the ground with a shrug. “Listen, you are so wrong Tré. I don’t know what I can tell you with this whole time travel shit, meeting you didn’t make us explode, but who knows what might? I hate that certain things happened, but they led me to where I am now. Just, you’re wrong. Good things happen.”

The younger Tré heard him, nodding before wandering back towards the door they had propped open leading into the venue. He was always moving. Tré remembered that about his younger self, always in motion and never crashing at the end of the day unless drugs were brought into the equation.

He watched him walk down a board near the entrance, underneath the venue’s insufficient outside lights, faux tightrope walking on the very edge, before jumping up to grab the first rung of a ladder and using it to spin, drop off and then walk back. He jumped off and gave an over-dramatic bow with his landing.

The older Tré gave a few claps of applause, “you stuck the landing.”

His younger self smiled. With the mood lightened a little the younger man actually looked at the other man for the first time since he had appeared earlier that day, making blue eye contact. “She’s OK, right?”

“Who? Ramona?”

“Yeah, my… our little girl, she’s healthy and everything?” The younger man suddenly looked a little older with his question.

“Yup, happy and healthy. You are too, with who you end up with. You marry your best friend, just takes a few years.” Younger Tré smirked and opened his mouth to say whatever was going through his head at that moment, but older Tré didn’t think he needed to. He interrupted and spoke instead, “Custom drums, two boats, touring all over the world. All that work is worth it.”

“I was just going to ask if I get laid a lot, man, but that works too. And, maybe, don’t call me Little Tré, since I know you’re thinking it.” When the older of the two looked puzzled, younger Tré continued, “‘Cause I know I would in your shoes. Little Frank.” Tré from 1994 was grinning and the older rocker couldn’t help but have a smirk on his own lips for more than one reason.

“Sure, and it would be insulting to both of us.” That would make him ‘Big Tré’, and that was just weird.

“Yup, and Tré, a, uh, serious question?” The younger man asked. The older drummer paused as they walked over the gravel path back to the venue. He didn’t expect everything to settle right away and answering questions was helping him to see things clearly, so it probably did for his younger self, too. He tipped his head in acknowledgement even as he examined his surroundings and felt a vague sense of having been there before, walking this path at this pace in the semi-darkness. The question was a surprise.

“Does that snake tat on your arm have tits?”

The blue haired man looked down at the arm in question, the long sleeves shoved up in response to the heat of the club, and laughed. He tried to look serious, failing for the most part. “Fuck yeah, and dude, I’ll tell yeah, it hurt like hell, but it was worth it. That idea was more your doing than mine.”

“It’s awesome, glad I thought of it.” The younger man quipped and took off jogging back to the venue in a much better mood, leaving the blue haired Tré in his green haired wake. He couldn’t help but notice the very slight inconsistency in his jogging and the knee that would be repaired and replaced in the future. He winced from a phantom pain in his own knee.

Stepping inside as his younger self held open the door, he kicked the box aside that was keeping it from slamming shut and both of them stood to watch his Billie playing the middle verses of Good Riddance with a dumbstruck blond Armstrong looking on. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Of course they still needed to get home, who knew how long they had been gone, but living in this world was a little more palatable. Sharing a Bookmobile with six members was going to be interesting, especially when showering was of bottom of the barrel importance for three of them.

“Satisfied?” The older Billie asked and his younger self had to nod reluctantly.

“Help us load out and we’ll grab some drinks, I want to see if older me can still hold his liquor.” Younger Billie was saying and even as each of them was doing just that, grabbing their guitar cases, cymbal bag and snare. At the mention of alcohol the older Green Day paused to look at Billie.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that.” He said simply before calling out, “I call top bunk!”

Chapter Text

Some things didn’t change on tour. It didn’t matter if it was 2017 or 1994, there was still loading up the equipment, the sound of the road under wheels and the never ending boredom as you wait to play again. With Papa Cool driving, the two versions of Green Day clustered in the back of the bookmobile occupying the couch and bunks.

“This is the earliest we’ve been on the road in a long time,” the younger Mike stated, breaking the silence that had come over the group.

“There was that time Tre got food poisoning,” older Billie said glancing down at the two Tre Cools who were seated next to each other on the couch, the younger flopped against the older. “We got on the road right after the venue…”

“After the car wash,” older Tre added, he glanced at his younger self who was smiling rather smugly, “remember we had to spray the van out?”

