The Negotiation Limerick File (3/3) Spy AU
Title: The Negotiation Limerick File
Summary: Have you any funny stories behind the making of the album [pretty. odd.]?
“We can’t... I mean...”
“We can’t tell you any funny stories because we’d probably be killed.”
- Jon and Ryan being interviewed by NME.com
part two
Things were tense. Spencer’s shoulders knotted up so badly he could barely move his arms, and that made drumming torture. He considered asking Jon for a massage, but it wasn’t safe to leave Ryan on his own.
Ryan was upset like he hadn’t been since his high school girlfriend had cheated on him. Only instead of writing songs about it, he sat around like a lump staring in to space. The rainbow-colored neckerchiefs were gone, replaced by endless scarves and the orphan-newsboy hat Spencer was sure he’d thrown away. On Planet Panic! at the Disco that meant the wild Ryan Ross had retreated into hibernation and sadness and wasn’t coming out again until spring, or maybe next time they got a record deal.
Spencer tried pretending things were fine, but Ryan, when he wasn’t on stage, just sat there looking hurt. He didn’t respond to Jon - how could anyone not respond to Jon Walker, he was basically a walking teddy bear with a beer - and he didn’t respond to Spencer and he was pretending that there was no such person as Brendon. After a couple of days Spencer gave up and just sat with him.
Brendon didn’t even have the manners to grovel and apologize. He was withdrawn and sulky, too. When Spencer went off to sit on the couch and stare endlessly into space with Ryan, he tried to get Jon to go talk to Brendon, but Brendon wasn’t talking, not even to Jon, and Jon was his favorite. The whole situation was weird.
It took Spencer a couple of days to figure Brendon’s attitude out. When he did, he couldn’t believe it. Brendon was in a full-on “My life sucks so hard” pout. Like the whole thing had somehow been bad for him, and he hadn’t just been out being a jackass somewhere, and then lied about it. His Sidekick beeped now and then, but Brendon just looked at it and then turned it off, or hid it under the bed, or pretended to forget it somewhere. It was utterly unlike him.
Ryan wouldn’t look at Brendon, and Brendon didn’t seem to care. They were both the center of their own little universes. Spencer made a list of things to yell at them about and then threw it away because they both looked so miserable.
Thank god they were all professionals; the shows went fine. Interviews were a little bit harder to fake, since Brendon mostly stared at his sneakers. Spencer just told everyone he was feeling sick and answered all the questions.
Spencer let it go for a week. And then he let it go for another week, because Ryan was really, sincerely upset. Spencer told Jon that after the show that night he was planning to take Brendon aside and either figure out what was happening or kill him. Jon agreed that that seemed fair.
First, though, they had a show to do. It was the last for a while, and it was in a ridiculously large arena. Spencer was psyched, but he was also exhausted. He wanted them to rent a cabin in the woods somewhere and go and just lie around doing nothing for a few months where no one could find them. Assuming, of course, that Ryan and Brendon worked through their stupidity first.
They were looking at the stage during sound check when Brendon suddenly, for the first time in two weeks, perked up. His eyes got cartoonishly big and he stood there staring for a minute. “What?” Spencer asked. He was hopeful that he’d get some kind of totally idiotic answer and maybe Brendon would start giggling and fall over. He couldn’t believe he missed that kind of shit, but he totally did.
“That’s,” said Brendon vaguely. “Um. I have to go get my Sidekick. I’ll see you guys in a few minutes.” He turned and ran off stage.
“Bullshit,” said Zack, and went after him.
“What?” Jon asked, restringing his bass.
Spencer squinted at what Brendon had been looking at. It just looked like amps and wires and plugs and a couple of boxes to him. “No idea,” he said.
Ryan hadn’t even looked up. Spencer stifled a sigh with a lot of effort. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. He sounded worried. Jon never sounded worried.
Ryan nodded and played something maudlin.
\\\\
Brendon’s hands were shaking and he could only get his Sidekick to type out every other letter he wanted. trube hre 4 srsss was what it said when he accidentally hit send. He took a deep breath and typed again. truble here 4 serius, he sent, and then added HELP!!!!!
He waited a few seconds but Frank and Gerard didn’t call back. It felt like an eternity. Brendon tried not to hyperventilate.
Zack was standing in the doorway of the bus, glaring at him. “You okay?” he said, sounding more annoyed than concerned.
“Uh,” said Brendon.
“Feeling sick?” Zack frowned. “Because if this is some shitty attempt to get out of performing Spencer and I are going to take turns killing you. We’re still pissed about-”
“I know,” Brendon snapped, willing his phone to ring.
“You know shit,” said Zack. “What’s the big?”
Brendon couldn’t exactly turn to Zack and say, “Those stage lights and all the extra wiring? Those are exactly like the bombs Frank Iero showed me how to make.” He just pressed his lips together and bounced a little bit and stuffed the phone in his pocket. “Nothing,” he said.
“Then get your ass back to soundcheck,” Zack ordered.
Brendon nodded. If he was right, this was an attempt to kill the entire band, and maybe an arena full of fans. Brendon would stop it however he had to. He just… He had to talk to MCR first.
He stepped back on stage and Spencer and Ryan stared at him. It was the first time in a couple of weeks Ryan had looked at him - not that Brendon had noticed - and Brendon tried not to seem worried that they were all in danger of imminent death. His voice cracked and broke a lot more than usual, and he lost the words to a couple songs, but he laughed and rolled his eyes and made a face, so they were all willing to pretend it was normal.
A they finished up Zack walked over and said, “This is one of the suits here to hear you tonight. Mr. Donovan, say hello to the boys.”
“Hi boys,” said the man in a suit, walking over.
Brendon’s heart stopped beating.
It was the man who’d seen him in the hallway the night of the break-and-enter.
It was the voice that had asked him what he knew about the Way brothers.
They were all in so fucking much trouble.
Jon and Spencer were saying hi and being polite, while Ryan hung back a little bit. Jon shook the guy’s hand. Brendon concentrated on not running over and slapping Jon’s hand away. Screaming, “That guy shot me!” wasn’t going to do him any good. Plus, he hadn’t really been shot, he’d been rayed.
“And this is Brendon,” said Spencer, beckoning.
Brendon couldn’t move. He looked at Donovan and Donovan looked at him. Brendon’s mouth wasn’t working. Spencer frowned and said, “What? Brendon, what?” but Brendon just shook his head and fumbled for his phone. That man was going to kill Spencer and Jon and Ryan.
CALL ME. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. He snapped the phone shut and shuddered. Spencer was moving from confused in to mad.
Brendon’s phone rang. He almost burst in to tears. “Hey,” he said shakily, pretending he couldn’t see Spencer miming death threats at him. “What’s up?”
