This took me two years to complete, thanks to my habit of ignoring it for five months at a time. And now it's finally finished. OHEMGEE. 7000+ words and the most fucked up thing I've written to date.

Title: Fairy Dust
Rating: R
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Pairing: Billie/Tre
Summary: Billie Joe meets a mysterious woman in his regular bar one night. She convinces him to go back home with her, but soon Billie finds himself trapped in his own twisted reality.
A/N: I know it looks Mary Sue-ish at the start, but there's a reason and I promise you there is slash in there. Somewhere. And god, this was so fun to write =D


Billie sat in the corner of the bar, watching the couples dancing and people talking together in groups, happy with their little world. He was alone, the way he liked it, apart from a bottomless glass of whiskey. He came here almost every night, mainly to get away from Adrienne’s constant screaming at him, but also just so he could see other people and, for a moment, be part of their lives. He didn’t know them and he didn’t particularly want to, he simply enjoyed watching them. It was a sort of therapy for him, although the drink helped.

He hid in the shadows slightly so no one would recognize him while he was there. He would get easily annoyed if disturbed and regular customers had learnt to ignore the lonely guy in the corner. He had been coming here for a few months, each time he went to the bar, ordered a whiskey and went to his regular corner, often not leaving for many hours. When he wasn’t scrutinizing every person within sight, he stared at the wall, or the table, or the floor, thinking about the latest problem that had arisen to make his life even less enjoyable. No one talked to him. No one looked at him. No one dared to ask him for a dance or an autograph.

It was a typical evening of suffocating depression and unbearable loneliness. The club was filling up, and Billie began his nightly ritual. He drained his glass, and dragged his feet back to the bar to buy another one. He stuffed a hand into his back pocket to pay, but a perfectly manicured hand gave a crisp five dollar bill to the bartender and a husky voice noted that she was paying for it. Billie cleared his throat, thanked the voice but insisted he was paying for himself, handing over his own money and nodding for the bartender to give the lady her money back. He didn’t look at her, annoyed that someone had the arrogance to think that he wanted a drink bought for him. Picking up his whiskey, he shuffled back over to his regular seat and settled down, but bristled when he heard the same voice that tried to buy his drink asking him if they could sit down.

He flicked his eyes up to look at her, and was mildly surprised to discover the striking brunette in front of him. She took his silence as acceptance and settled herself down besides him as his gaze followed her. He glowered; she simply smiled and sipped on her drink. Curling his top lip in annoyance, he turned away from her and went back to watching the dancing crowd. However, his gaze kept slipping back over to the woman, studying her every detail; from the perfectly manicured nails, to the blood red stilettos, to her pale limbs and then over her dress, tight to reveal the toned muscle beneath, yet just loose enough to look elegant.

He had to admit he was flattered to be in her company, most girls with a face that could tempt saints would be on the dance floor, being adored by a flocking crowd of arrogant or drunk men. He was vaguely amazed that none of the other customers had disturbed them yet, but surprise was replaced by realization as he caught a reflection of himself off the bottom of his glass. He looked like death, his black hair greasy, messy and falling across his face; pale waxy skin pulled taunt against his skull and dark red circles encasing his joyless green eyes. That's what no showers, no food, no sleep and a lot of whiskey did to you, he justified. No wonder everyone avoided him.

He sighed, and put down his now empty glass. He began to rise on the idea of getting himself another, but the woman laid a hand his arm, and pointed to his drink. It was full again, and had Billie been slightly more sober he would have worried. But he wasn't, and he didn't, so he resettled himself and sipped from the glass. He failed to notice it was a stronger liquor, his vision was blurry and his taste buds had long since given up trying to distinguish what poison he was consuming that night.

He felt a little more talkative with the copious amount of alcohol rushing through his veins, and inquired his company's name. She purred,

'Lucy.'

'I'm Billie,' he replied, to which she smiled and said,

'I know.'