The younger Billie shuddered from his spot on the bottom bunk, reaching over to grab the joint from his bassist across the gap between the two sets of bunks. “Fuck that was gross. I found that shit in my hair for like a week. I told you that burrito had expired --”

“No,” younger Tre said rather pointedly, sitting up and running a hand through his hair to fluff up the flat spot. He shook his head, “you’ve got it wrong. You dared me to eat it and said it was expired.”

“And it was,” the blond said with a smile after exhaling the smoke. He held the joint out to anyone who wanted to take it, “and you still ate it and you won the bet.”

“Worth it.” Tre replied and the older Tre nodded in silent agreement. He stood to grab the joint from Billie and sit back down with it. The blue haired drummer took a long drag and handed it over to his younger self who leaned back against his older self’s shoulder and did the same. The future drummer ignored the knowing looks from his older companions.

Mike glanced down from his top bunk at the two drummers and snorted. "Look at you two all cozy. Glad you kissed and made up," he said, instantly regretting his choice of words. Two heads slowly turned towards him and true to form both held devilish expressions, the youngest with a bigger grin.

"Is that masturbation?" The older Billie Joe asked and his younger self snorted, reaching up a hand to the top bunk for a high-five.

“So, what can you tell us about the future?” The younger Mike suddnly asked, interrupting the very important comment the blue haired drummer was about to make. His question surprised the three from the future who all looked his way as he continued. “I know, you can’t tell us who we,” he gestured towards the younger drummer and himself, “get hitched to, or kids, but can you tell us the highlights?”

The rest of the band were quick to grab the question, adding to the bassist’s initial suggestion. “Yeah! Like any rad accidents? Or, OH, what about arrests?” The green haired Tre asked glancing up at the older man he was leaning against. “Sold out shows?” The blonder Billie tacked on excitedly, before the younger Mike sheepishly asked, “parties? Famous people we get to jam with?”

All three of the older men stayed quiet at first glancing around the room, and shifted slightly where they were on the couch and the two top bunks. No one moved, but a ‘what if’ hung thick like the weed smoke in the air.

It was Billie who finally moved, drawing the rest of the bands attention. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and jumped down, taking a sidestep and throwing his arms out to keep his balance as the Bookmobile changed lanes. He leaned against the wall, chuckling to himself at almost falling and face-planting from the vehicle’s sudden movement. He turned towards them, “listen, we don’t know what we can tell you without changing our futures. When we get home, we all want it to be the same as when we left it. I get that sorta sucks, but until we know --”

“Two knee surgeries.” Tre said, glancing over at the young man leaning against his shoulder. “One by accident and one to replace some of the knee. Lots of time on crutches. They even use some of a dead woman’s knee.”

“Awesome! You’ve got dead lady in you?!”

“Tre!” Billie said, rolling his eyes when both drummers looked at him and then narrowing his eyes at the older man and throwing his hands up in frustration. “What the fuck?”

“What? I didn’t say what the accident was, and the other one is going to happen either way with time.” He patted the green mop of hair leaning on his shoulder and laughed. “Look at them. They’re curious Billie, come on they’re US. I’d want me to tell young me about my adventures.” He tousled the green hair again, his tone the same as one he’d use with his dogs. A laugh followed by a light-hearted ‘fuck off!’ came from the younger man as he struggled to get the other man’s hand away from him, slowly wiggling away and sat up on the couch.

“You didn’t even believe we had traveled back in time less than 24 hours ago and now you’re telling me what is and isn’t ok? You’re for telling them everything?” Billie said frustrated, glancing back at the younger version of himself and then turning to fully face Tre, “What if it changes something with Sa… with your wife? Or Mike’s family?”

“Billie, I think my dad seeing a grown up version of his son would do something to the future and to me and it hasn’t. And we don’t remember any of this, maybe all the movies were wrong? Maybe we say this stuff because we remember us saying this stuff. Or maybe it doesn’t make any difference.”

Billie sighed, looking to his bassist for backup, but was met with someone who could only shrug apologetically. “Why am I being the only reasonable one?” The guitarist said, scratching the side of his face.