“What the fuck?” demanded Frank Iero’s voice. “This had better be fucking important.”
“Um,” said Brendon, dropping his voice and turning away as much as he could. “He’s here. The guy. The one who rayed me.” Did that sound suspicious? He threw a glance over his shoulder, but no one was looking.
Frank swore, creatively and loudly. “At the venue?”
“Yeah. When I looked at the stage setup, it looked a lot like stuff you showed me. You need to do something.”
He heard Frank talking to someone and then Gerard saying, “-right fucking now? Shit, Frankie, your pants-”
Behind him Donovan was still talking to Jon. He was getting his creepy killer evil cooties all over Jon Walker, one of Brendon’s three favorite people in the whole world. Brendon wanted to grab Jon and drag him away to safety.
“Just sit tight,” said Frank. “We can be there pronto. Hold tight and don’t let the band out of your sight until we get there. Okay? Bob and Ray will follow. Mikey’s gonna run ops.”
“Okay,” Brendon said. Ryan was looking at him, so he dropped his voice again. “Hurry, dude.”
“On our way,” said Frank, and hung up.
Donovan looked right at Brendon and smiled. “Two hours until show time,” he said.
Two hours. Brendon nodded. Spencer smiled and made a joke and Jon laughed. Ryan looked morosely at his sneakers.
Two hours. Shit. What could Brendon do in two hours besides worry?
Not a whole lot, he realized, and swallowed hard.
\\\\
Donovan smiled and walked them to the dressing room and shook everyone’s hands again. Brendon didn’t have an excuse not to, and Spencer was looking upset, so Brendon bit his lip and let Donovan shake his hand.
“You’re lucky to be here,” Donovan said with a bright, cheery smile.
Brendon was not fooled for an instant. “Yeah,” he said. “Lucky me.” He tried to narrow his eyes just a little, just enough to let Donovan know that he was on to him, and he’d called MCR, and whatever dastardly plotting was going on would be stopped.
“Why don’t you kids go in to the dressing room? I’ll shoo everyone else out, so you can have some time to relax before the show. Zack, can I show you some more of the setup around here?”
Zack pointed at Brendon. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said.
Brendon bit his tongue so he didn’t yell Don’t leave us. It was weird not having other people rushing in and out of the room. Gerard and Frank should have been getting there at any second. They would clean everything up, and then it wouldn’t matter anymore. Donovan shooed them all in to the room and shut the door, taking Zack with him.
“What?” Spencer demanded. “You’re acting crazy, Bren. What’s going on?”
“You know what would help,” offered Jon, with a complicated little hand gesture.
Spencer said sternly, “Jon, honestly, he can’t smoke up right before a show. It’ll fuck with his voice.”
“Where are my fingerless gloves?” Ryan asked. “I don’t see them here.”
A perfect excuse to rush in to the hallway and text Frank and Gerard, Brendon decided. “I’ll go look,” he said, bouncing to his feet.
The catch turned out to be that the door was locked. Brendon yanked and yanked, and then just stared at it for a second. “But he… He didn’t say, ‘No, Mr. Urie, I expect you to die,’ or anything,” he almost-wailed, banging on the door.
“What the fuck, dude?” Jon asked. “The door’s locked? Call Zack.”
Brendon was grimly certain that Zack’s phone would be off. Or missing. He dropped to the floor. “That won’t help.”
“Okay, even on the Brendon Urie scale of weirdness, you’re off the charts,” said Spencer. “What’s up, dude?”
Brendon was dying to tell them. He wanted commiseration and sympathy and someone to freak out with him. But he also didn’t want to make things worse. Maybe Donovan only wanted to kill him, and he’d leave everyone else alone. Maybe My Chemical Romance was going to swoop in at any second and fix everything.
“I don’t like that guy,” said Brendon. “He’s creepy.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Did he say something creepy to you? Do I have to kill him?”
Spencer was so reliably awesome that Brendon could have kissed him. “It’s… Mostly just the vibe I get from him,” said Brendon. Later, he decided, he would tell everyone and let Spencer go after Donovan.
“Dude, it’s pre-show jitters,” said Jon. “Chill.”
“It’s… Yeah,” Brendon agreed. He was extremely nervous to go out on a stage that was loaded with all kinds of explosives being run by a guy who’d tried to kill him. His phone beeped. “Oh, thank god.”
“Big phone call?” Ryan asked. He sounded weirdly… jealous?
“Sort of,” Brendon said. Here, said Frank’s text. Sit tite. “Oh, good.”
“What?” Spencer asked, grabbing for the phone.
That was the last fucking thing Brendon needed at this second. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… Good news.”
Frank and Gerard were totally going to handle everything, and Brendon could stop worrying. He closed his eyes for a second. Things were going to be fine. No one was going to kill him and his band. Everything was going to be fine.
His overwhelming relief was interrupted when his phone beeped again. That seemed too soon to be good news. Brendon frowned.
Thank you for bringing them here, Mr. Urie. I appreciate it. -D
Brendon’s jaw must have actually, literally dropped, because Spencer said, “Jesus, now what?”
“I have to-I need to make a phone call,” said Brendon, looking around. They were locked in a room, where the fuck was he supposed to call from that wouldn’t be overheard? “Give me… Just a second.”
He shut himself in the bathroom, locked the door, and tried Frank’s number. Then Gerard’s. Then Frank’s again. There was no fucking answer. Brendon took a couple of deep breaths so he wouldn’t pass out, and dialed Ray. Ray was reliable. Ray was smart. Ray knew stuff about things, and Ray would know what to do.
He picked up almost immediately. “We’re in a lot of fucking trouble,” Brendon whispered. He could hear the band arguing right outside the bathroom door.
“Guys, chill,” Jon was saying. “I’m sure it’s something totally explainable.”
“Family stuff, maybe?” Ryan muttered.
“He’s going to get punched in the mouth, I don’t even care,” Spencer said.
Ray asked calmly, “What happened?”
“Frank texted that he was here. And then Donovan - that’s the guy, okay, the one who totally tried to kidnap and murder me? - he texted me to thank me. Oh my god, if he hacked my phone, he’s listening to us right now, isn’t he? Fuck!”
Ray said, “He can hear you, but not me. Mikey invented a thing-”
“Tell me what to do,” Brendon pleaded. “He’s going to blow up the venue. Wait, I hope he’s listening. You fucker! No one messes with my band, okay, I will-”
“Hey, shhhh,” said Ray. “I’m going to tag in on Frank’s phone and see where he is. And then you’re going to go help Gerard and Frank.”
“The hell I am,” said Brendon. “Can’t you-”
“Listening, remember?” said Ray.
Spencer banged on the door a couple of times. “We’re waiting!” he yelled, in his fake-patient voice.
“I quit!” Brendon protested.
