rancid_fanfic

Title: Gonna Find You
Author: valerie_z
Pairing: The Used/Operation Ivy; Tim/Branden, Tim/Bert, Tim/Quinn, Bert/Quinn, Matt/Jeph
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is pretend.
Notes: Takes place in early 2001, then in April 1988. In early 2001 The Used existed as a band but weren't successful yet. In April 1988 Operation Ivy was touring. My reference for the 1988 show is these videos. Many thanks to my husband for helping me with what happened in what year. This is for xstunt_pilots. All my fanfic is here. Thank you for reading it.



The title comes from the song Gonna Find You by Operation Ivy. If you'd like any Operation Ivy songs, their album, or demos, just let me know in comments and I'll be happy to link or upload.

The Used in early 2001:
Branden Steineckert (drums) was 22
Jeph Howard (bass) was 22
Bert McCracken (vocals) was 19
Quinn Allman (guitar) was 19

While I'm not sure of the exact date of this picture, it's just to give you an idea of what baby!The Used looked like:


Operation Ivy in April 1988:
Jesse Michaels (vocals) was 19
Tim Armstrong (guitar) was 22
Matt Freeman (bass) was 22
Dave Mello (drums) was 19

While I can't precisely date this picture, it's from the era in question:


Gonna Find You

Bert told Quinn about the portal the same way he did everything: loudly, bluntly, and while high.

"Quinn!" Bert shouted as he walked up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door. "There's a rip in the time/space continuum in your backyard." He sat down on the bed. "Also, do you have any more rolling papers?"

Quinn wasn't phased. He'd gotten used to Bert quickly. After just a week of Bert staying at Quinn's house, Jeph already referred to them as BertandQuinn, Branden called them "you two", and they had given each other three and a half blowjobs.

His first night there, Bert had taken off all his clothes, even his underwear, crawled into bed with Quinn, and said in a voice much too loud for a bedroom adjacent to Quinn's parents', "Hey, you ever make out with a dude?" Then Bert had kissed him. He tasted like sweat and weed and music, and Quinn was in love before they even parted their lips.

Quinn opened his top dresser drawer, took out a pack of rolling papers, and tossed them at Bert. "What do you mean, a rip in the...?"

"Time/space continuum," Bert said as he took a plastic bag out of his pocket and started rolling a joint on Quinn's Economics textbook.

"In my backyard," Quinn said.

Bert nodded. "Either that or it's a giant sparkly vagina, and I haven't done acid in four days."

"Three days," Quinn corrected.

"Two days." Bert licked the paper and closed up the joint. "Come on. I'll show you."

Bert lit the joint as soon as they walked outside, and Quinn followed him across the backyard, past the shed, and to the edge of the woods, where there was an oblong "tear" in reality that shimmered at the edges and was black on the inside.

"Huh," Quinn said as he reached out to take the joint from Bert. "That does look like a giant sparkly vagina."

"I know," Bert said. "Let's go in it."

"Wait. We should call Branden and Jepha first." He passed the joint back to Bert. "We said we'd let each other know about anything that affects the band, and getting eaten by a floating vagina would totally affect the band."

Bert considered this for a moment, then nodded. "You go call them. I'll finish this." He took another hit off the joint.

Fifteen minutes later, Branden and Jeph were standing in front of the portal with them.

"You said it was band-related," Branden said. He gestured at the portal. "This is not band-related."

"It is if we go in it," Bert said. He shuffled dangerously close to the opening. "You don't just find a portal and not go in it. What if it's something awesome?"

"What if it leads to another planet?" Jeph said. "A planet without oxygen. And we die instantly."

Bert shrugged. "At least we wouldn't be in Utah anymore."

Jeph looked at Quinn.

"I can't argue with his logic," Quinn said.

"Band vote!" Bert yelled out. "Who wants to go in the portal? I get two votes 'cause I'm new." He raised both his hands, and Quinn raised a hand as well. "Motion carried! Let's go."

Bert took another step closer to the shimmering opening, and Branden reached out to stop him, grabbing the edge of his t-shirt. But Bert let himself fall into the portal head-first, and Branden was dragged along with him.