“If we’re careful maybe there’s no harm in bragging a little, Bill?” Older Mike said softly, his voice changing into a sigh as he exhaled the smoke he had drawn in. The joint was almost done and he carefully passed the last of it down to his younger self. When Billie only groaned in frustration he continued, “we played with Joan Jett, Ringo and Paul --” Mike stopped there at Billie’s wide eyes not wanting to push his friendship any further. The younger Armstrong, however, possessed a look of excited disbelief. It made Mike smile a little to see a very similar look on his face to fans he had met before.

“What? Really? Fuck! Next you’re gonna tell me I played with the Replacements, too?” He laughed in disbelief, but the laugh stopped short when he saw the look the older men were giving each other. “Dammit! Really? Holy shit! How do I, we handle it?” The younger man looked to his older self, the we being a ‘me, myself and I’ kind of scenario and watched a smirk spread across his face, breaking up the look of irritation and disappointment that was there a few moments before.

“With nothing but anxiety and a guitar.” Billie smiled, even if it was more to him and his younger self than the rest of the room.

“And a pretty full beard if I remember,” Mike added causing his guitarist to snort in laughter. If anyone doubted that the two Billie Joe Armstrongs were indeed the same person, that laugh was evidence enough that they were one and the same.

The older bassist jumped down from the top bunk, sitting next to his younger self and thus bringing both bands down to the lower level. “There’s lots of injuries and most of them are taped. We break our nose on TV, on our own bass.”

“And keep playing?” The younger Mike asked hesitantly and the other nodded proudly. “Fuck yeah, we keep playing until we can’t anymore and then Billie plays the rest of the set acoustic.” This news perked the other Mike up a little even with his eyes starting to tint red, reminding the older man of the night before and the swaying bassist that had believed who they were.

Both drummers were trading scar stories, occasionally the green haired Tre recounting a story that the blue haired one had long since forgot or misremembered. It was a scar on his hand that made the younger man grimace.

“From a cymbal?” The younger Tre said, his voice bringing attention to the two of them as he sat there eyeing the scar in the webbing between index and forefinger on Tre’s hand.

“Yeah, caught it wrong.”

“No shit,” the younger man said and looked at his own unscarred hand. He shook his head and let out a breath. Your head too? That had to hurt. I need a beer. Uh, does everyone want one?”

The older Green Day shook their heads, first Mike and then Billie and then Tre.

“No? We get old and go straight edge, great.” The blond said sarcastically as he took a beer from Tre’s hand. “Or wait,” he went a little more serious, “I don’t have my liver taken out or something do I?” His eyes went to his older self who shook his head lightly at first and then rolled his eyes.

“No. Dammit Billie, sometimes people don’t want beer.”

“We need to stay, relatively sober, so we don’t spoil your futures,” Mike chimed in, adding emphasis on relatively given the joints that seemed to magically appear and be passed around. He was remembering the origin for the name of the band. They were comfortable though, he thought he didn’t feel that high.

“We should listen to some music,” the younger Tre stated, despite the weed he was still energetic and as he was already up on his feet, he chose the music, shoving the cassette on the table into the boombox and hitting play. The sounds of Pansy Division drifted through the back of the Bookmobile and each of them tapped or gently nodded to the beat. The older Billie started to finally let up and begin a story about one time he completely fell off a stage.

The older Tre spoke up first, his face neutral where there might have been a grin. “They’re good, you should bring them on the next tour.”

The younger man nodded his agreement happily and started recounting his plan to do just that.

Chapter Text

The Bookmobile had gone comfortably quiet except for Pansy Division playing on the boombox and the occasional sound of a lighter flicking in the silence between tracks. The younger Billie Joe had settled on the floor, shuffling through some posters and paperwork that needed his attention before the next show. Mike had offered to “dot the ‘i’s’ and cross the ‘t’s’” but Billie had waved him off with a shake of his head.

If he was honest, and he did try to be that, he needed something to distract himself from the ever present thought that Adie was completely home alone and pregnant. Sure she had friends to come over and keep her company and help with whatever stuff pregnant women needed help with, but that little stream of narcissism that made him a great frontman also made him think only he would do at home.

Before he had left he had pulled Adie aside and he had promised to be home for the birth. He intended to keep his promise…provided the kid kept to his timeline. Flipping through the posters he finally shoved them aside and lay back on the floor of the van, feeling the hum of tires on asphalt as the buzz of the weed and alcohol wove it’s way through his body. Glanced up, just barely lifting his head to watch his older self totter over to both of the Tre’s and sit between them.

