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Joe wasn't really shirking his duties, he was allowed to be on break, no really it was in his contract and everything, not to mention probably against labor laws or something, but Hugh was relentless. Which is why Joe thought this crawl space would be a good idea. Hugh O'Shea was his dialect coach and as far as Joe was concerned was helping him work some magic, not only was a British accent coming out of him but very near to John Deacon's original idiolect. Ben and Gwil, those lucky ducks got to skip out. At least he could consol himself that he wasn't Rami.
Rami had by far the most lines, the most attention would be on him, and far far more people knew Freddie Mercury's voice than a bassist who prefered monosyllabic answers, no matter how quirky his voice was. But William Conacher, Rami's dialect coach, seemed to be this thing, a thing called sane.
Joe wishes he could relate as he sat himself down on the insulation foam, at least there didn't seem to be any signs of rats or racoons up here and the current mild temperature meant this room was tolerable if not a little uncomfortably hot which is why Joe thought it best to strip off his hat (oh his poor, poor hair), jacket, shirt, shoes and socks, as to not sweat in them.
Little did he know what fate he was committing to as he removed his rubber lined soles. There was a reason no vermin was about, and it wasn't because the contractors had been good or dutiful. He settled down to game on his phone, dangerously draining its battery further until his break was over, he then unknowingly, unwillingly stood back up without first putting back on his shoes. His fate was sealed as two hundred and thirty volts traveled through his feet, up his body, his phone and left them both fried.
At first he didn't fully awake, only able to hear the faint sound of arguing come from a little ways away. Joe didn't know what had happened to him but he could feel how his whole body ached. It sounded like a man and woman arguing before the woman was finally fed up enough to storm off. It was quiet but for the sound of the man's shoes approaching him, Joe could barely get his fingers to twitch but was able to flutter his eyes long enough to see platforms, the same kind of horrible ones wardrobe had fitted him for.
Something must have happened to his shoes, he could feel the cold air on his bare feet at least, and was horrified at the thought of having to wear platform's home, was the hair not enough? "What the- ! Oh, you really don't look alright. Do you need me to call someone? Harris has a phone you can borrow."
Joe couldn't get his eyes to focus, possibly because of his throbbing headache but he could see Gwilym, fully kitted out, leaning over him. "Wha-" Joe tries, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he struggled to his feet, Gwil helping him by throwing one of Joe's arm over his shoulder. It was hard because Joe's legs didn't feel firm under him. "What happened to mine?"
"A yank?" A what? "Your what?" Gwil asked and Joe could tell now that he was being held close by the other man, that this wasn't actually Gwil. The nose was hooked and the blue eyes were hazel.
"My.... my phone," he whispered, so lowly that it's doubtful he can be heard, as he spotted the completely fried brick at his feet. Even if the screen could work, for as long as it had some battery, it couldn't connect to wi-fi or signal because Joe was starting to get a dawning fear overwhelming him. Either he was in a coma and hallucinating, if so he doubts everything would be so clear and he certainly wishes he wasn't in so much pain, or he's really travel to when it would be possible for a young Brian May to be holding him. "My shoes," Joe finally lies as he scrunches up his toes in against the cold ground but fuck is it also September here?
"I don't know but they don't seem to be here. It's probably best if we take you inside, you really don't look well," Brian feared the man would be belligerent or protest but Joe was all but meek once he'd picked up his black mirror. Joe wanted to be helpful, he really did but his feet were stinging terribly not to mention how his legs felt, not only tingling and numbness but also rather painful spasms that nearly toppled him over. They could barely make it to the building's stoop.
Rather than try to climb the stair to get up to the flat, Brian just obnoxiously rings the buzzer to make it clear they don't just need to be buzzed up. It's a young Roger Taylor that sticks his head out the window some three stories up and looks down at them, "Whatcha need Bri?"
"Help carrying him up, he's been injured," Bri signals to Joe who is once again sitting on the floor, anything to get off of his aching feet. Yet as bad as they feel it's nothing compare to the headache he's nursing, at this point it honestly feels like it must be a migraine but he's never had one of those and can't be sure.