"Fuck!" Jeph said. He looked at Quinn. "Come on." He jumped in, and Quinn quickly followed.

*

Quinn's vision went dark, and there was a whoosing noise in his ears. Just when it got to the point where the sound was so loud it was painful, it stopped, and he opened his eyes to find himself lying on a hard surface. Above him, the sky was dark blue and filled with gray clouds. He heard Jeph swear, and he turned to see Brandon pushing himself up on his elbows.

"Where's Bert?" Quinn asked.

There was a rustling noise in the dumpster across from them, and Bert appeared out of the heaps of garbage. He gripped the edge of the dumpster, pulled himself up, and launched into a flip, landing gracefully on his feet.

"Show off," Quinn said.

Bert smirked as he moved to Quinn's side. "You love it."

Quinn brushed something sticky off Bert's shoulder.

"Where are we?" Jeph asked as he got to his feet.

Brandon pulled a newspaper out of the dumpster. "St. Louis." He turned to them with wide eyes. "And it's 1988."

"Oh, shit," Bert said. "I'm six years old." He tugged at the bottom of Quinn's shirt. "We should go to Utah and kidnap me and leave me in the woods so I can be raised by wolves."

"Guys," Jeph said.

"I would be so badass," Bert whispered reverently. "Like Wolverine."

"Guys!"

"Wolves don't have weed," Quinn pointed out.

Bert clapped his hands together. "Okay. New plan."

"If a portal brought us here, there should be another portal nearby that can bring us back," Branden said.

"How do you know that?" Jeph asked.

"It was on Angel last week." Brandon walked over to Jeph and put his hand on his back. "Let's just walk around the neighborhood, and stick together, and I'm sure we can get home." He pointed at Bert. "This is all your fault. You're lucky you're such a good singer, or I'd leave you here."

Bert fished a bent cigarette out of his pocket. "I also give great head," he said as he put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and squinted against the smoke. "That's probably why I'm still alive."

Suddenly they could hear music in the distance, a dirty, rumbling rock that couldn't be more than a block away. They all exchanged looks.

"There's a show!" Quinn said.

Bert smiled. "We could hang out at the show until the portal comes back."

Jeph looked at Branden and shrugged. "We might as well."

"Fine, but we all have to stick together," Branden said. He led them out of the alley and toward the building on the corner, where they could see people walking in and out of a club. There was a chalkboard easel on the sidewalk, and as soon as he spotted it Branden stopped walking.

"Oh my god," Branden said. "Oh my god oh my god." He grabbed Jeph's arm. "Oh my god look."

Jeph noticed the sign and gasped.

"Holy shit," Quinn said.

Bert pushed past them to walk closer to the sign. "Fuck all of you and your fucking eyesight." He stood over the sign. "Operation Ivy." He turned back to face the rest of his band. "Oh, they're that band, right?"

"My favorite band ever," Branden said, as they all walked up to meet Bert. "I was eleven when they broke up. I never got a chance to see them live." He squeezed Jeph's arm. "They're playing here! I can't believe it!"

"Ow, pain," Jeph said, but he didn't move to extract his arm from Branden's grip.

Branden put his other hand over his mouth. "You guys, I might actually cry."

"Don't cry." Bert grabbed his elbow and pulled him and Jeph toward the door. "Let's go. We'll have fun."

Quinn slapped Bert's hand off Branden's arm. "You look like the fucking Rockettes."

Branden released Jeph's arm and dug in his pocket until he found a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, which he gave to the woman at the door for the cover charge for all of them. They walked into the club, which was a poorly-converted retail space with a stage that looked like it might collapse, a bar, and a few white plastic chairs. There was a crowd, but it was thin enough that they had a clear path to the stage. The four of them walked up to where the opening act was just finishing their last song.

Bert leaned against Branden and smiled affectionately. "Buy me a beer?"

"That was the last of my money," Branden said. "And I'm guessing my credit card doesn't work in 1988."

Quinn took a five dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to Bert.

Bert kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks. I'll bring you one too."

A skinny kid in a white t-shirt jumped onto the side of the stage and started fiddling with the amps.

"Shit," Jeph whispered urgently. "That's Matt Freeman. God, I remember teaching myself bass at Korby's house by trying to play Rancid songs. That guy's amazing."