“Well, you un-quit when you called us for help,” Ray said. “If Frank and Gerard are in trouble, that’s your fault, and if you don’t help them your band is in trouble. Suck it up. Okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon said meekly, because he couldn’t argue with that.
There was a weird beeping noise. “Found them,” said Ray, “or at least I found their phones. You said the door is locked, right? Doesn’t matter; I pulled up the schematic and it looks like the air ducts are going to be the way to get there.”
“You remember the part where I’m bad at this, right?” Brendon asked. “I’m just checking.”
“I remember the part where shut up,” said Ray. “Okay, if you stand on the back of the toilet you should be able to get in to the ventilation system. You’re going to go north as far as you can and then you’re going to head to the east part of the building. Okay?”
“How the fuck do I-” Brendon started, and then remembered people were listening. “Um. No. Say it again?”
Ray sighed a little. “Stand on the toilet. Pull down the grating. Go straight ahead as far as you can, and when you can’t go further go right. Okay? You’ll be over the room where I think they are. And turn the phone to silent, because if it rings and you get caught or killed this shit doesn’t do anyone any good.”
Ray was so, so smart. “Okay,” said Brendon. “And then what?”
There was a long silence. “Then…” said Ray. “Then you’re going to have to improvise. Me and Bob will be there as soon as we can, so… Good luck.”
“But… No!” was all Brendon could come up with.
“Go,” said Ray. “Quickly.” He hung up.
Spencer banged on the door. “Dude,” he yelled. “Are you like, drowning yourself or something? Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” Brendon yelled back. “I just… Uh. I need some time, okay? Give me a few minutes.” By the end of which Brendon would either be dead along with Frank and Gerard or he’d have saved his band from certain doom. One or the other.
“We’re gonna play Guitar Hero,” Jon yelled. “C’mon, Bden. Come play!”
They thought he was so fucking easy, didn’t they? Brendon sighed. He usually was. “In a few,” he said. He stuck his Sidekick in his pocket and looked speculatively at the vent over the toilet. He could fit up there. Probably.
“…leave him alone, then,” said Spencer to someone else. Then he called, “Fine! You have half an hour. Then we’re knocking the door down.”
Well, half an hour ought to do it, either way. “Great,” said Brendon, climbing up on the back of the toilet. “Thanks!” He pushed on the vent, which, thank fuck, wasn’t screwed in or anything. It took a little shoulder work, but he got it up.
It would have been nice if he’d had a gun, even if he sucked at shooting them. It would have been nice to tell Spencer and Jon and Ryan, so they could back him up. It would have been nice if Ray and Bob had suddenly shown up to be competent and ass-kicking.
Brendon sighed and wiggled up in to the ceiling.
\\\
NOW
“Tell us what we want to know,” said the man. He wasn’t Donovan, he was just some guy in a suit, but he had a gun, and it was pointed at Gerard, and Frank didn’t look likely to talk.
Brendon swore under his breath. Frank and Gerard were all tied up. That sucked. Brendon’s hands were sweaty and shaking and he was pretty sure his contribution to the world of super spying was going to be when he threw up all over the bad guys right before he got shot.
It was one of those things, though. You just closed your eyes and did it, and it either worked or it didn’t, and that was it. Worrying and planning were just going to get in the way and oh god, oh god, oh god, Brendon moved the grate.
“I’m not telling you shit,” said Frank.
“Then I’ll kill him,” said the suit. “Do you think Donovan came all the way back here for nothing? Tonight is going to go off without a hitch-”
“You mean when you blow up a bunch of kids?” Gerard asked, spitting blood. “You sons of bitches.”
The man shrugged. “All I was told was that the band had to be stopped. Permanently. Do you have something else to share?”
Brendon wiggled around so he wouldn’t have to go head-first in to the room. He figured he had a better shot if he was on his feet, although as many times as Bob had shown him how to drop-and-roll he still hadn’t quite gotten it. Or that grab-the-gun thing, either, which was seeming like a pretty vital move to have mastered.
“Fuck, no,” said Gerard, and looked at Frank. “I love you, dude.”
“I love you, dude,” said Frank back.
Brendon didn’t pray anymore, so he just closed his eyes and jumped.
He didn’t land on the suit, which might have been perfect. Instead he was in front of the guy which… Wasn’t. “What the fuck?” said the suit.
“Oh, shit,” said Frank.
There was a gun aimed at him, but this time it wasn’t Ray or Bob trying to show him how to do stuff in a friendly practice session. Muscle memory, Brendon told himself firmly, and reached for it.
Just like he expected, he knocked the gun out of both of their hands and it clattered across the floor. “Good enough,” Brendon said, and punched the suit in the face.
It hurt like fuck, all the way up his arm to the shoulder, but he’d aimed through the nose like Bob said and put his weight behind it. Brendon might have been six inches shorter than the guy, but the suit wasn’t expecting it. He folded like a towel. Bob Bryar didn’t fuck around with ninja training.
“Gun gun gun gun!” yelled Frank.
Brendon was so there already. He scrambled on his knees for the gun and by the time the guy straightened up Brendon had it aimed right at his chest. His hands were only shaking a little bit, which was pretty fucking amazing. “I will shoot you dead, motherfucker,” said Brendon. His voice was shaking a lot, unfortunately.
“You’re in the band,” said the man incredulously. “Give me that.”
Brendon’s brain and his mouth were still dithering over what to do, but his hands apparently had listened to Bob carefully. His fingers tightened totally without his supervision, and the gun fired. The recoil made his arms jerk back and his hands burn, but the suit… The suit dropped to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” Brendon whispered.
His whole brain shut down in a fuzzy cloud of white noise and overwhelming panic and the need to throw up right fucking now. The bang had been so much louder than when he’d practiced with Ray, it was still echoing around his brain. His mouth tasted like copper. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold on to the gun and he leaned over and lost his lunch.
When he could hear again, Frank was yelling, “Fucking untie us, dumbass, someone’s going to have heard that.”
Brendon nodded because he couldn’t talk. He clicked on the safety and started pulling the ropes around Frank apart. It took forever, because his fingers were still tingling with adrenaline. The second Frank could wiggle free he did, taking the gun from Brendon, who didn’t object.
“You did good,” said Gerard, spitting a little more blood. Frank pulled a knife out of his sneaker and cut Gerard free, too. “That was awesome, Brendon. You didn’t hesitate, you didn’t freak out, you didn’t drop the gun. You did a really good job.”
“I…” said Brendon, and couldn’t say anything else because there was a guy lying on the floor and there was blood all around him. “I’m gonna throw up again, I think.”
“The time for freaking out,” said Frank, “is after we’re done. That guy was gonna kill us, and then he was going to kill Spencer and Jon and Ryan. Focus on that. He was going to kill Ryan. You are a big goddamn hero. Okay?”