The guy was so... he watched as the older man shoved his Tre over enough so he could sit down. It was good-natured and both of the drummers sitting on the couch smiled back at him. Nice! He was so nice. Where was his edge? Becoming him might not be complete agony, but it looked like it would lame. He closed his eyes, a pain behind them from the noise and lights of playing easing when he did so. His muscles relaxed a little. It was easy to get lost when there was the hypnotic hum of the vehicle under his head combining with the haze of smoke.

It seemed like he only closed his eyes for a second and then he was suddenly opening them, the hum gone and the older Mike Dirnt tapping him on the shoulder. His Mike or Tre wouldn't have been so gentle and he bit back the irritation of being woken so gently. What was he, a child?

"Hey Billie, we're grabbing some food, you coming?" The bassist asked, offering a hand to help the blond haired guitarist up.

Billie lay there for a minute, collecting his thoughts. The haze of sleep preventing him from immediately recognizing the older man. Right, future Mike. Then a realization dawned on him. "If there's a payphone I should call Adrienne," Billie commented, accepting the offer of help to stand. He didn't directly answer Mike, but when he stood and started walking towards the door the taller man followed. The last shreds of sleep and drowsiness were easily shaken from Billie's mind at the thought of hearing his wife's voice.

"Oh yeah, payphones..." Mike said with a goofy laugh, but left it at that and Billie wondered what exactly was so funny about payphones. They were kind of a necessary evil of living on the road. Maybe they had something to help communicate telepathically or some shit back where they were from. He patted his pockets and feeling some change next to his wallet he made a beeline for the phone that stood at the corner of the burger place and parking lot. He watched the older Mike jog across his path to catch up with Tre's father. Billie got to the phone only moments before the green haired Tre Cool did.

"Tell Adie I say hello," Tre said, leaning heavily against the side of the box that housed the phone acting as though he didn’t just run to get to the phone first.

The phone was relatively unscathed, no graffiti and half of a phone book still chained to it. It wasn't fully enclosed like the phone booths back home, just the top, with only half panels around the back and two sides. Tre was able to sneak a hand under one side and reach for the phone from the outside of the box. Billie, although tired was not blind and saw it before it reached the receiver.

"Fuck off," Billie growled and batted the other man's hand away. "You can use it next. Go break something. I'll give 80 your love."

The younger man didn't immediately move, but then he was quickly drug away by the collar into the restaurant by the younger bassist telling him to leave Billie alone. The blond smiled, glad to have his best friend around to assist. He loved Tre, but sometimes his ability to pick up a hint and actually fuck off was lacking. He picked up the receiver and deciding against the hassle opted for a calling card instead of the coins in his pocket. He was vaguely aware of the older version of himself loitering not far from phone. He could wait, he needed to make sure things were OK at home and then he'd ask the older man what was eating him.

"Hello?"

That voice! He all but teared up when she answered the phone, slightly out of breath like she had had to move quickly to answer it by the second ring. "Hey 80, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too Billie Joe, so has Joey."

Billie smiled, his earlier grumpiness vanishing. Her voice did that to him every time he heard it and he let out a breath. "It's definitely Joseph then, we've officially decided?"

"I think so, I reserve the right to change my mind," he could hear her smile. "You still like it, thought?"

"Of course I do, it feels like the perfect name,” Billie said. He couldn't help but remember Billie telling him that was what they would name their first son and frowned away from the phone as though looking away meant Adie wouldn't hear the change in his voice. Of course she did.

"Are you OK babe, you sound really tired and kind of... distracted."

He let out a little laugh. "I'm at a burger place just off the highway, not exactly the Ritz. It's been a helluva couple of days." His brain was rapidly recycling the same question: did he dare tell her? "We've had some weird encounters with people, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." Her voice was laced with humor and Billie let out a little laugh. He knew that she would want to know. She pressed, "I've been bored stiff lately and a good punk rock story would be perfect."

"What's your opinion on time travel?" He blurted the question out before he meant to, without any of the preamble one usually gives to prepare someone for that sort of question. He assumed that was why there was dead air for a moment before she replied. "I like sci-fi as much as the next person. Do you mean, do I think it's possible?"

"Ya, like..." he trailed off, glancing over to see his older self trying not to stare and therefore looking even stranger and even more out of place. This was ridiculous and a bad idea. His ways with words apparently were limited to lyrics…

"Nevermind, look like you said, I'm tired. Forget it. How are you doing?"