Branden put his hand on Jeph's arm. "Remember, there's no Rancid yet. We can't let them know what we know or we could change the course of history."

Jeph rolled his eyes. "I've seen Back To The Future. I know how this stuff works. I won't say anything about Rancid."

"Hey, it's the dude from Rancid!" Bert yelled as he approached them with two cans of beer. He handed one to Quinn.

"Shut up," Branden hissed, but he followed Bert's gaze to the other end of the stage, where a tall, lanky guy with dark hair was talking to a guy in a flannel shirt and an unfortunate hat. "Oh my god, it's Jesse Michaels and Tim Armstrong!" His hand tightened around Jeph's arm, and Jeph yelped.

Bert took a sip from his beer. "Fug hat aside, Tim Armstrong's pretty hot."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Quinn asked.

"I'm thinking exactly what you're thinking."

"What are you two talking about?" Branden asked.

"He wants to gangbang Tim Armstrong," Quinn told him.

"What?" Branden said, his eyes wide. "No! We can't alter the course of events. We have to remain impartial observers. And...and..." Branden turned back to face the stage. "God, he looks twelve."

"I refuse to live in a world where I have not at least made an attempt to gangbang Tim Armstrong," Bert said seriously.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at Branden. "You know exactly how old he is, you creeper."

Branden rolled his eyes. "It's my favorite band, of course I know, like, trivia." He sighed. "1988? He's twenty-two."

"Exact same age as you," Jeph pointed out.

"So we're all consenting adults." Bert smiled. He began walking toward the far end of the stage.

"Bert!" Branden called out. Bert didn't slow down, so Branden rushed up behind him. "Remember, we can't tell them anything about -"

"Hey, man, how's it goin'?" Bert held out his hand and slapped palms with Tim and Jesse. "My name's Bert. I'm a singer. This is Branden. He's a drummer. We came all the way from Utah to see you."

"Long trip," Tim said. "Thanks for coming out."

"We're really..." Branden said. "We're thrilled to, um -"

"Also," Bert interrupted. "We're from the future."

Branden put his hand over his face.

"Yeah?" Jesse asked with half a smile. "What's the future like?"

"Awesome," Bert said. He pointed at Tim. "You're totally famous." He gestured at Jesse with his thumb. "Him not so much."

Tim smiled. "You got flying skateboards?"

"You know it."

Branden put his hand over Bert's mouth. "I'm sorry. My friend's just on drugs."

Tim laughed. "It's cool. You really came from Utah?"

"Yeah."

"Jesse!" Matt called out, and Jesse climbed onto the stage to talk to him.

Tim gestured to the front door with his head. "There's a hotel across the street. We'll be partying there for a while after the show. You're welcome to stop by, and if you need a place to crash it's cool."

"That would be..." Branden began. "I mean...we'd..."

Bert pushed Branden's hand off his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said. "My friend's just totally gay for you."

Branden punched Bert's shoulder.

"Lint!"

Tim looked up at the stage and waved to someone, then returned his attention to Branden and Bert. "Room 23. See you there?"

"Definitely," Bert said.

Tim climbed onto the stage, and Bert and Branden returned to their places in front of it.

Bert high-fived Quinn. "We're invited to their hotel."

"How did you do that?" Branden asked him.

Bert shrugged. "Why do I live in Quinn's house? Why am I in your band? Why does Jepha keep giving me money for pot? People like me. I'm a likeable guy."

Quinn patted his shoulder.

There was the swell of a guitar, and both Tim and Matt adjusted their amps. Jesse crouched down on the stage between them. Then the music surged, the three men jumped, and the song began. The band's energy was amazing, and Jeph, Branden, Quinn, and Bert started their own mosh pit right away. A few people around them were nodding their heads, but no one was really dancing. Halfway through the second song, Jeph grabbed Branden and shouted in his ear, "Stop singing along! You shouldn't know the words. 'Energy' won't be released for another year."

"Shit," Branden said. He went back to dancing, but was careful not to sing.

Jesse had all the charisma required of a vocalist, but what surprised Branden was Tim's stage presence. He tore around the stage, reminded the crowd of their EP, tried to get more people to dance, shredded on the guitar, and did more backing vocals than Branden remembered from listening to 'Energy'."