He didn't register this. He raised the familiar glass to his lips, and to his dismay found it to be empty yet again. He pouted, confused as to who had finished off his drink, his mind having disconnected it's self from the rest of his body and so was unaware of what he was actually doing. Lucy was fully aware of this as she re-filled Billie's glass again and watched as he downed it all in one go, and shuddered ever so slightly from the dull burning at the back of his throat.

She smiled knowingly at him, a look of mock affection adorning her features gracefully. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she cocked her head to one side and glanced over at him, noting the heavy lidded eyes and inability to stop swaying whenever he moved.

'You're drunk, Billie,' she commented.

'Am not.' He slurred in reply

She smirked at his childish manner.

'That's sweet... but you really are drunk. How are you planning on getting home?'

Billie thought for a moment, then sneered,

'Don't wanna go home.'

'Oh, well then I suppose you better come home with me, then.' She replied after no pause for thought. It was, of course, what she had been planning. He shrugged, honestly not caring where he ended up. She continued,

'Well I think you've had enough. Ready to go?'

He looked around him, then realizing he didn't bring anything anyway, nodded and started to get up. Lucy quickly finished the last of her drink then picked up her bag, rising from her seat then stopping to check Billie was following suit. However, upon his second attempt at getting to his feet, Billie discovered he wasn't quite as sober as he originally assumed. Falling back onto the seat with a soft thud, he giggled hopelessly. Lucy raised her eyebrows at him.

'How exactly am I supposed to get you out of here, then?'

Billie giggled again. 'Carry meh.' He replied, only half joking.

She looked down at him, amusement evident in her eyes, laughing quietly.

'If you insist...'

She picked him up with surprising ease, considering her frame, and carried him out of the bar. He could hardly resist in his almost comatose alcohol induced state and so closed his eyes and let her place him carefully across the back seat of a dark red convertible. She checked he was comfortable enough before climbing into the driver’s side and starting up the car noiselessly, pulling out of the cark park and heading out onto the adjoining road.

They whipped through the traffic quickly, the convertible squeezing through spaces that a normal car shouldn't have been able to. Billie raised himself high enough to look out the window, trying to remember the route so he would know how to get back, but the constant twist and turns through side alleys and red lights made his head spin so fast he had to lie back down. The fresh air hit him swiftly and sobered him up a little, enough to realize he should just go home and face his own mess. However, the car seat was plush and comfy, and sleep was slowly becoming an irresistible option.

When he awoke, they were just pulling into a driveway which he assumed belonged to Lucy - the front garden was neat and well kept, matching every single other house on the street. Most of the other driveways contained shiny 4x4s and BMWs, sitting in front of large, white, identical homes. He studied it all in distaste. Conformity had never agreed with him. Lucy was already half way towards the house, so Billie ungracefully clambered out of the car and promptly fell over. Lucy watched him, having no particular urge to help. He managed to stumble to the front door that she held open for him, then once again he found himself slumped on the floor, limbs sprawled out in the most uncomfortable fashion. This time she stepped over him, flipped him over and hooked her hands under his arms so she could drag him though the hallway into the lounge. Once again, Billie's head lolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness.

This time when he awoke, he was momentarily blinded by the light, reflected off the pure white walls and being magnified by his hangover. He groaned, screwing up his eyes then blinking several times, attempting to adjust. He saw the white cushions of the matching sofa he was laying on. He saw the white carpet and the rest of the white furniture. He saw a white bowl, filled with white fruit, sitting on a clear glass coffee table. He blinked a few more times.

Everything was still very much colourless. He swung his legs to the left, bringing his body into a seating position. He turned his head to the only window in the room, almost totally hidden by white blinds. A small slice of dawn had crept through a small gap between the blinds, drawing a pale gold line across the carpet. The rest of the room was harshly lit by a series of small bulbs strewn across the ceiling.

Billie stared at it all for a while, unfocused and dizzy. He was tempted to move, but movement meant nausea, something he'd rather avoid for the time being. He had no idea how long he sat there, studying everything around him and watching the sun rise higher and higher until it was above the house, out of his sight. Going for hours without coherent thought or movement had become so much of a part of everyday life to him that he barely noticed the stiffness in his limbs increasing.