She scoffed. "Good, as good as someone can be when they're this pregnant and bored. I'd much rather hear about this time travel.” Her voice took on a sterner edge. “Thought we agreed to keep the drugs softer this tour."

"Just alcohol and weed," he said covering his heart. "I swear. It's just... OK, so we met another band named Green Day."

Adie mhm'd. "Oh? Where are they from?"

"Oakland."

"Of course. That's kind of sweet, a bit unoriginal, you must have hit it big if you three are already attracting cover bands."

"No, they're not technically a cover band." Billie corrected. If all was to be believed were they the cover band? "They play originals, it's not the who, but the when that makes them interesting."

"When?" Adie asked.

Billie’s mouth was dry, the thought of what he was about to say stressing him out. Could this change time? The older bastard was getting into his head! He glanced at his older self. The dark haired Billie Joe glanced away just as the younger Billie looked over. He was still loitering a few feet away, but maybe he was a little bit closer. Billie cut right to the chase before he could change his mind. "They're us. Adie, they're older versions of us. Me, Mike and Tre. I know it's really fucking crazy and I'm still not a hundred percent sure, but I'm more sure than not sure. There’s a guy... here... who is me from twenty odd years in the future."

The slightest of pauses and then she asked, "can I talk to him?"

Billie hadn't been expecting that response, he actually glanced down at the handset before putting it back to his ear thinking it was faulty. "What?"

"I said, can I talk to this mystery Billie Joe Armstrong from the future. I have questions for him." She wasn't quite teasing, but she also was taking this a lot lighter and better than he expected. Maybe pregnancy did something to your brain?

"Uh, are you sure?"

Adrienne's voice conveyed that yes, she was in as many words. "Or if he's not there, any of these mysterious men from the future. I'd be curious to see what they all sound like if they are who they say they are."

"Just a sec." The younger blond waved to the older man and beckoned him over ignoring the questioning look on his face. "Adrienne wants to talk to you."

"You told her?" Came the other man's reply, quite surprised and a little concerned. "Didn't I just say this was a horrible idea. That whole ruining the future ---"

"Shut the fuck up and talk to your wife." The blond thrust the handset at him like it was burning his hands and stepped back to allow him to stay within the confines of the cord keeping the box and receiver connected.

The younger man could only hear the one side of the conversation, but he found himself smiling every time Billie apologized or laughed in response to whatever was being said. Minutes passed and the look of stress on the older man's face fell and was replaced by that same smile he got when he heard her voice. He leaned back against the half panel, watching intently as Billie exchanged the same shorthand he used with Adrienne, offering the same terms of endearment that spilled out of his mouth when he was around her. The whole exchange lasted maybe five minutes before the older man pressed the phone into Billie's hand and sighed.

"I don't think you should have told her, but I do miss her."

The blond smirked. "Just be glad YOUR 80 didn't come back here too, that would be awkward when she went for the younger, hotter punk over you."

The older Billie rolled his eyes but stayed silent, refusing to take the bait (that was disappointing) and instead pointed towards the restaurant. "I'll see you inside."

Billie picked the phone back up. “So?”

"I guess I believe in time travel now, or that guy is the best Billie Joe Armstrong impersonator I've ever met." Adie's voice was warm and Billie didn’t realize how much he needed that reassurance that he wasn’t entirely crazy. He felt a little warmer himself towards the other older man as he watched his older self side-step a puddle and put an arm around the blue haired Tre's shoulders who had come out the front door presumably looking for him. When he was quiet Adie let out what was possibly the fakest yawn he had ever heard. "Go, eat and sleep Mr. Armstrong, no one wants to watch a sluggish rocker on stage."

"Yes ma'am," he said quietly but he had a big smile on his face. "Tre and Mike send their love, all four of them, probably."

"Tell them it's appreciated, and just be careful, one Tre is already too many," this time she stifled a real yawn. "Be safe."

Love yous were exchanged and when Billie hung up the phone he felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. As he stepped away his stomach growled its displeasure with his choice of a phone call taking precedence over food.

So it was a happy and very hungry Billie that finally joined his older self and the older drummer at the cash register. The younger man ordering his own food and insisting on paying for the others order as well.The blue haired Tre offered no protest while Billie initially refused.

He was having none of it, he wanted to be nice to this future version of himself. The younger man shoved the money into the cashiers hand gently pushing his older self out of the way.