It was the best concert experience Branden had ever had, and from the looks on his bandmates' faces, they wouldn't disagree. As Operation Ivy started their encore, Jeph was holding his arms up and cheering, Bert's mouth was wide open in a clownish smile, and Quinn's eyes looked more blown-out than when he was high.

The music ended, and Jeph ran up to Bert, pulling him into a hug and lifting him a few inches off the ground. "That was amazing!" he said. "Thank you for being stupid and impulsive."

"Any time," Bert said, returning the hug.

Quinn put his arm around Branden. "We have to party with these guys."

"Of course," Branden said. "Absolutely. Does anyone have money? We should bring something."

"I have weed," Bert said. "And they probably don't have vitamin water in 1988, but I could go shoplift you some juice or something."

"No, that's okay," Branden replied. It wouldn't be the first party where he drank nothing but tap water.

The four of them stood outside the club and talked about the show, waiting until they thought the band had enough time to pack up their equipment and get to the hotel. Bert and Quinn huddled together sharing a cigarette, and Jeph and Branden exchanged stories about the first time they heard Operation Ivy.

Finally they walked across the street to the hotel. The tired-looking desk attendant just smiled at them as they headed to the elevators. They went to the second floor, and easily found room 23 by the music coming from the room, a rough recording of something punk that sounded familiar to Branden but he couldn't place. Bert knocked on the double doors, and someone yelled, "It's open!"

The living room area was massive, with two couches, a large television, and a basic stereo system. There was a kitchenette, a door open to reveal a bathroom, and two doors beyond that. Jesse and Dave sat on the couch holding cans of beer, two young women sat on the other couch smoking cigarettes, and Tim crouched in front of the stereo looking through CDs.

Tim saw them enter and lowered the music. "Hey!" he said.

"Hey!" Bert said.

Tim turned to Dave. "These are the guys from Utah I was telling you about."

Dave pointed toward the kitchenette. "Help yourself to a beer."

"This is Dave," Tim said, gesturing to the couches. "And Jesse. That's Rachel and Dana. And I'm Lint."

"Bert," Bert said. "And this is Quinn, Jeph, and Branden."

Quinn stepped in front of them and went into the kitchen, and Tim followed him. Dave moved over and patted the couch cushion next to him. Bert sat down and took the bag of weed and rolling papers out of his pocket.

"And you're from the future?" Jesse asked with a smile.

Jeph sat on the couch arm next to Bert. "Um...kind of."

Branden sat down on the floor by the stereo.

"Totally," Bert said as he began rolling a joint. "We live on the moon and have robot butlers. It rules."

Jesse and Dave laughed.

Quinn came back into the room with a beer for him and Bert, and sat down on the floor in front of Bert. Tim entered cradling four beers, handed one to Jeph, one to Rachel, and extended one out toward Branden.

"No thanks," Branden said. "I don't drink."

Tim looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. "That's cool," he said. "You want a soda?"

"As long as it's not like, orange soda."

Tim made a face. "I wouldn't do that to you, man." He went back to the kitchen.

"You guys smoke?" Bert asked.

"When it's free," Dave said.

Bert nodded. "Free weed tastes better." He licked the joint closed and Quinn handed him a lighter.

Tim came back into the room, handed Branden a Pepsi, and sat down next to him. "So what's the scene like in Utah?"

Branden popped open the can and chuckled. "Non-existent. We're just focusing on writing and recording, you know, finding our sound."

Tim opened his beer and took a long swig. "It probably keeps you more honest, you know? Like if you were in LA or something, you'd get filled with so much bullshit, you could never develop a unique sound."

Branden nodded. "I guess there's a benefit to being isolated."

Tim stretched out toward Bert. "Hey, Bert, give it here." Bert passed him the joint.

Matt walked out of one of the bedrooms. Jeph fell off the couch arm.

Tim took a hit off the joint and raised an eyebrow at Branden.

"We're not normal people," Branden said with an apologetic shrug.

Tim smiled as he exhaled through his nose. "I don't know. You seem pretty cool."