“No one gets to kill Ryan,” Brendon agreed numbly. He wished, for the millionth time, that Spencer were around. Spencer would have known how to handle this.
“Give the kid a minute,” said Gerard.
“I would, but we can’t,” said Frank, with one of those significant looks he was always giving Gerard. “The band’s the target. If we’re here and they’re found out, why wait until tonight to blow them up?”
Gerard swore loudly. “Where’s the rest of your band?” he demanded.
Oh god, it wasn’t over? Why wasn’t it over? “Locked in the dressing room,” said Brendon. “Why? What’s… Ray and Bob are going to be here soon. Can’t we just wait?”
Gerard leaned over the guy on the floor. “He’s not dead,” he said. “You hit his shoulder. Nice shot. And no. If Donovan panics he’ll default to killing your band.”
“I can’t shoot anyone else,” said Brendon flatly. “I… I can’t. Someone else has to… I can’t.”
Frank patted him on the shoulder. “The sooner we get there, the less we need to kill people,” he said. “I’ll text Ray and Mikey.”
Brendon nodded shakily. As long as there was no more shooting, he was probably okay. Maybe. He could fake it, at least.
“I threw up, too,” said Gerard, with a friendly smile. The effect was kind of ruined by all the blood on his face. “The first time, I mean. I threw up all over the place.”
Frank flipped his phone shut. “Their ETA is five minutes, so let’s get this done up, guys. Here.” He tossed Brendon the gun.
Brendon caught it gingerly and grimaced. “I don’t want-” he started.
Frank grinned wolfishly. “We have to go save your band, genius. Don’t you want to look heroic and cool?”
Brendon did, more than almost anything else in the world - short of finding a corner to curl up in for a few hours- but not if it meant using it again. “Don’t you need guns?” he asked.
“Watch,” said Frank, and opened the door.
There were a couple of guards outside, and they weren’t expecting Frank. There was a blur of motion - Frank was a ninja just like Bob - and then they were both on the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Frank took their guns. “It was a fucking fluke that they caught us on the way in,” he said.
“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” crowed Gerard.
Frank put his hands on his hips. “I keep telling you,” he said. “I don’t think Monty Python is appropriate for this kind of situation.”
“That is totally binary thinking,” Gerard replied. “I mean, if it’s our situation, don’t we get to decide what’s appropriate?”
Brendon followed them down the hallway. Frank whispered, “Quoting Monty Python ruins the atmosphere a little.”
“Oh, fine,” Gerard whispered back, “judge me. What should I be quoting? Reservoir Dogs? Should I shoot someone and then say ‘Yippe-ki-yay, motherfucker’?”
Frank looked like he was considering it. Brendon pointed. “Our dressing room was that way,” he said. It was a lot easier to tell when he wasn’t crawling through the ceiling. His knees had mostly stopped shaking too, so that was nice.
They managed to avoid people, ducking around corners and waiting in doorways for them to pass, while arguing in hushed voices over quoting movies. Brendon wondered if they ever stopped in the middle of one of these missions to just make out.
“There’s someone outside the door,” Frank reported, sticking his head around the corner. “I’ll handle him, you two head in. Expect Donovan to be in there.”
“You know Donovan?” Brendon whispered to Gerard.
“Later,” Frank hissed, and attacked.
Frank Iero attacking was really fucking impressive to watch. Gerard kicked in the door - who knew Gerard could even do that? - and pulled Brendon with him.
Brendon’s hands were still sweaty and he was worried he was going to drop the gun and then no one would be impressed after at all. Donovan was inside, pointing a gun at Ryan, which made Brendon stop breathing. Spencer and Ryan and Jon were all standing against the wall, looking bewildered, while Donovan shouted, “Where did the other one go?”
“Right here, asshole,” Brendon yelled. He was surprised that his voice was so loud, and thrilled that he sounded a little bit Dirty Harry.
“What the shit?” Spencer demanded.
Donovan didn’t turn or move his arm. “Ah,” he said. “Unfortunate. Put your gun down, Brendon, or I’ll shoot your friends.”
“No fucking way,” said Gerard. “If you shoot them we’ll shoot you.”
“But maybe I only have to kill one of them,” said Donovan evenly. “So it doesn’t matter if you kill me or not.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Spencer demanded. “Why-” Donovan moved the gun toward him, and Spencer shut up.
Brendon said, “No one is shooting anyone from my band. No one!” He didn’t have a plan, and he didn’t know if Gerard and Frank had one, either. He just wanted Donovan to turn the gun away from the rest of Panic!.
“Maybe I’ll take a hostage,” said Donovan, grabbing Ryan. Spencer automatically grabbed Ryan’s other arm. Donovan had his gun pointed at Ryan’s head, but he used his elbow to clock Spencer right in the face. Spencer doubled over, and Donovan yanked Ryan away.
Brendon was so mad he was seeing red. “I already shot one guy,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Let him go.”
“You what?” Jon asked, putting an arm protectively around Spencer. “This is weird.”
Ryan hadn’t said anything, he was just looking at Brendon with his big, stupid eyes and letting Donovan pull him toward the door. Brendon was going to cry, nothing was allowed to happen to Ryan.
“No fucking way,” said Frank, popping up behind Donovan. He knocked Donovan’s gun arm away from Ryan, and Brendon launched himself at them both. He fell on Donovan more than he attacked him, but he got an arm around the guy’s neck and dragged him off balance long enough for Gerard to get Ryan away and Frank to reach for his gun.
But Donovan wasn’t as easy to take down as his henchmen had been - Brendon got an elbow in the face that fucking hurt - and Frank got bitten, it looked like, and then Donovan was on his feet and running for the door. “Fuck,” said Frank. “I’m going after him.”
Brendon stood up painfully. “What about the bombs?” he said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You know,” he said impatiently to Gerard, “the reason I called you here? The entire stage is wired to blow the fuck up, remember? If he goes there -”
“It’ll take the whole building down,” Gerard agreed. “Okay, new plan. Brendon, get your band the hell out of here, and Frank and I will handle the bombs.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” said Spencer. He had a bloody nose that looked nasty, and he was still leaning on Jon a little bit. He mostly looked incredibly mad. “No one is going anywhere, okay, until someone tells me what the fuck is going on.”
“Can we?” said Brendon. “Please?” He looked earnestly at Gerard.
Gerard looked at Frank. Frank shrugged. “Fine,” said Gerard. “The short version. Sometimes when we’re not on tour, we help save the world. Brendon’s been helping out.”
The entire band turned to stare at Brendon, who shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not actually very helpful,” he said. “Plus, I quit.”
“And now,” said Ray’s voice behind him, “You’re un-quit. Right?”