The sudden ticking of a clock startled him out of his trance. He looked around wildly, finally locating the source of the noise behind him. The big hand closed onto 3pm, as the seconds spun past, out of time and sync with the rest of the room. A wave of nausea rushed through Billie, landing on his stomach. He retched, and although nothing came up he rushed to the door to find a bathroom.

He wrenched the door open, leading from the room into a light hallway. He looked frantically from side to side, eventually settling for going left towards a wooden doorway near him on the opposite wall. He twisted the handle roughly and the door sprung open, revealing a small, very metallic bathroom, containing a single toilet and basin. He lurched forward, landing heavily on his knees in front of the toilet, but he didn't notice any pain as he violently threw up into the bowl, his whole body convulsing roughly and sweat damping his skin at almost every possible angle. He slumped against the wall with a groan and a grimace when he felt he was done.

Sitting against the cold metal, the minutes resumed their slow crawl by as he attempted to calm down and allow his breathing to regulate somewhat. He leant his head back to feel the cool surface against his skull, hoping it would help to clear away the dense acid fog, and distract him from the taste of bile that still resided on the tip of his tongue. His head was pounding. He felt fatigued beyond reason, but something was holding him on the edge of consciousness making everything spin once more.

Eventually he pulled himself up to a vague standing position, though he still leaned on the walls to stop him sliding back down onto the floor. The door was wide open and he managed to reach it after a few unsure steps, clinging onto the frame for a moment as he peered down the hallway each side. It looked normal enough, a few doors here and there, all closed. He wasn't sure which was the lounge he had come out of, but he did not want to go back in there anyway. He tried to remember the girl's name, the one who'd brought him here. Louise? Lisa? Something beginning with L, he could remember that much. He vaguely noted the lack of decoration with a twisted smile, making a half-hearted reminder to tell her about it, if he ever saw her again. However, he was more focused on finding the front door and getting out, going home and getting yelled at by Adrienne for disappearing all night, again.

The first door he tried was a little to the left of the bathroom, and it opened easily enough to reveal an equally tiny kitchen with the same metal finish. This too was lighted by the bulbs in the ceiling, but there were no windows for any natural light to creep through. He shut that door noiselessly after a brief look and moved onto the next, this one revealing the white lounge. He closed that door hastily and took a step back to breathe before he attempted the next in the line.

This door looked slightly older than the others, the paint a little cracked and peeling. He twisted the handle and gave the door a light push, but it felt stiffer than the others. He tried again, leaning on the handle more and shoving it harder, and it creaked open a touch more. On his third try, he wrenched the knob and shoulder-barged the wood, the door flew open and he was propelled through whether he wanted to or not.

He regained his balance a few steps from the hallway, his fingers still clutching the hilt. He looked up and immediately released his grip, barely noticing the door swinging shut with a click behind him. He thought for a second that maybe he'd entered the garden, but the high brick walls gave nothing away about his bearings and the sky was a thunderous blue, a complete contrast to the golden dawn light he'd seen not so long ago. He glanced quickly around. It appeared he was standing in some long-forgotten courtyard, the chessboard paving cracked and littered with hardy weeds. Around the walls climbed various leafy plants, untamed shrubs sitting at their heels amongst rubble and decaying compost. Along the two walls either side of him stood six marble carvings, a motley combination of life size statues and busts perched on crumbling pillars, all tarnished and ruined - some missing limbs or facial features, large cracks disfiguring the once perfect shapes and some even lying in pieces around the pedestal they once sat on.

At the very end of the courtyard was another wooden door half hidden by creepers, but Billie didn't notice it. He was approaching the first statue on his right, drawn to its subdued pose and features. It was still fairly complete although it was now balancing precariously on one leg, the other lying in two pieces on the ground beneath. As he stepped closer he held his breath for a reason unknown to his conscious self, preserving the silence that surrounded the carving. Another step and he was close enough to see the features in detail, to realize with a jot of shock who the statue was.