"You guys are fucking killing me," Matt called out as he opened the mini-fridge. "Who bought this shit?"

"Eat my ass," Rachel said casually.

"I'm going out to buy real beer," Matt said.

Jeph pushed himself to his feet. "Can I come?"

"Sure," Matt said. He smacked Tim lightly on the head as he passed. "Don't lock the door."

"Get some Newports," Tim said. He took another hit off the joint and passed it back to Bert.

Matt and Jeph disappeared out the door, and Bert leaned down to shotgun a long plume of smoke into Quinn's mouth, their lips touching as Bert exhaled and Quinn inhaled. Branden tensed, but no one in the room seemed to find it odd. Bert straightened up and handed the joint to Dave.

Jesse picked up the remote off the coffee table and turned on the television. "You mind, Lint?"

Tim turned off the stereo and ejected a CD. "Nah, I got the boombox in the bedroom."

Dave held the joint out to Bert, but Bert waved it away. "Kill it." He stood up, and tugged on Quinn's shirtsleeve until he stood as well. "Uh...Lint? We'd like to hear the rest of that."

Tim stood up. "Sure." He walked into one of the bedrooms.

Branden gave Bert a warning look. "Bert."

"What?" Bert said, all wide-eyed innocence. He took Quinn's hand and they walked into the bedroom. Branden just sighed and took Bert's spot on the couch.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Jesse suggested. "I bought Lethal Weapon at our last stop."

Branden nodded at the television. "That thing plays DVDs?"

"Plays what?" Jesse asked.

"Um..." Branden stood up. "I'm gonna see if there's more soda."

*

In the bedroom, Tim put the CD in a black boombox, turned it on softly, and sat down on the bed. "Sweet Children, my friend Billie's band. We're on the same label." He took off his hat a pushed back a dark, unstyled mohawk. "You ever heard of them?"

"I think I might've," Bert said. He walked up to the edge of the bed. "So how fucked up are you right now?"

"Been drinking all night," Tim replied as he undid his flannel shirt, revealing a snug black t-shirt. "But I still know when someone wants something from me." He took the flannel off and let it fall on the floor. "What do you want, Bert the singer from Utah?" He took a cigarette out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, and lit it.

Bert turned, caught Quinn's eye, and gestured for him to walk closer. "My friend, Quinn...Quinn and I would like to um..." Bert smiled. "Gangbang you."

Tim just took a long drag off the cigarette and blew it to his side. "Is that what you think's gonna happen?"

"That's my best-case scenario," Bert said.

Tim nodded, stood up, and held out his half-smoked cigarette to Quinn. "Hold this for me?"

Quinn took the cigarette. Tim grabbed Bert's arm, twisted it behind his back, and knocked him face-first onto the bed.

"Hey!" Quinn said.

"It's okay," Bert said, his voice muffled. He turned his head to the side. "It's okay, I'm good."

Tim leaned down so that his body was flush against Bert's. "You talk a lot," he said.

Bert smiled. "People usually find it charming."

Tim put his mouth against Bert's ear. "Have your friend sit down," he whispered. "And I'll make you scream instead."

"It's cool, Quinn," Bert said, though he was breathing hard, his arm still pinned painfully. "Are you okay with watching?"

Quinn looked troubled, but obediently moved to a chair on the opposite side of the room and sat down. Tim's cigarette was still burning between his fingers. He took the last hit and put it out in an ashtray on the nightstand.

Tim released Bert's arm and got up on his knees, sitting on Bert's lower back as he took his shirt off. Then he leaned down, grabbed Bert's wrists, and used his shirt to tie them together over his head, knotting the short sleeves of the t-shirt tightly.

"Lift your ass," Tim said in a low voice, and he reached around to undo Bert's pants. He unzipped them and pushed them and his boxers to Bert's knees. Then he put his hand on Bert's back, said, "Don't move", and got up off the bed. He went to a duffel bag in the corner and took out a condom.

"So if I find you in 2001 can I expect this same treatment?" Bert asked.

"Like A Space Odyssey?" Tim asked as he approached the bed again. "And what did I tell you about talking?"

Bert rolled his head back as far as he could and smirked. "It makes your dick hard?"