The relief Brendon felt was physical. “I shot a guy,” said Brendon to Bob.
Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes shit happens,” he said. “I bet you were awesome.” Brendon shook his head. He didn’t feel awesome.
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Spencer, holding up his hands. “This is… Why Brendon? I would be so much better at this than Brendon, you don’t even know-”
“That’s what I said,” Brendon agreed.
“Donovan’s getting away,” said Gerard firmly. “Ray, Bob, you want to handle that? Frank and I can go find the bombs. Brendon, get the kids out of here-”
“I’m coming with,” Spencer said immediately. He glared accusingly at Brendon.
Brendon looked apologetic. “I wasn’t allowed to say anything.”
“We’ll take Spencer with us,” said Ray unexpectedly.
“Then I’m going with Spencer,” Jon volunteered.
“Ryan and I will go with Gerard and Frank,” said Brendon. He realized suddenly that Ryan hadn’t said a word since he’d walked in. “Ryan? Are you okay?”
Ryan looked uncertainly at him. “When I… When we were mad at you for being missing… Were you okay?” he asked quietly. “Or were you like… You had a black eye.”
“Donovan kidnapped him,” said Frank. Spencer’s face got even madder somehow. “Can we go, please?”
The urge to reach out and take Ryan’s hand or pet him or something and make him stop staring like that, all upset, was intense. Brendon bit his lip. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m so glad you guys know about this. Keeping it to myself was awful.”
“Let’s go,” Gerard repeated, hustling them out the door. “Up to the stage!”
“And for fuck’s sake,” Frank added, “put the gun away. We’re not trying to get stopped by security between here and there.”
Brendon nodded and shoved it in his pocket. He wanted to put it in the waistband of his jeans, but they were really tight, number one, and number two the potential for getting hurt was scary. Ryan looked shocky and upset, so Brendon let himself - just this once, it wasn’t a big deal, they’d both almost gotten shot - grab Ryan’s hand and pull him along.
They ran toward the stage. There were lots more people around - people who were going to be blown up, fuck - but they saw Brendon and Ryan and mostly moved out of the way. It was nice to be important as long as it didn’t lead to being kidnapped.
They burst on stage and Frank started yelling, “Out! Get out! Everybody out!” The techs and lighting guys and security just stared.
Ryan pulled his hand out of Brendon’s and leaned in to one of the microphones. “Hi,” he said, “Sorry. We need a few minutes alone in here to figure out some of the stuff for the show. Can everybody leave, please?”
He must have looked like The Guy From The Band Tonight. It was probably the ruffly, weird shirt or the fingerless gloves or the top hat. Maybe it was all those things together. Whatever it was, people started moving toward the doors. “Nice,” Brendon whispered.
Ryan smiled a little shakily. “I figured I ought to do something besides standing around looking confused,” he whispered back.
As the place cleared out, Frank started inspecting the stage. “This is going to suck to defuse,” he said. “We might need to fake a fire alarm and let it blow by itself. I’m sure it’s on a timer. Did you see one, Brendon?”
Brendon shook his head. “Just the wires and all the C4,” he said.
“Well fucking go and look,” Gerard ordered, kneeling by an amp. “Fuck. Do you see this?”
“I saw,” said Frank, in his grim this-shit-is-serious voice. Then he giggled. “Remember the time in Berlin?”
“With the ninjas?” Gerard asked.
“That fucking ruled,” Frank agreed. “And hey, we didn’t die.”
“Not quite,” Gerard agreed, yanking on wires.
Brendon wasn’t sure where to look for a timer. “Backstage?” he said to Ryan. “Or underneath, maybe?”
“Sure,” Ryan agreed. They poked around the curtains and the wings, but while there were lots of soundboards and other equipment, there was nothing that looked like a sinister bomb countdown. After a minute or two Brendon was ready to give up and call Mikey to get some kind of pen-that-also-found-bombs.
Ryan found the door that led to under the stage. “We could have cool stuff pop out from here during the show,” said Brendon, following him.
“The show isn’t happening,” Ryan pointed out. “I mean. Not unless we find the bombs. Do you feel up to singing? I don’t feel up to playing.” He smiled uncertainly at Brendon.
It was the adrenaline, clearly, but Brendon could have sung ten shows if they made Ryan happy. “Maybe,” he said, and started poking around.
It was dusty and cluttered under the stage, but not as dusty as he expected. Someone had been down there recently. “Shit,” said Ryan suddenly, from all the way in the corner. “Are we… Are we maybe looking for a box with blinking red lights counting down?”
Brendon’s stomach dropped. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds right.”
Ryan pointed. “Okay,” he said. “Then we have… Eleven minutes and a couple of seconds before this whole thing blows up. They weren’t going to wait for the show?”
“He changed it when Frank and Gerard showed up,” said Brendon certainly. “Donovan is really set on killing us.”
“Why?” Ryan asked plaintively. “I don’t mind the haters and stuff, but this is… This sucks.”
Brendon shrugged. “They didn’t tell me.”
“Weird,” said Ryan.
Brendon turned to go back upstairs to tell Frank and Gerard what they’d found, but he couldn’t get the door to the stairs open. “Um,” he said. “Ryan? Did you lock this?”
“Nnnnno,” said Ryan slowly. “That’s. Not good. Call them?”
Brendon grabbed for his phone, but it was gone. “I think it fell out of my pocket when I jumped Donovan.”
They stared at each other for a minute. “Scream and bang on the stage?” Ryan offered finally. And then, “Ten minutes four seconds.”
“Shit,” said Brendon.
\\\\\
“Will someone,” Spencer said, “tell me what is really going on?”
It was hard to run and keep up with Ray and Bob while his nose still hurt like a bitch, and his head was kind of spinning with all the new information he’d just gotten. My Chemical Romance was friends with Brendon, and they were all bad-ass spies or something.
If he’d been pressed, Spencer would have admitted that the least believable part of the whole thing was that Brendon had kept a secret for that long. Brendon sucked at secrets. Especially cool ones, and this was definitely cool.
It was also incredibly scary. Spencer had never had a loaded gun aimed at him before. He didn’t like it much. He liked it less aimed at Ryan and Brendon and Jon - Jesus Christ, who would shoot Jon, that was totally unacceptable.
“Gerard gave you the rundown,” said Bob, and shrugged.
“Yeah, but…” Spencer almost ran straight in to Bob’s back when he stopped suddenly. “He didn’t explain why anyone was trying to blow us up or shoot us.”
Ray looked at Bob. Bob shrugged. After a minute, Ray nodded. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “You two are kind of the… You’re the part of that band that makes sense, right? You two have your heads on straight. You’re not going to freak out?”
Spencer prided himself on not freaking out, even under really fucked up circumstances like these. “Of course not,” he scoffed. Behind him Jon made a face, but he nodded.