“Thanks,” Billie said finally relenting and tucking his wallet into his back pocket. “You know I do have money though.”

"It’s no big deal, I'm just investing in my future," the younger man said with a big grin, then snatched a french fry off his tray. Tre just shrugged, “if he wants to buy us food Billie, let him.” When the older man rolled his eyes Billie gave a shrug and grabbed his food to join the other guys, his older self and Tre only a step behind him.

Chapter Text

The journey after the burger stop was uneventful and short, about a twenty minute ride into the next town. Sated punkers tended to be less aggravating and the drummer from 2017 enjoyed relaxing on a full stomach and regaling his younger self on carefully edited tales of his future from his bunk. This lasted until the Older Mike briefly stole his attention away.

The Bookmobile stopped and parked and Tre’s father wished the guys still awake a goodnight as he grabbed his stuff to sleep in a nearby motel. Older Tre, awake and watching, jumped down from his bunk and went outside with his dad, slipping enough money into his father’s hand to assist in that venture. Dirtbag motels were fine, they had stayed in their fill, but he did remember this. Something nagged him. Fuzzy images and emotions that wouldn’t quit. He remembered something important happening, as vague as that was, that his father had avoided by a generous offer from his younger son.

Younger Tre was preoccupied so the older man had decided to keep with what he remembered and supply the money himself.

“I’ll be fine,” his father said after turning down the money for the second time.

“I know, take it anyway. Please.” Tré waved off the next argument with a shake of his head and surprisingly elder Frank listened to his 2017 son better than he remembered him doing when he was still a kid.

With his father on his way to a slightly better motel a shorter walk away. Tre climbed back to his previous perch on the top bunk, glancing over at the sleeping older frontman on the bunk across from him and then down to where the two Mikes were still awake talking and the other Tre and Billie were still holding court. His younger self was showing no signs of being tired, animatedly explaining a possible song to the younger Billie. Tre was tired enough that he didn’t recognize the drumbeat and fills that younger Tre was so excited about, tapping them out, as anything that had made it past the thought stage, let alone to telling others and working it into a recording.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt, rather than saw the older Billie staring at him from across the space between the bunks.

“Still awake?”

“Nope, completely asleep.” Tré said, deadpan, his eyes still closed but his head slowly turning towards his friend at the question.

“Cool.” Billie didn’t miss a beat. “So, you won’t remember any of this. I talked to Adie tonight.”

Tre’s eyes snapped opened and he focused on Billie.

“Younger me… called home to see how she was and she wanted to talk to me after he told her about me.” Billie made a face, “we need to give them new names this shit is confusing.” Tré didn’t say anything which spurred him to continue. “It was a lot like you and your dad, she asked me some questions and that was pretty much it. Completely believed we had traveled through time.” He paused and this time smiled for a second. “It was really nice to hear her voice.”

Billie kept talking, but Tre was only half listening. He missed his wife. He missed everything about her. Billie’s words stung even though he hadn’t meant them to. Tre wouldn’t say anything, it wasn’t exactly Billie’s fault, but that hurt when he couldn’t even contact Sara let alone talk to her. Where would she be living now? More importantly was how amazingly inappropriate it would be for someone his age to talk to someone the age she was… is now.

He broke that feeling by interrupting whatever daydream Billie was having. “Imagine if she wasn’t pregnant you could have a three-way with yourself.” Billie made a choking noise, which despite his efforts turned into a laugh and the drummer smiled. “You could sell tickets, people would pay good money to get in on that action.”

Billie rolled his eyes. “This is why we have other people to do our merchandising.” Tre’s shrug in response was lost as Billie glanced down at the others that were still awake.

“You’ll see her soon.” Tré said kindly and Billie nodded. He turned over to face the wall and settle into a more comfortable position to sleep pulling the blanket up on him and a hoodie under his head.

“So will you. We’ll find a way back.”

Tre nodded to Billie’s back, not needing to clarify who he meant. When you spent so much time with people you developed shorthand in conversation. In this situation it was obvious.

The Bookmobile fell quiet and darker with just the hushed whispers of the two Mikes and a light on near the front. His younger self was passed out on the couch and the younger Billie was somewhere. Tre settled under the thin blanket with a sigh, feeling slightly chilled by the cooler air and shorts on. The sound of snoring reached him, most likely one of the younger band members and he closed his eyes again. He dreamt of Sara.