Tim shoved two of his fingers in Bert's mouth. Bert hummed and licked down to his palm. Tim took his hand back and ran it over Bert's ass.

"The safe word is 'fuck me harder'," Tim said.

Bert giggled into the bedding, then gasped as Tim's fingers went inside him.

Quinn leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Tim undid his pants, not bothering to take them off or push them over his hips, and rolled the condom over his dick one-handed. He knelt over Bert, and pulled his fingers out of him, eliciting a gasp.

"Relax," Tim whispered, and he pushed inside him.

The shirt binding his hands shook, Bert moaned, and both their bodies tightened. Tim's back was pale and taut, his arms tense and muscular as he held himself above Bert. Bert breathed hard against the sheets, let out a choked, "more", and groaned as Tim rocked his hips down.

Quinn stood up and moved closer.

"Fuck," Bert gasped out. "Go harder. I can take it."

"Stop talking," Tim said. He braced his knees against the bed and thrust into Bert until the sweat was dripping off his forehead onto Bert's shirt, and his hair was hanging in thin, wet strands. Bert kept his face buried in the bedding, uncharacteristically quiet, until Tim stretched his legs, tilted his pelvis down, and pushed into Bert hard. Bert tilted his head up, shouted out something between a sob and a swear, then went limp on the bed, his wrists still bound, his breathing heavy.

Tim pulled back, climbed off Bert, and lay down on the bed next to him. He took the condom off, tossed it on the floor, and put his hand over his still-erect dick, lazily stroking it. He looked over at Quinn.

"C'mere," Tim said.

"No." Bert rolled over and struggled to get his hands out of the shirt. "You can't fuck Quinn." The shirt stretched enough that he could get his hands free. He tossed it to the floor and then took off and discarded his own sweat-soaked shirt.

Tim looked sideways at him. "Why? He's all yours?"

"I'm not -" Quinn walked to the edge of the bed, letting his fingertips rest on the sheet tentatively. "He thinks I'm innocent."

Tim licked his lower lip. "You look innocent."

Quinn knelt between Tim's legs, slapped his hand away from his crotch, ducked his head down, and took his dick into his mouth. Tim took in a loud breath and tilted his head back.

Bert pulled his pants up and rolled onto his side, so that his body was against Tim's. "I'm in love with him," he whispered.

"I can see why," Tim grunted out. He put his hand down and wrapped his fingers in Quinn's short, blond hair.

"I'm writing a song about him," Bert continued, and he sniffed Tim's neck.

Tim pulled on Quinn's hair, forcing him to raise his head, and then lifted his hips until Quinn choked.

"Tell me about Branden." Tim said.

Bert licked the curve of Tim's ear before responding. "He's a drummer, he's straightedge, he skateboards, he's a nice guy." He sucked on Tim's earlobe hard, and when he released it, it was bright red. "He's nice to me, even when I'm an asshole."

Tim rocked his body downward, and Quinn followed the motion, keeping him deep.

"What does he like?" Tim asked.

Bert leaned his head down, and licked a hot, messy line from Tim's collarbone to his ear. He sucked the shell of Tim's ear into his mouth, moaned in his throat, then released him and whispered, "You."

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and his body shuddered. His mouth fell open, and Bert traced his wet lips with his index finger as Tim moaned out loud. Quinn pulled off his dick slowly, sat up on his heels, and licked his lips.

Tim turned to Bert. "Can you take care of him?" He climbed out of the bed and did up his pants.

"Of course," Bert said. He held his hand out. Quinn took it, and allowed himself to be pulled down next to Bert, in the space Tim had vacated. Bert kissed him. "You taste like ska." Quinn laughed, and they kissed again.

"It's been fun, guys," Tim said, holding his pants up by the waist with one hand as he walked out of the room and into the bathroom.

*

St. Louis was the home of Anheuser-Busch, so Matt and Jeph had a hard time finding anything other than Budweiser in the small stores surrounding the hotel. They walked for about half an hour before they came to a moderately-sized liquor store, and Matt found a dark microbrew he proclaimed, "Not quite like drinking piss." He bought a twelve-pack and they walked back toward the hotel in comfortable silence.

When he could tell they were getting close, Jeph cleared his throat and said, "So, um, Matt. Just so you know..."