“The thing is,” said Ray in a hushed voice, “We’re not entirely sure. All we know is from emails Mikey’s gotten. He gets emails from himself in the future.”
Spencer blinked. “Fine,” he agreed, because he wanted Ray to keep talking, even if it was completely insane.
“Ask Brendon,” Bob advised. “He got shot with a ray gun from the future. He knows.”
Spencer filed that away grimly. “You let him get shot?” he demanded. “What kind of shitty-ass spies are you?”
Ray glared. “The point is,” he said, “Future Mikey says you guys… Well. There’s this group of people we don’t like very much. Donovan works for them. They’re trying to destroy the economy and ruin the world and other kinds of supervillain shit.”
“They suck,” Bob said succinctly.
“We can’t get in to all their nefarious reasons right now,” Ray went on. “You’ll just have to trust us. But what we do know is… Future Mikey says you guys… Fuck, Bob, I don’t know how to say this.”
Bob sighed. “First he told us to keep an eye on you. Gerard thought it was like a music thing, like you’d steal our songs or something.”
“Hey!” Spencer protested. “We never -”
“Yeah, we know that now,” Bob agreed. “His emails got less cryptic because he decided we were being dumbasses. Apparently at some unspecified point in the future, your band is going to do something that… Well. That saves the world.”
Spencer stared at him. “Us?” he managed finally. “That… Are you sure you mean us?”
“That’s what he said,” Ray agreed.
Spencer looked at Jon. Jon shrugged good-naturedly. “It kind of seems unlikely,” he said. “I mean… Songs about clowns or something? Sure, we’re your guys. World saving, though? Uh. Will it involve wearing hats?”
“We don’t know what the fuck it involves,” said Ray. “Donovan’s guys hacked our phones a few weeks ago and found out, and you’ve been their major targets since then.”
“The thing is,” said Bob, “we didn’t tell this to Brendon. And you won’t, either.”
“But-” Spencer started, and then stopped. He was just barely able to deal with this stuff, and he couldn’t quite imagine Brendon or Ryan’s face if they were told they were world saviors. “We… You don’t even know how or when?” he asked plaintively. “What if we… Listen, this is a lot of pressure.”
“Frank didn’t want to tell you at all,” Ray agreed. “He and Gerard are pretty resentful that your shitty dance-pop emo punk crap is that important. No offense.”
Spencer nodded. “So, our album saves the world?” he said. “Like Bill and Ted?”
Bob shrugged again. “Maybe. We have no fucking idea.”
Spencer loved their album, and he loved Ryan’s lyrics, but he was willing to admit that it seemed pretty farfetched. “Maybe in like, ten years, we put out a really awesome album,” he said.
Ray looked doubtful, but he said, “Sure. Maybe.”
Bob crept ahead a few steps. “There’s six guys in the hall,” he said. “I’m betting this is what Donovan’s been using as an office. And I bet there are stairs in there to the fucking roof.”
“Helicopter,” Ray said immediately. “Blow the place and leave.”
“He knows we’re here,” Bob agreed.
Ray took out his phone and started typing. “Mikey can jam the helicopter,” he said. Spencer didn’t even want to know how Mikey was going to do that, wherever the fuck Mikey was. “We just have to get to Donovan. You two stay here.”
“No fucking way,” Spencer replied. If Brendon could handle all this super ninja shit, then Spencer could handle it better. That had to be true. “We’re here to help.”
“You can’t save the world if you get shot before you’re old enough to drink,” Ray muttered.
Bob looked at Spencer seriously. “Listen,” he said. “Don’t fuck around here. Go for the throat.”
Spencer was secretly thrilled that Bob was taking him seriously. He was also more than a little scared that he was about to get really, really fucked up. “Okay,” he nodded. “Jon?”
Jon looked queasy, but he gave them a thumbs up.
“Three,” whispered Ray. “Two.”
On ‘one’ they burst around the corner. There were six guys in suits and they had guns, and for a second Spencer’s heart stopped, but Bob punched one of them in to the wall before anyone had time to register what was going on.
Spencer had a lot of pent-up anger about the whole thing; Brendon lying, Brendon getting hurt, Ryan almost getting shot, all the insane fucking weirdness of this afternoon. He channeled it into punching the shit out of the guy closest to him. He wasn’t as cool as Bob, he couldn’t quite take him out with one swing, but he knocked the guy to his knees. Spencer believed in fighting dirty. These guys would have killed his band, if they could have. Spencer kneed the guy in the face and then kicked him in the balls.
Jon was not having an awesome time; he’d gotten punched in the stomach and the guy was reaching for a gun. Spencer threw himself at the suit, wrapping his arms around his neck and squeezing until the guy fell to his knees. Spencer kept squeezing, until the suit’s eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp.
“Dude,” said Jon. “Nice. Anger management much?”
Spencer panted for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “I… That was fun.”
“Says you.” Jon shook his head.
Ray and Bob had taken down everyone else without even breaking a sweat. Spencer had to learn how they did that. They collected the guns and Spencer opened the office door.
Donovan had a briefcase and a couple of men with them; they pulled out guns and so did Ray and Bob, and Spencer was in the middle of a fucking standoff for the second time that day. This time, Spencer knew enough to actually be afraid, instead of just confused.
“Thank you for bringing them with you,” said Donovan. He didn’t seem anything like the nice guy from earlier. Spencer remembered Brendon’s face when he’d recognized Donovan and wanted to stuff the guy’s stupid face down his stupid throat. “Now I can shoot them.”
Ray sighed. Bob whispered, “This is the part where they talk. It goes faster if Gee’s not here.”
“What the fuck, dude,” Spencer burst out. “You tried to fucking kill us!”
“I’m still trying to kill you,” Donovan said evenly. “It ruins quite a lot of my financial investments if you go on to do whatever it is you’re going to do.” He smirked at Ray. “You’re not the only ones getting emails.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Sometimes this goes on for a while.”
“I thought it would be enough to get rid of this one,” said Donovan, picking a paper off his desk and throwing it at Jon. “But then you showed up, and apparently that’s better.”
Jon’s eyes got huge and he held the paper up to Spencer. It was a fucking picture of Brent. “Hey!” Spencer said. “He was a friend of ours!”
“It was easy to convince him that rock star life wasn’t for him,” said Donovan.
“You son of a bitch,” said Spencer. He loved Jon, but losing Brent had been awful for the band, and for their friendship, and for Ryan, and for everything. He lunged, but Jon caught his arm and held him back.
“Guns,” Jon said. “Remember?”
Donovan smiled. “It wasn’t the plan to only kill half of them,” he said, “but it’ll do for an emergency measure.” He turned the gun toward Spencer and Jon.
