Chapter Text
Billie Joe was somewhat proud of the extent of his current state of cross-fadedness.
Granted, he wasn’t quite sure when he had ended up splayed across the coffee table in his boxers. He also didn’t really remember when his discarded pants had gotten onto Tre’s head. He did remember when Jason had simply passed out on the couch, and he was still vaguely giggling at the spectacle that was Mike tripping backwards over the arm of the sofa, ending up with his head in Jason’s lap. Jason, of course, hadn’t shifted an inch for it, nor even noticed.
Mike and Tre had shortly followed Jason’s example, and Billie could feel something from the ether tugging at his mind to join them.
Oh, now that was odd. He felt as if he were actually moving. Was his body truly moving into sleep? How funny.
He closed his eyes, giggling at the feeling of his body floating and drifting away.
But he wasn’t passing out. He was still awake, that much was obvious.
A crash somewhere above him jolted his mind back to focus. Was Tre or someone up and about, breaking his personal possessions?
He turned carefully onto his side, eyes squinting open.
Where was the edge of the coffee table? He opened his eyes fully, focusing slowly on four men sitting in a semi-circle around him.
Four... very familiar men.
***
John had found his guitar, and was clumsily strumming a loud blues riff repeatedly, howling at the top of his lungs.
George and Ringo had inadvertently entered into an impromptu staring contest, but by any sane person’s judgement, it was long since lost, as each of them repeatedly broke the other’s gaze, dissolving into giggles at John’s serenade.
Paul was slowly returning to their gathering on the floor, carrying a tray of drinks. It took him a good quarter of an hour to cross the fifteen feet from the kitchen to where the others were sitting, as every step had to be carefully calculated before hand, for fear of spilling the tray.
He settled down slowly, arranging the tray carefully so that it was an equal distance from himself and each of his band mates. Assured that the tray was perfectly positioned, Paul picked up a glass in one hand, and a pre-rolled joint in the other. Dangling the joint from his lips, he looked around for John’s lighter. Had he pocketed it? Or...
Paul’s gaze slowly rose to scan the rest of the room. Pillows... a blanket or two. Empty whiskey bottle... four guys...
Four guys?
Paul blinked hard, the glass in his hand falling from his grip and shattering. He stared at the strewn bodies that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there a moment before.
He locked eyes with the only one that was awake, a smallish guy with piercing green eyes and messy black hair. The newcomer stared right back, his mouth moving wordlessly for a moment before he finally spoke.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
***
Billie shook his head hard, trying to force the sight of... them out of his head.
It didn’t work.
He glanced behind himself to find his band mates still unconscious. Mike was nearest at hand. Grabbing Mike’s knee hard, he shook at the bassist’s leg, hissing his name repeatedly.
“Mike... Mike, wake up... Mikey.”
Mike threw an arm over his eyes.
“Shut up, Bill.” He mumbled.
Billie’s voice rose to a high pitched squeak.
“Mikey, wake up.”
Mike slowly drew his arm from his eyes, glaring at the smaller man, who was still jiggling his leg.
“What do you want?” He growled.
“Mike, what the fuck was in the weed we smoked tonight?”
Mike raised an eyebrow.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know? You bought it.”
There was a tense pause, Billie forcing himself to lock eyes with Mike. Mike blinked. Something seemed a bit off. Why was the sun up? Had they been out that long? If that was so, why did he still feel so buzzed? Hadn’t he fallen asleep on a couch? Why was he on the floor?
“Why?” He asked Billie, wondering if Billie’s distrust in their weed had something to do with this confusion.
Billie gulped. “Mike... Look behind me. Look at who’s sitting there.”
Mike sat up a little, looking over Billie’s body to...
Four guys. In jeans and t-shirts, barefoot. One had a guitar. Two were staring at each other, and the fourth was staring at Billie, at Billie and now at Mike. Billie’s voice was squeaking at him again.
“Who is that, Mike? Tell me who that is.”
Mike cleared his throat.
“It... Um... It looks like Paul McCartney, Bill.”