'No...' He whispered, staring up at it wide eyed. It couldn't be... but there was the hair, the smile, those eyes. It was. He stared harder. The marble Mike stared back with sad, unseeing eyes. Billie took a step away from the effigy and turned, now facing the cracked bust on the opposite side. A sense of trepidation filled him as he glanced around the courtyard once again, seeing each of the carvings with a new fear of whom else he might discover. Looking again to the bust in front, it was whole enough for him to distinguish some facial details over the short distance, but it was only once he was within touching distance that he found the next stone friend glaring miserably at him - Jason.

He stared at it in horror for a few seconds. Whirling around, he saw the statue next to him, shortest of the complete ones. He could see now it was in fact two figures huddled together, the slightly larger one seemingly comforting the smaller while battling with his own pain, eyes screwed shut to hold back the threatening tears. It was slowly crumbling into irreparable pieces but he'd be hard-pushed not to recognize Joey and Jacob when he saw them. Not being able to bear looking at his own kids so anguished he rushed to the opposite wall, finding a model of Tim Armstrong lying on the ground, split into three and smothered by the creepers slithering off the walls. His eyes flickered over to the last in the line on that wall, a bust that was so cracked and chipped he only just identify his wife from her hair and half the lonely smile that ghosted her stone lips.

He slowly, cautiously turned around to view the final statue in the courtyard. It looked like someone had really let their rage out on it, now scattered in uncountable pieces around where it had once stood proud. Billie approached the pile of smashed marble with a lump in his throat and terrible feeling of dread in his stomach, knowing there was only one person left who this could be - but there was always the chance he could have been left out, couldn't it? His heart doubted it.

Kneeling down in front of the pile, he began to pick up various bits and place them back down next to him as he sorted through it, searching for a piece whole enough to prove him wrong, show that it was someone else entirely to the drummer he cared about so much. He continued searching, in vain however as most of it was so broken he couldn't tell what any of it once was. He started to get frantic, the feeling of dread doubling and tripling with each unsuccessful piece.

'No, no, no!' He screamed, shifting through the rubble as fast as he could, desperate to find something to identify who this statue had once been. He uncovered what looked like part of a face but it wasn't enough, couldn't help him. He pulled out half an arm, from the shoulder to the elbow, studied it for a moment then dropped it with a scream. Near the top one of the climbers had wrapped its ornate tendrils around, leaving a mark where it had been. Most of the dark lines had rubbed off over the eternity it had been lying there, but there was one point where it was still clear as a tattoo - the letters E B P M. Billie's hand flew to the point on his wrist where he had the same markings and choked back a sob, not comprehending why Tre's statue was dashed to rubble more than any of the others.

He got up and stumbled back, feeling wretched but filled with a sudden determination to get out of there as fast as he could. His gaze flew blindly past the entrance he came through, instead falling on the shrouded door closest too him, the handle tarnished and slightly covered by dried stems. Running towards it, he pushed the foliage away from it with one hand while the other grasped onto the handle, jerking it open towards him as he slipped around and began to step over the threshold.

And stopped, as there was nothing over the threshold to step onto. At his feet was a tiny ledge, barely enough for anyone to safely stand on. The sky was the same oppressing dark that had been in the courtyard, but as he looked down the space became lighter, sunnier, with large fluffy clouds obscuring the hidden world below. He peered around each side of the doorframe, clinging to it as he did so, but all he could see was more of the threatening storm fading down into the cool blue.

The only object within sight was about two hundred feet in front, a tall, thin rusty metal tower that leered down at him with distant menace. At the top were two spikes opposite each other, twisting around to form a short, dirty spiral. The tower disappeared down through the clouds below so Billie had no idea of the height of the thing, but it's looming presence made him think it stretched on for miles down to the surface below, wherever that was. He couldn't see any movement nor any sign of life, the blackened exterior giving no clue as to what, if anything, was happening within its walls.