It had been sort of hazy, before; just something Ray had said, not something that was true. But Donovan wanted to kill them. He planned to blow them up. He would have shot them earlier if Gerard and Frank hadn’t shown up. And now, he was going to pull the trigger on the gun and actually kill them. Spencer tried to edge in front of Jon, which was awkward, because Jon was trying to edge in front of him. Spencer glared at him.
“No one’s shooting anyone,” said Ray, and threw his phone in the air.
There was a tremendous screeching noise and a flash of light and then Spencer was coughing his lungs out. Ray grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “Shirt,” Ray ordered, pulling Spencer’s t-shirt up so it was over his mouth.
It helped a little, but Spencer was still coughing and his eyes were watering. Ray and Bob were doing something incredibly impressive with their ninja-fu, and by the time the smoke cleared the floor was covered in henchmen lying around unconscious.
“Where’s Donovan?” Spencer asked.
“He ran,” Bob said. “Come on.”
He took off for a hidden door in the wall that was wide open now. Spencer coughed and ran after him.
They went up a dark staircase and came out on the roof, where Donovan’s helicopter was taking off. “How do we stop him?” Spencer yelled, holding his arm up against the buffeting wind from the blades.
“We don’t,” yelled Bob. “Mikey does.”
“But-” Spencer started. He was pretty sure he could get to Donovan before the asshole got too far away, and then he would punch the shit out of him. Bob grabbed his arm and shook his head.
When the helicopter got high enough up, Bob pushed Spencer back toward the stairs and pulled his phone out and typed a couple of letters. Spencer braced himself.
The helicopter blew up with an amazing fucking noise. Fire and blades and metal flew everywhere. Spencer pushed himself flat against the wall and tried not to be too scared of the fiery death raining down all over the roof. “Holy shit,” he said.
Bob turned and flashed him a quick smile. “Still want to help out?” he asked.
Spencer tried to feel upset that a couple of people had just been blown the fuck up in front of him. But that guy had almost killed him and Jon and Ryan, and he’d hurt Brendon. “Totally,” said Spencer.
“I knew you were a secret badass,” said Bob, and they went back downstairs.
\\\
Ryan shifted uncomfortably on the stairs. Brendon sighed and sat down next to him. Banging around and screaming hadn’t done a damn thing to alert anyone. Shooting the fucking gun hadn’t even helped. “Frank and Gerard don’t know we’re going to blow up in… four minutes,” he said. “That really sucks.”
“I think blowing up is going to suck more,” said Ryan. “They never showed you how to defuse a bomb?”
Brendon shook his head. “Only how to make one.”
“You can’t…” Ryan wiggled his hands. “From that?”
“And accidentally blow us up? That doesn’t seem like a great plan.”
There was a moment of silence. The big red numbers kept clicking down. “Okay,” said Ryan suddenly. “If we’re about to blow up. You should know.”
“Know what?” Brendon put his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fist. This sucked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.
Ryan took a deep breath. “I wasn’t just mad that you were gone,” he said. “I was… I was jealous. I’ve had this stupid… This…” He stopped again.
“Three minutes ten seconds,” said Brendon morosely. “Spit it out.”
“This stupid crush,” Ryan blurted. “On you. For, like, ever. And you were away doing things without us, and you’d gotten all weird, but… I just thought you should know I wasn’t really mad. Um. The end.”
Brendon stared at him. His heart was pounding in his ears, and it wasn’t because he was worried about the bombs, just this once. “I’ve had a big stupid crush on you forever,” he protested. “So you can’t… What?” So much for being over his crush, apparently; every stupid thought he’d ever had about Ryan came rushing back, this time with added dry mouth and shaking hands.
“Really?” Ryan said. “You… Oh. Maybe I should have said something sooner.”
Brendon wasn’t sure what to do. Under normal circumstances he would have been celebrating, maybe even have throwing himself at Ryan like an octopus or something and demanding immediate making out. But there was a bomb and imminent death to consider. It took some of the joy out of the situation.
“I wish I had more than two minutes and forty seconds to tell you how awesome I think you are,” he said instead.
Ryan smiled and slipped his hand in to Brendon’s. “You’re awesome, too,” he said. “I… I wish I’d said so before.”
Brendon said seriously, “I’m going to kiss you, okay? Normally I’d be all weird about it and like, have a total attack of being nervous, and freak out at you. But we’re going to die, so-”
“So you should shut up and kiss me,” Ryan agreed.
“I should,” Brendon said, and kissed him.
It was an awkward angle and there wasn’t a lot of time to try and finesse it in to anything good. They were still holding hands - Brendon’s was getting all sweaty and gross, and he wanted to pull it away, but Ryan didn’t seem to care, since they were going to die in a minute anyway. He brought his other hand up to Ryan’s face and just held it there. He’d wanted to for so long, and here it was, and if this was it he might as well enjoy it.
“What the fuck?” yelled Frank.
Ryan jerked back like he’d been electrocuted. Frank and Gerard were standing on the stairs, looking at them with horror and a little bit of disgust. “Now is not the time for making out,” said Gerard in his lecture-iest voice. “That’s for after you win and everyone’s safe.”
“Bomb,” said Brendon, and pointed at the wall.
“Fuck!” yelled Frank, and vaulted over them to get to it.
The numbers clicked over to TEN.
Ryan laced his fingers through Brendon’s and squeezed.
NINE.
Frank yanked the box open and started pulling at wires.
EIGHT.
Gerard pulled out his phone and started dialing frantically.
SEVEN.
Brendon put his head on Ryan’s shoulder, because honestly, why the fuck not at this point?
SIX.
Frank swore and sent a shower of sparks all over the floor.
FIVE.
Ryan smelled like soap and greasy stage makeup and it was awesome.
FOUR.
Gerard shouted something to Mikey.
THREE.
Brendon managed to wrap himself in to a hug around Ryan without letting go of his hand.
TWO.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and screwed his face up adorably.
ONE.
“I got it!” yelled Frank.
ZERO.
Nothing.
“We’re not dead,” Brendon whispered. Ryan opened his eyes again.
“Yeah, motherfucker, that’s how we do it!” yelled Gerard triumphantly. He jumped over Ryan and Brendon and threw himself at Frank, who caught him with a hug and a giant, sloppy kiss.
Ryan made a face. “Did you throw up earlier?”
Fuck. Brendon had totally thrown up earlier, and then he’d kissed Ryan, how gross was that? “Um,” said Brendon, “Sorry. Yeah, I shot a guy and then I threw up, and--”
Ryan shrugged philosophically. “It’s not like you had time to brush your teeth,” he said.
“But I ruined our first kiss.” Brendon stopped for a second. “That was our first kiss, right?” he said uncertainly. “Not some ‘I’m about to die so fuck it’ thing? Because I don’t think I could handle that, Ryan, honestly.”