Matt slowed down and turned to face him.

Jeph looked down at his feet. "You're a really incredible bass player. I find your music so inspiring. Your work is just...it's epic."

Matt chuckled. "We've only released six songs, man."

Jeph looked up at Matt. "But Maxwell Murder alone made you a legend."

"Maxwell what?" Matt asked. He stopped walking. "Lint told me, but I thought it was a joke. You're really...?"

Jeph looked across the street and pointed. "The portal dropped us in that alley, over there."

Matt walked into the alley, and Jeph followed him. It was the same as they'd left it, dark and deserted, with dusty pavement and a full dumpster. Matt put the beer down near the wall and looked around.

"We don't know if the portal's coming back," Jeph explained. "We might be stuck here."

Matt leaned against the wall and looked at Jeph. "Is Lint okay?" he asked. "In the future. Do you know? I'm worried about him. He drinks a lot and he's so -"

"I can't tell you," Jeph said softly.

Matt reached out and grabbed his arm. "Look, that's all I care about. Imagine if someone in your band was self-destructing."

"Are you kidding me?" Jeph said. "Bert's still detoxing from meth."

"What's meth?"

Jeph kissed him. To his surprise, Matt kissed back, his grip tightening on Jeph's arm, his other hand sliding underneath Jeph's shirt and holding onto his hip.

Jeph pulled back, and Matt's lips followed his, reluctant to break the kiss.

"What..." Matt began.

"Just let me..." Jeph said, and he slid to his knees.

Matt took in a sharp breath as Jeph fiddled with the fly of his pants. "You don't have to," he whispered.

Jeph looked up at him. "I really want to." He took Matt's dick out of his pants, licked his lips, and slid it into his mouth. He put his hand around the base and licked around the head. Matt put his hand in Jeph's hair and guided him deeper. Jeph took the entire length into his mouth without hesitating.

Matt closed his eyes, let out a low groan, and came in Jeph's mouth.

Jeph pulled off slowly, licking him clean.

"Um," Matt said. "Does your portal look like a big sparkly vagina?"

Jeph got to his feet and turned around. The portal was floating in mid-air just next to the dumpster. "Shit," he said. He turned to Matt. "Shit, I gotta go get -"

"Yeah, let's go," Matt said. He did up his pants, grabbed his beer, and together they ran toward the hotel.

*

Branden pushed open the bathroom door. It was dark inside, but someone was in there, a dark figure illuminated only by the night-light plugged into the wall outlet. Branden blinked and let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and realized it was Tim, shirtless, his pants hanging low on his hips.

"Sorry," Branden said. He took a step backwards.

"Come in," Tim said. He rinsed off his hands and wiped them on the towel.

Branden walked further into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Tim eyed him carefully, his face flawless in the minimal light. "Your friends are...interesting."

"That's probably why they're still alive," Branden muttered.

Tim took a step closer to him. "I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you more."

Branden smiled. "It's cool. Just meeting Tim Armstrong is like, the thrill of my life."

"Thanks." Tim said. He tilted his head to the side. "So how do you know my name?"

Branden felt his stomach turn to liquid. "You..." he said. "Your band's pretty popular, so..."

"Everyone calls me Lint," Tim said. "Even if you got the EP, it just says Lint."

Tim took another step closer, so that he was close enough to touch Branden. Branden held his breath for a moment. He wasn't going to fight Tim, not even if Tim started it.

But Tim just leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Where do you know me from?"

Branden let out a shaky breath and looked down at the floor. "My father died when I was eleven years old. He...he killed himself."

"I'm sorry," Tim said softly.

Branden turned his head, purposefully avoiding Tim's eyes. "After the funeral, I spent four days in bed. I didn't think I'd be able to do anything ever again. If my father couldn't do it, couldn't keep living for me, then what was I living for?" He took a deep breath. "Then a friend from school came over and brought me some CDs. One was Operation Ivy. I listened to it five times in a row." He paused and cleared his throat. "My father played drums, so I went into the garage and his set was still there. I taught myself your whole album, all 19 songs, and I played until my arms hurt, and then I kept playing." He blinked back tears. "My dad couldn't play anymore, but I could."