Billie stepped back and made to shut the door again, realizing he could not go anywhere that way, but he was stopped by two hands suddenly pressing against his back. Hesitating for a moment, he slowly turned around to see Lucy standing there, blocking his way. He tried to step past her but she quickly darted to one side, obstructing him. He tried again but still she refused to let him past, giving him the smallest of smiles with each go. Frustrated, he yelled,

'Would you just let me-?'

She suddenly shoved him backwards, tipping him over the ledge without saying a single word. He screamed, he was falling, falling so fast through the clouds and the endless space that it felt like he would just tumble forever -

'Ah, fuck!' He hit the floor. He attempted moving a little, his back hurt from falling onto it but amazingly nothing was broken, just a little sore and disorientated. Shaking his head, he blinked a few times to get accustomed to the surrounded darkness, penetrated by a single shaft of light. He paused. Darkness?

The floor he had landed on felt hard and cold, most probably metal, though his fingertips came away covered in dirt when he brushed them against it. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and took in the scenery, from the high circular walls, to the fine layer of grime over everything, to the obvious neglect and then up to the small window at about eye level. He staggered to his feet and walked over to it, placing his hands cautiously on the bars that protected the smeared glass as he squinted at the outside world. It looked, as far as he could see, like the same view from the door, the same white clouds below and black ones above, although instead of the tower now he could see a small flat rock, seemingly floating there without any visible means of support. As he scrutinized it closer, he could make a out a white rectangular shape perched on top, with a smaller shape inside just swinging shut - the door he's just been throw out of.

'But that means...' he whispered to himself, it dawning on him slowly that he was somehow now in the very same tower he'd been staring at moments before Looking around, there were no other doors, windows or miscellaneous holes that he could have fallen through. He turned back to look at the door, but clouds were beginning to drift across and soon his view was completed smothered, any clue of Lucy or the strange courtyard vanished behind the screen of water droplets. He sighed heavily, spinning around to pace around the room and find his way out. Instead, however, he found Tre gazing at him from the other side of the room.

The drummer crossed the room in a few steps and pressed his lips against Billie's, his usual welcome when they were alone. His arms snaked around his neck, pulling him close as he kissed him, so softly and tentatively that Billie followed his urge to slam him against the wall and almost devour his mouth with such a ferocious response, one that made Tre gasp in surprise then groan in delight. Billie's hands roamed freely over the body he had not felt in so long, tracing the memorized patterns he used to caress so often. His mind clicked into gear at that passing thought, having skipped over wondering why on earth he had been joined in this seemingly solitary reality.

'Why did we ever stop doing this?' he murmured into Tre's neck, nibbling slightly on the warm skin.

'Because you were always drunk, Billie.' He responded, his voice flat, unreadable.

'Oh.' Billie replied eventually, slowly lifting his head to meet the drummer's eyes. The cold, unwavering stare unnerved him and he quickly let his gaze drop back down again.

'But you're here now.' The tone was slightly more cheerful. Billie refrained from asking exactly where here was, or how either of them had got there, or why everything else fell into shadow in his mind as Tre's lips found his own.

He was gently led back across the room to a grubby mattress he had not noticed before; it had blended in so well with the rest of the decaying scene. Laying back on it, ignoring the protesting squeaks of the old springs and the dirt now rubbing against his skin, he pulled Tre down to lay on top of him and let anything else in his thoughts vanish, forgetting everything except the feel of a warm body pressed so close to his.

The next moments flowed by without him taking any heed of the passing time. They could have been there for seconds or an entire age, neither knew and neither would ever be bothered or distracted enough to find out. The touch, the caress, the taste of each other as they reclaimed what they had almost lost, it was both intoxicating and utterly refreshing at the same time. Hungrily he kissed, smoothed his hands over skin, yelped with delight for each fluid movement that brushed his flesh. They were lost in each other and for the moment, it appeared it would stay that way for an eternity.