Roger doesn't ask anything else or dawdle as he and a rather very similar although slightly stronger blond come down quickly. Is his mind trying to conjure Ben somehow? Aside from his blonde hair, his face actually looks rather more like Deaky's. Did Deaky ever dye his hair? Joe is still having a bit of a difficult time getting his eyes to focus, maybe he really is hallucinating all of this "Hi-hi- I'm Joe."
"A yank?" The two blondes question simultaneously and Joe understands now, it's his accent, they're calling him an American. Are they really that unusual and noticeable? He'd think that London, even in the early 70's would be more international than that. "He's hurt, I don't know what's happening but his muscles can't stop spasming and his feet are injured," Brian explains before he turns to Joe, "I'm Brian." Right well at least he didn't introduce himself as Gwilym.
"Roger." / "John Harris," the other blond answers, oh Joe vaguely remembers him from the biographies, that's Queen's first roadie and decent friend to the band. Roger looks up, squinting at the streetlight. Joe had noticed it was dark here but he doesn't know if with the time difference between LA and London, it's actually still the same time relative to the year. "Best take him up then, can't see shite with this light, unless you want us to call an ambi?"
Joe blinks, an ambulance? "No- I don't think it's too bad," not to mention, if he was admitted into a hospital there would be questions, papers to fill, a literal paper trail, who would he tell them he was?
"Mmm," Harris starts thoughtfully as he looked at Joe's soles, Joe hadn't dared look yet, if it appeared as bad as it felt, "Probably just easiest if we carry you up." He looked at Roger "Split or alternate?"
"Split," Roger and Brian answered at the same time. The buildings narrow staircases would be much better suited to one person carrying him then grabbing top and bottom respectively.
With Joe's permission, he was carried like a sack of potatoes up a flight before being passed off. Brian wanted to be helpful but the 70's boys doubted whether or not the poor guitarist could make it up a landing and Joe couldn't blame them, Brian looked like little more than skin and bones. Eventually the heavier set Harris had him up at an apartment where a party was going on, judging by the music and loud laughing. Joe could feel his headache throb and he clutched at his poor noggin.
"Is your head hurting you?"
"I guess we might as well clear out, already got Suzy all pissed," Roger said with a commiserating look at Brian, who looked down rather humiliated, "Yeah, she's not coming back."
Harris shook his head as they entered the flat, "Didn't have to look like you were enjoying yourself snogging that bird so much mate." To which Brian's face soured, clearly not enjoying being told what to do but not arguing to defend himself. When they bring Joe in and clear space on the couch to settle him down, Joe understands where the source of contention comes from. They, a bunch of college students that includes one Freddie Mercury and one John Deacon, were playing spin the bottle.
Yeah passionately making out with someone other than your girlfriend was probably not the best life decision especially because Brian wasn't acting that sauced. "Let me look," Freddie Mercury says in a doting voice as he gently takes a wet rag to Joe's feet, man his life is so strange sometimes. "Oh, look at these burns," that would explain why it stings so. "What on earth did you do darling?"
It's odd because Rami has been doing so much study prep with him but Joe can tell that this Freddie hasn't perfected his Mr. Fahrenheit persona like he later will, Joe can tell that the extrovert confidence is only a facade. But there's nothing wrong with that, with wanting to project another, better version of yourself, of course not or else Joe wouldn't have become an actor. "I'm not sure."
"Are you cold? What's happened to your shirt?" Brian asks as he tucks him in with a scratch yarn quilt. The couch is now completely cleared of coeds, in fact Roger is sending them and everyone else on their way in his charming manner. Should he apologize for shutting the party down, but honestly he doesn't know if he could cope in the state he's in. Soon it's only the four band members left.
"I don't- I'm not sure," Joe carefully threads the needle on lying, he knows he took his shirt off because he was too warm but that'd only leave them with more questions, what is he going to do about having time traveled? Hope it's all a fevered dream that will pass with his headache? Tell them the truth and hope they, broke college students, can somehow help him?