Tim put his hand on Branden's shoulder. Branden looked up at him.

"Your music saved my life," Branden said.

Tim ran his hand down Branden's arm and took his hand gently. "We don't have a full-length album."

Branden sniffed. "You do next year."

"What else happens?"

Branden looked back down at the floor.

"Something bad?" Tim asked.

Branden put a hand over his eyes.

"Something bad happens to me or to the band?"

"Both," Branden choked out.

Tim frowned. "What happens?"

"I can't..." Branden choked on a sob. When he lifted his head his face was wet with tears. "If you don't record that album next year, I don't know what'll happen to me. I won't be a musician. I'll be depressed, or a drug addict, or dead, or -"

Tim put one hand on the side of Branden's face and kissed him.

Branden leaned into the kiss, holding onto Tim's shoulders, feeling like he was falling into the softness of his lips and skin. He wondered how someone his age, who had already recorded and toured and lived so much, could feel so flawless. They kept kissing, gently biting down on each other's lips. Tim released Branden's hand and slid his hand under Branden's shirt, and Branden flinched. Sure, it was Tim Armstrong, but he couldn't have sex in a bathroom. He wasn't Bert.

Tim noticed his reaction and broke the kiss. "I don't want anything from you," he whispered. He kissed Branden's chin. "And I don't have anything to give you." He tilted his head and brushed his lips against Branden's. "Just this." He slid his hand further up Branden's shirt, until he reached the center of his chest. "I just want to feel your heart beat."

Branden hummed his approval as he leaned in to the kiss.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "Branden, you in there?" Jeph called out. "The portal's back. We gotta go."

Neither of them moved. "It's my band," Branden whispered, his lips brushing Tim's.

"I know," Tim said. He took a step backwards, removing his hands from Branden's body. "If I ever need a drummer, I'll find you."

"How will you find me?"

There was another knock at the door.

Tim leaned closer. "I'll find you," he said, and he kissed him.

Branden reached back and opened the door before he could convince himself not to. Tim turned his head toward the sink. Jeph grabbed Branden's arm and pulled him out into the living room.

"We have to hurry," Jeph said. Bert and Quinn were already walking through the now-empty living room and heading for the door. Branden followed Jeph, and the four of them rushed to the alley at the end of the block.

The portal was shimmering, the only light in the dark alley, and Bert dove into it first, followed closely by Quinn. Jeph went next. Branden hesitated, looked over his shoulder, and then stepped into the black portal.

The next thing they knew they were sitting on the grass in Quinn's backyard, wincing from the noise of the journey, and blinking up at the sun. They silently got to their feet and walked into Quinn's house.

"I don't think any time has passed," Quinn said as they entered the living room. "My parents still aren't home from work."

Bert jumped over the back of the couch and landed on the middle cushion. "Let's watch Buffy DVDs."

Quinn sat down next to him. "Let's get high and watch 'Restless'."

"Not again," Branden said. "Come on. Let's go to my place. I want to send a new demo to John Feldmann."

Jeph rolled his eyes. "Dude's gonna take out a restraining order."

"Face it," Quinn said. "He just doesn't like our stuff."

"He hasn't heard our new stuff," Branden argued. "We haven't even recorded 'Box Full of Sharp Objects'."

Bert tilted his head and gave Quinn a look. "I do like that song."

"I like it too," Quinn said.

"Then let's go record it," Branden said. "We can go to Denny's after."

"You had me at pancakes," Jeph said with a sigh.

They piled in Branden's car and went to his garage, where their instruments were still set up from practice the day before. The recording equipment was in Branden's bedroom, but Quinn wanted to run through it once and make sure everyone was on the same page.

Branden sat down behind the drums. He thought about how long ago their last practice seemed. He thought about the five Rancid CDs up in his bedroom, and how he could still taste Tim on his lips. He thought about e-mailing the demo and getting another polite rejection. He thought about the future, and wondered where he'd be in five years. He thought about the Buffy episode he'd watched with Bert and Quinn last week.

You think you know, what's to come, what you are. You haven't even begun.

Branden made eye contact with Bert, counted off, and brought his sticks down hard, the drums thumping like a heartbeat.