As much as it seemed that anything was possible in this new world, endless time was not one of its tricks. Far too soon it was over and they were lying side by side, breathless and completely sated. Billie automatically reached out to the side to grab his pack of cigarettes, giving a short laugh when all his fingers touched was the rusted floor, attracting Tre's attention in the process. Within a moment he'd produced a fag from seemingly nowhere, a lighter soon following as Billie took it and breathed a sigh of thanks with the same exhalation of smoke. Taking it away from his lips, he held it in front of him and scrutinized it, a slow sense of confusion washing through his mind.

'Tre, where did you get this?' He did not receive the straight answer he had been expecting.

'I'd do anything for you, you know that, right?'

Billie smiled momentarily. 'It's all part of being in this band, yeah?'

'Yeah but... I'd do anything, absolutely anything, if you asked me to. And you wouldn't even stop drinking and come see me when I begged you to.' His smile faltered.

'I - I don't remember that.'

'That's probably because you were already plastered. ' Tre said after a long sigh.

'Sorry.' He whispered meekly.

'It doesn't matter.' The voice was so resigned, regretful, it gave Billie's heart a surprise jolt of... what was that? Anguish? Sympathy? Remorse? He was not so sure, but he did not like feeling that way. 'I meant what I said though. I would do anything.'

'Would you get me out of here?' He joked.

'I could - but only out of this room.'

'What's outside this room?'

'No idea. That's your problem, love, not mine.'

'Oh, fantastic.' Billie Joe groaned, sarcasm thick in his voice as he began to gather himself together and retrieve his clothes from around the room. Tre watched him as he moved, the post-coital glow fading quickly as he realized Billie was about to leave him, once again. His heart began to scream, begging his mind, his body to reach out and grab him, do anything to stop him walking away - but he did not move. Just simply watched him picking up his various items and re-dressing himself, that most precious body soon covered up. It seemed almost sinful. Tre nodded when he had finished, still lying on the considerably filthier mattress, then pointed to a portion of the wall where light could be seen peering out of thin, straight cracks. Billie's gaze followed the lines as they spread and shone with increasing vigour, until the clear shape of a door could be seen just waiting to be opened, waiting for him to step through into the next scene.

He stared at it. 'Through there?'

'Through there.' Tre confirmed.

'Kay,' he sighed heavily, still staring as he took a few cautious steps towards it.

'Wait.' Billie turned gratefully at Tre's commanding voice. 'Will you promise me something?'

'Sure.'

'Promise to come back to me?'

'What, back here or-'

'Wherever. Just back to me.'

Billie nodded after a brief pause, gave him the smallest of smiles and turned back to the exit, one hand raised up in front of him as he approached it. The door felt rough under his touch, but gave easily when he pushed against it, swinging soundlessly outwards and flooding the small room with a bright warm light that blinded the pair of them, their eyes so accustomed to the darkness. He shielded his gaze, and took the last step.

His feet landed on a surface that shifted under his weight, giving him the momentary sensation he was sinking. The brightness dimmed and he managed to open his eyes enough to look down, toeing the ground lightly and realising it was in fact sand he was standing on, stretching on as far as his tired eyes and the striking light would let him see. He moved forward slowly, the ground slipping away with each step and so slowing him down considerably as he began his attempt to find the next exit - he assumed there must be one, somewhere, at the end of this dry rainbow.

He peered into the distance as a collection of shapes appeared, small dark blocks that moved as though linked by chains, but the sun was too dazzling to allow him to see anything properly. Step by step, with every inch that he passed the mirage seemed to shrink and fall backwards until it became just a smudge on the horizon, entirely unreachable as his legs began to ache from the strain of battling the constantly shifting ground. He tried to run but within moments he was sinking to his knees, hands slamming into the rough particles and becoming prickled with thousands of dents as he brushed them off angrily. With sheer determination he was back on his feet and stumbling onward, unsure whether it was his own bravery or blind stupidity that had him continuing.

His gaze became fixed upon a dense brown mass he could see perched not too far, a little to his left and off his general course of direction, but he had no idea where he was heading anyway. Billie turned towards it, shuffling with a slightly damped sense of conviction but moving nonetheless, his mouth already too parched and his skin too tight for him to want to walk with any speed, although it still only took a few long, hot minutes for his feet to bring him to the side of a shrivelled spiky bush that barely cast a shadow on the burning sand.

