Chapter Text
Lying stretched out in the middle of a hotel room bed on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, Billie Joe was barely covered by a towel, a remnant from his cold shower that had done little to ease his discomfort. The air conditioning was blasting at its lowest setting, but the coolness did nothing to alleviate the heat and pressure he felt.
Billie Joe was grappling with a problem that was both unusual and inconvenient: he was knocked up, which was a problem in itself but not the main issue at hand.
Idly rubbing his hand over his very quickly growing stomach, Billie sighed to himself. Wondering how he ended up in such a predicament while on tour of all things. Touring while four months pregnant wasn’t exactly fun by any means, mostly because he couldn’t drink, go out, or do any of the things that made touring so enjoyable.
His doctor had expressed serious concerns about him performing, but Billie insisted on staying on stage. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to confront the reality of either revealing his condition or cutting the tour short, But again, that wasn’t even the main issue at hand—it was one of the million issues he had—but no, it wasn’t the cake topper by any means.
As if being single, thirty-two years old, and pregnant wasn’t challenging enough, Billie Joe faced an added complication: he didn’t know who knocked him up to begin with. There were only two possible candidates, which offered a small consolation. At least he wasn’t dealing with the aftermath of a one-night stand with a stranger—a lesson he’d learned the hard way after a pregnancy scare at twenty-one, which had taught him to be cautious about whom he brought into his life and his bed—or backseat of his car—because Billie will always be the first to admit that he was kind of a slut in his band’s early days, but hey, he had fun.
He’s pretty sure it happened the week he was ovulating, thus climbing up the walls with his own wants. And so enter Mike, who was gracious enough to help Billie Joe in his time of need, per usual. It’s all kind of blurry and was definitely a spur-the-moment thing that happened in Mike's hotel room, sans any protection in the heat of the moment or something like that; it wasn’t like he was so horny that he knocked on Mike’s door and jumped him or anything; he wasn’t that desperate, except for—he kind of was—and he did just that, but semantics.
Then he may or may not have, no scratch that, he definitely fucked Tré in a post-show adrenaline-induced haze a day or so later, only for the stupid condom to break, and so when Billie Joe showed up pregnant a month later based on the predicted dates of possible conception he received in some clinic in the middle of Spain, it’s pretty much a toss up of who the actual father is.
As Billie Joe lay in bed, trying to find some solace in the dimly lit room, the sounds of an escalating argument drifted through the hotel hallway. The raised voices were unmistakable: it was Tré and Mike caught up in a heated debate. Their words were punctuated by sharp, insistent tones as they bickered back and forth.
"I told you, Mike, I’m the baby daddy! We were together just before—" Tré's voice was cut off abruptly by Mike.
"Are you kidding me, Tré? You slept with him, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything!" Mike retorted, his frustration evident. "If anything, I’m the father; it just makes sense!”
Billie Joe listened, a mix of dread and exasperation churning in his stomach. The argument was a painful reminder of his complicated situation and the two men who were now entangled in it. The fact that they were both so adamant about their claim was overwhelming, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for the turmoil he inadvertently caused.
“Jesus Christ, you sure think highly of your little swimmers, don’t you?” Tré snarked back.
“All I’m saying is, me and Billie didn’t use protection.” Mike’s voice sounded through the cheap wood of the hotel door. He sighed deeply, wishing he could just disappear from the whirlwind of accusations and emotions. The noise from the hallway grew louder and more intense, but Billie Joe stayed in bed, unable to bring himself to stand up to tell them to shut the fuck up.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it, his hotel door soon opened up, revealing the two bickering men.
“Hey, Bill, I brought you food.” Mike's face immediately changed from scowling to smiling wildly at Billie as he held out a large, greasy McDonald’s bag for Billie to see. Billie immediately sat straight up at the sight of what was sure to be a bag of his latest cravings. Holding his hands out and making a grabby motion with them, Mike was quick to pass the bag over to Billie Joe, leaning in to kiss Billie on the lips in the process—a kiss Billie Joe welcomed, largely because Mike had brought him food—a tried and true method to get into Billie’s good graces since he became pregnant in the first place.
"Hey, it was my idea to go get food!” Tré butted in, inevitably resuming the argument from the hallway.
“Well, I paid for it.” Mike shot back.
Billie Joe watched as Tré and Mike continued their argument; the tension in the room was palpable. Billie did his best to ignore them, but Tré’s frustration was evident, his face reddening with each point he made, while Mike’s determination was equally clear as he stood his ground. Billie Joe sighed; he just wanted to eat in peace.
"Guys, can we just..." Billie Joe started, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He wasn’t sure what he could say that would help, but he needed to try.
Tré, noticing Billie's distressed expression, softened slightly. “Sorry, Bill. We didn’t mean to bring drama into your room.”
Mike, sitting down on the bed next to Billie, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we got carried away. You should eat—you need to take care of yourself.”
Billie Joe resumed opening up the bag with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
The two men resigned to silence as Billie Joe began unpacking the food, Billie was grateful for the small comfort the food provided. The room fell into an uneasy silence as he took a bite of a burger, making a point to ignore the glares Tré and Mike were currently throwing at each other. Only five more months to go. Billie Joe grumbled to himself.