"Is the light too bright for your eyes?" Honestly having them fuss over him is really overwhelming, Roger doesn't wait for an answer before dimming the lights and also turning off the already lowered music. Seeing the three of them so young is really trippy, especially Freddie, healthy and vibrant, but where is-
"Muscle spasms you say?" Deaky comes out of what must be the kitchen drying his hands on a tea towel. "Is there any tingling or numbness in your limbs?" Joe nods, speechless for once in his life, but damn, not only is this the man he's been professionally stalking for the past months but he's so... well pretty in person. He must have put in some effort for the party because his hair is straightened and he's wearing a lovely soft womanly blouse. Damn between 70's fashion and the force of nature that must be Freddie and Roger, it's little wonder the man has ended up looking so lovely.
"I mean those are all the relatively non serious signs of electrocution," Ah, that would explain it. "What to watch out for with electric shock is compartment syndrome. Swelling that can compress arteries, hence the name. Just gotta watch your arms and legs."
"Well at least they're pretty," Joe quips out without thinking about it. There's a silence and Joe desperately tries to remember when exactly homosexuality was legalized, it was late 60's right? Some time before the moon landing?
It's Roger that breaks the ice with a slight chuckle, "Good to know your ego is still kicking."
"Well we can't all be as pretty as you but I do try," again Joe has no self-control, ah he always knew his mouth was going to get him into trouble.
"If I'm the pretty one, then why do you keep looking at Freddie?" Roger says in a joking tone but Joe is concerned that the drummer's famous temper is waiting just under the surface.
Joe tries to look away but it's just- Well, it's Freddie Fucking Mercury. He's trying his best but it's really distracting. He's also become so use to Rami that the singer's brown eyes and other differences are striking, most noticeably his lips barely holding back his teeth, there's currently no mustache to hide it and it's a lot more than Rami's prosthetic.
"I'm sorry I just-" It's now or never but how can he justify lying to them? At the very least he needs a place to stay tonight or hell, even shoes or a shirt. He doesn't have a valid ID or money or anything. If he doesn't ask for their help, he'll be completely stranded some dozen years before he was even born. They might help him just for an evening if he fakes memory loss or banks on his very real injury but what if he needs more than that, lying to them is sure to create the kind of bad faith he can not undo. Broken trust is like wrinkled paper, you can smooth it out but the creases will always remain.
That being said, he doesn't have to throw them right into the deep end all at once, because he really does need their help. "I- I'm not sure how best to start because I wasn't planning on my day, evening, to end this way, but I want to start by thanking you for all your help I really needed it. I don't know how it happened, I was just chilling in- Well actually I probably shouldn't have been there and it was warm, so I took off my hat," he's actually kind of surprised none of them have commented on how he is rocking an afro almost to rival Brian's currently growing out mop, "Top and shoes, and then when I put my feet back on the ground, I was standing on some insulation I- I know this is going to sound unbelieva-"
"What?" Deaky scrunches up his brow as he looks up from watching Freddie bandage Joe's now cleaned feet. "That's very believable, I'm just sorry you were so near a livewire, although it's good the damage isn't more. That must have blown the fuse, you did the right thing in going to find help."
"I- Oh, thanks," Joe can't help but to be very self-conscious in front of this man he is portraying but has never met. He doesn't feel like his unofficial biographer so much as a stalker like: I've watched hours of you dancing for 'research.' That's sure to come out right, not to mention that right now Joe is actually older than him by quite a bit, like probably fifteen years. "But that, that wasn't actually the unbelievable part," Joe says shyily under all of their stares.
Brian and Roger are watching him from where they are standing around the coffee table sipping at their beers and he avoids the gazes of the two Queen members he has met. "As you have all astutely noticed, I am in fact not British but rather American. I didn't travel here, I mean last I knew I was in a crawl space in California." In the year 2017, he does not say.
They blink at him very surprised but honestly it might be best to rip the bandage off, "I don't know how, honestly I have no clue, I didn't even-" He shrugs as though to say 'I swear I'm not a mad scientist that was trying to build a teleporter.' "That's part of the reason why I didn't want you to call an ambulance, I don't have like a valid visa or anything to be here in this country." He waits a beat before his motormouth follows up with, "The other reason is of course that I'm not that hurt."
They still looked to be in rather stunned shock, Joe is honestly right there with them. He's still half convinced that his scrambled brain is fabricating this and it will all dissipate with his headache. "And then- that's not all." He hasn't actually spend enough time with O'Shea for it be natural but he can make the conscious switch as he speaks next in his best imitation of John Deacon, "I didn't just travel through space. Space and time are generally considered irrevocably intertwined."