Dropping down onto his knees once again, he let his head fall forward as he sighed, heavily, staring at the golden granules and dusty white curves that rested on top of them. With a frown he suddenly realized he was looking at something, a skeleton of some long forgotten creature that had found its way to this shrub and obviously collapsed, hunched and rejected, left to die. Suppressing a shudder he scrambled upright and skipped to the side, tilting his head to get a better look - long whisper-thin bones that curved and encircled to form a pair of huge delicate wings, some still attached by a translucent ochre material that flaked away when he brushed a hand over. These were attached, barely, to an awkward bird-like structure that seemed precious somehow, prehistoric maybe, though almost completely unaffected by whatever time may have passed since its death and this single moment.

Under one curled wing laid a thick clear glass bottle, hidden slightly by a build-up of sand around its sides and the creature's protection of it. Cautiously, as though it might wake in any instant, Billie crouched down and extracted the object, already peering closely at it as he straightened up and turned it around several times, trying to work out what was inside. There was definitely a sheet of some kind, black ink intertwining on the crisp dusty parchment and an image, smudged and distorted too much by the melted glass to see it clearly enough. Breaking off the waxy seal at the top with little difficultly, he shook it upside down and let the small leaf of paper fall into his outstretched hand, rocking slightly in the slight breeze that was now whispering across the desert.

Unfurling it carefully, he first noted the paragraph or so of the orange-tinted black words, looping and arching in some kind of old or foreign tongue that Billie had never seen before, though he still stared at it for a moment and traced the lines with his gaze, hoping somehow he might be able to understand it - but of course he could not. He looked lower down the parchment, to the image he had noticed before, but even now he could still only make out a mop of dark hair (he assumed it was black) and a cheeky grin. The latter convinced him it surely could not be his own image staring up, and solidified this by skimming over the next line or so of the same coded scribbling and recognizing nothing that would tell him otherwise. His gaze travelled down further automatically, and at the bottom he suddenly saw Tre's face glaring up at him, a polar opposite of the image above.

He dropped the bottle - and jumped back with a flourish as it hit the ground with a resounding clunk and rolled off to the side. He stared at the point it had landed for a moment, thinking (wondering with every fibre of his being what the hell is happening here), before cautiously shuffling forward on his knees to raise a hand and tap his knuckles lightly on the floor. There, it rang again with the heavy sound of knocked metal and Billie froze for almost an instant before dropping down and beginning to clear away as much sand as his calloused hands would let him, soon uncovering a grooved steel trapdoor in the middle of the desert. He tapped it lightly again - just to be sure - and a hollow ringing resounded from beneath, echoing for the briefest moment before the expanse of desert swallowed the noise. Tracing the edges with his fingertips he found a deeper grove that could act as a handle, and so slipping his fingers into it, he began to pries it up from the ground.

It was heavy but not unmovable. Struggling to get a grip with both hands, he hauled it up on one side - it appeared to be on a hinge - and let it fall with a loud clang onto the sand, revealing a small square hole, rippling as though it was filled with a thick oily liquid. He did not stop to think as he brought his hand to hover over the surface and quickly dipped his index finger into it, causing the brief sensation that he had plunged his whole arm into ice before he pulled it swiftly back out again. He turned his hand over to study it, though nothing appeared to have changed.

Peering back over the hole, he could see vague shapes, colours, dancing beneath the distorted surface. Again he dared to poke the twisting liquid and again he was rewarded with the icy blast, a not entirely unpleasant contrast to the stifling heat beating down on him. He looked once more around the desert. Seeing little alternative, he glanced back at the saturated colours and lights that shone from within then, after taking one final deep breath, he plunged himself head first through the opening.

There was a moment of screaming crushing cold, squeezing the air out of every cell of his body as he tumbled without direction, spinning so fast the lights became a luminous beacon blinding him - then he was collapsed on the floor, sprawled and gasping for breath as he wrapped his cold shaky limbs around his chest. All heat from the desert had been drained from him, leaving him shivering as he summoned enough energy to raise his head and look around blearily, noting with sad resignation that he was lying back in the sparse white hallway, no sign of where he had just fallen from but he could see that same bathroom just across from him, shining innocently with the reflected light from the corridor. He lay there quietly for a few minutes, his hands rubbing gently up and down his arms to get some heat back into them.

Eventually he gained enough strength to find his way back up onto his feet, resting one hand against the wall lightly. He glanced up and found himself looking down to the other end of the corridor, where the front door he had originally been searching for now stood - except, it was not quite there. The image swam hazily in the distance like he was drunk, slipping in and out of existence with no rhythm to focus on. He balanced himself and looked again, but the wall was bare, the door completely vanished once again. He shook his head as instead he chose the door (room?) almost directly in front of him on the opposite wall, no longer bothering to register anything else around him as he passed over the threshold and barely registered surprise as his old bedroom appeared, having resigned himself to the fact that nothing here was impossible.

Everything was just as it had been when he was fifteen years old - the poster-adorned walls, the CDs and cassettes strewn around on the floor, the obligatory teenage boy mess that covered almost everything. There was even Blue propped up on one side of the room, looking as loved and free as it had over seventeen years ago. Within moments he was crossing the room, picking up his guitar was both hands and then perching on the edge of his bed, fingers hovering over the strings as he pondered what to play.

Nothing seemed right. He started just to pick at them, pressing against the frets with no particular melody until a certain rhythm picked itself out, and he was playing Paper Lanterns for the first time in years (or was it only yesterday he was sitting in here, joking around with Mike and laughing with every hope of youth?). He did not sing the words but he could hear them faintly in his mind, soft and timid like they were unsure of themselves, not knowing if they should be there. Continuing playing, he looked around the room again, at the lack of any windows, at the piles of paper and notebooks where he scribbled the legions of lyrics he had conjured so freely, the dashed notes of tab so he could remember a certain riff or lick he liked.

It was the point before everything else started - before Tre, before Adrienne, before the fans and Dookie and the drink - just frozen in this room, waiting for him to come back and realize where it had all started. He stopped playing. He felt something slide down his cheek, tickling slightly, and rubbed a hand across his face to wipe away the first tear - but there were more on its trail and soon both hands were cradling his head as he sobbed, Blue lying forgotten in his lap. He could not stop them, just felt himself become hot and sticky and increasingly upset with every sob that wracked his body, as he curled up into himself and into the comfort of his own bed, letting the tears come freely.

He laid there still until the tears started to dry up and he tried to wipe his cheek again, using a corner of his sheets. Sniffing, he unfurled himself once again and swung his legs back over the side of the bed, being careful to not kick Blue where it now lay on the floor. Picking it up, he placed it back exactly as he had found it and glanced around the room, wanting to preserve the moment for a little longer. Then, with a fresh sense of determination coursing through him, he grasped the door handle and swung it open, holding his head high in a defiance of whatever he might be facing next.

He was almost a little disappointed to see the corridor still laid out in front of him, just as he had left it. Stepping out and shutting the door, he looked to his right to see the front door, now solid and completely still. He stared at it for the briefest moment, then was sprinting towards it, as if he was afraid it might vanish again. He had reached it in seconds and was then wrenching it open with more force then could ever be necessary, flinging himself through with more exhalation than he had felt in months and a smile, a true smile, adorning his dishevelled features.

It was with some shock he found himself running out onto the street outside his regular bar, stopping just short of the curb as a single car whisked by on the other side. He looked behind him to see the same old building and neon lettering clinging above the door, the same rubbish and decay littering the street. A confused frown crossed his face, as he spun around and muttered,

'What the hell...?'



[My beta said she had little to no clue what was going on more than half of the time during the first read through, so don't worry if you're currently thinking along the same lines as Billie =p]