He should probably be afraid, very afraid, he is after all in a strange world without any resources possibly alienating his only allies but honestly, time travel is easily the coolest thing that's ever happened to him! He got to meet Freddie Mercury and all of Queen! Really it's taking his all to not just squeal in thrilled delight but rather maintain the somberness this moment calls for, thank god for his acting experience.
"That's- That's impossible," Freddie says. At least his tone isn't cold, just pure disbelief.
"That does explain it," Brian says at the same time. The two songwriters look at each other. "I just- I was arguing with Sally-"
"I thought her name was Suzy?" Roger genuinely queried.
"Possible time traveler," Freddie interjected thumbing at Joe, "Focus."
"Right, right," the blond mumbled as he took a sip of his beer.
Brian just raised a very questioning brow before continuing. "And I hear a thump from the alley, which must have been Joe falling because I go to investigate and I found him on the ground. Thought he must have fallen from a window because there's nothing that leads into that alley."
"What did you check to make sure that alley was empty first because you were going to blow her?" Freddie jokes, Brian blushes but only says a "Not exactly," in return. Everyone laughs at this.
Deaky settles himself carefully next to Joe, looking at him intently. Joe wonders what trick or feat he might be asked to pull off to prove his claim of coming from the future. "So... Are you my son?" Joe can feel his eyes widen as his body stiffens but he thankfully does not tumble off of the couch. "You can't be me unless," John waves a hand, "You're some sort of reincarnation, I don't think I'm going to look like that in ten years."
"No, no, I'm not you reincarnated," Joe quickly shuts that down, now back to his New York accent. But fuck would it not be convenient to lie and claim to be his son, they look alike, he knows a ton about his life, but honestly a lie that big would be so easy to mess up. "I'm not your son, although I intentionally look a lot like you."
"Oh, please be aliens," Roger whispers loudly to Brian. What the fuck, even if it is better than being rejected, being thought of as an alien is out there, although possibly not that much more than being a teleporting time traveler that looks and can sound just like one of them.
"I'm not an alien or at least not that I know of," Joe's only being honest. "I was, I will be born in 1983 and I grow up to be an actor, that's my profession. And so when they were casting for the Queen movie, I was picked for the role of John Richard Deacon." Just saying that was nerve racking, fuck, fuck, fuck, he wipes his clammy palms against his pant legs.
There's silence for an uncomfortably long time. They seem to be more sceptical of this than the time travel. They keep looking at each other with these expressions of disbelief. "So we-" Freddie starts, "We really make it in the end."
Joe swallows, everything he's saying could be messing terribly with the timeline. "Yes, you really, really make it, and then some," he answers honestly.
Freddie seems really ready to believe this while Deaky deflates at his side. "You do have children though, I'm just not one of them," Joe tries to reassure but if anything Deaky looks even more uncomfortable about this. Joe's understanding was that it was a shotgun wedding and that their relationship went through many difficult times so maybe anything that will point him in that direction should be avoided. He tries his best to dig himself out of this mess the same way he does near everything, by talking, "You're retired though now and hate the limelight, so I don't personally know-"
Deaky places a large, really exceptionally large, warm hand on his forearm to get him to shut up. The blanket Brian wrapped him in has started to slip and half of his torso is exposed and from this close up Joe can smell that strong perfume that must be Freddie's. He feels so weirdly intimate with a man he's never actually met because of the stalking research he's had to do to prepare for the role.
"This is all just a lot to take in right now," Deaky says honestly as he gets up from the couch and stares down his bandmates as he talks, "Maybe it's best we don't know too much about our futures anyways. If whatever force brought you here means you can't go back then we will accept your help as to avoid our troubles with your clairvoyance. But if you were to be brought back to your own time, it's best we leave it so it's still there, as you left it. For now, you are welcome to just stay the night, as our friend."
His band members meekly seem to nod and agree under his final and ultimate statement although he can see the questions burning in all of their eyes. Oh the things he could tell them, about Brian and his doctorate work stopped for nearly 40 years, about Freddie and the husband he will have one day, and Roger and the crazy rock star life he's only ever dreamed of. Instead he, to borrow from the British, stays mum on the topic, at least for tonight.