“First kiss,” Ryan agreed. “Let’s not wait until we almost die to do it again, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed, grinning.
Gerard’s phone rang again. “Mikey says Ray and Bob stopped Donovan, but we still don’t know who he was working for,” Gerard relayed. “And everything here looks okay. You guys are fine to play the show tonight just like usual.”
“Maybe you’re fine,” Brendon said. “I need a week or two to recover.”
Gerard waved a finger at him. “If you’re going to be a rock-star-spy-ninja, Brendon, you need to toughen up. C’mon, Frank; Mikey’s making pizza bagels on the bus.”
Ryan frowned. “That’s it?” he said. “That’s… You just defuse the bombs and kill the bad guy and go home for snacks?”
Gerard shrugged and gave Frank a one-armed hug. “That,” he said, “is how we save the fucking world.”
A LITTLE WHILE LATER
Spencer banged on the door to the cabin a couple of times. “Fucking hurry up!” he yelled. “These guns aren’t going to practice themselves!”
Brendon appeared in the doorway. He was still in his pajamas despite it being four in the afternoon, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. “As the only person here who has ever actually shot someone,” he yawned, “I think I should be excused.”
Spencer crossed his arms. “You’re fucking with me, right? We only have like, two months out here to actually get good at this stuff, and you’re not going to ruin it by lying around in bed with Ryan all day. Speaking of which, tell Ross to get his ass out here. He sucks at all of this.”
“Bob didn’t make you band dictator!” yelled Ryan from inside. “Chill the fuck out!”
“You chill the fuck out,” Spencer yelled back, which didn’t make any sense. Ryan was totally chill, and had been since he and Brendon had finally gotten their shit together.
Jon ambled out and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Spence,” he said, in his most reasonable you-are-being-a-crazy-person voice, “We’re allegedly up here to record an album. People are going to notice if there’s no music.”
“We’ll just tell them it sucked and we scrapped it,” Spencer said. “Now come on, Jon, seriously, I think I can flip you over my shoulder.”
“I think you can, too,” Jon agreed. “That doesn’t mean I want you to.”
“I’m going back to bed,” Brendon announced.
“You-” Spencer spluttered. “You can’t just… Jon!”
Jon nodded wisely. “We are totally the worst spies ever,” he said. “I think you have to accept that.”
Spencer deflated a little. “Not the worst-worst, though, right?” he said hopefully. “Like, Gabe Saporta would be way worse.”
From inside the cabin, Brendon suddenly yelled, “Spencer! Tell Ryan that tickling is not fighting fair! Tell him!”
Spencer didn’t even have to roll his eyes. Jon gave him a hug. “I love you guys,” said Jon. “But. This crew is going to save the world?”
Spencer just nodded. It was going to be okay; the band weren’t ideal world-savers, maybe, but they were all willing to try. That was going to have to be enough. “Worst spies ever,” he sighed, and went back to practicing.
Summary: Have you any funny stories behind the making of the album [pretty. odd.]?
“We can’t... I mean...”
“We can’t tell you any funny stories because we’d probably be killed.”
- Jon and Ryan being interviewed by NME.com
part two
Things were tense. Spencer’s shoulders knotted up so badly he could barely move his arms, and that made drumming torture. He considered asking Jon for a massage, but it wasn’t safe to leave Ryan on his own.
Ryan was upset like he hadn’t been since his high school girlfriend had cheated on him. Only instead of writing songs about it, he sat around like a lump staring in to space. The rainbow-colored neckerchiefs were gone, replaced by endless scarves and the orphan-newsboy hat Spencer was sure he’d thrown away. On Planet Panic! at the Disco that meant the wild Ryan Ross had retreated into hibernation and sadness and wasn’t coming out again until spring, or maybe next time they got a record deal.
Spencer tried pretending things were fine, but Ryan, when he wasn’t on stage, just sat there looking hurt. He didn’t respond to Jon - how could anyone not respond to Jon Walker, he was basically a walking teddy bear with a beer - and he didn’t respond to Spencer and he was pretending that there was no such person as Brendon. After a couple of days Spencer gave up and just sat with him.
Brendon didn’t even have the manners to grovel and apologize. He was withdrawn and sulky, too. When Spencer went off to sit on the couch and stare endlessly into space with Ryan, he tried to get Jon to go talk to Brendon, but Brendon wasn’t talking, not even to Jon, and Jon was his favorite. The whole situation was weird.
It took Spencer a couple of days to figure Brendon’s attitude out. When he did, he couldn’t believe it. Brendon was in a full-on “My life sucks so hard” pout. Like the whole thing had somehow been bad for him, and he hadn’t just been out being a jackass somewhere, and then lied about it. His Sidekick beeped now and then, but Brendon just looked at it and then turned it off, or hid it under the bed, or pretended to forget it somewhere. It was utterly unlike him.
Ryan wouldn’t look at Brendon, and Brendon didn’t seem to care. They were both the center of their own little universes. Spencer made a list of things to yell at them about and then threw it away because they both looked so miserable.
Thank god they were all professionals; the shows went fine. Interviews were a little bit harder to fake, since Brendon mostly stared at his sneakers. Spencer just told everyone he was feeling sick and answered all the questions.
Spencer let it go for a week. And then he let it go for another week, because Ryan was really, sincerely upset. Spencer told Jon that after the show that night he was planning to take Brendon aside and either figure out what was happening or kill him. Jon agreed that that seemed fair.
First, though, they had a show to do. It was the last for a while, and it was in a ridiculously large arena. Spencer was psyched, but he was also exhausted. He wanted them to rent a cabin in the woods somewhere and go and just lie around doing nothing for a few months where no one could find them. Assuming, of course, that Ryan and Brendon worked through their stupidity first.
They were looking at the stage during sound check when Brendon suddenly, for the first time in two weeks, perked up. His eyes got cartoonishly big and he stood there staring for a minute. “What?” Spencer asked. He was hopeful that he’d get some kind of totally idiotic answer and maybe Brendon would start giggling and fall over. He couldn’t believe he missed that kind of shit, but he totally did.
“That’s,” said Brendon vaguely. “Um. I have to go get my Sidekick. I’ll see you guys in a few minutes.” He turned and ran off stage.
“Bullshit,” said Zack, and went after him.
“What?” Jon asked, restringing his bass.
Spencer squinted at what Brendon had been looking at. It just looked like amps and wires and plugs and a couple of boxes to him. “No idea,” he said.
Ryan hadn’t even looked up. Spencer stifled a sigh with a lot of effort. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. He sounded worried. Jon never sounded worried.
Ryan nodded and played something maudlin.
\\\\
Brendon’s hands were shaking and he could only get his Sidekick to type out every other letter he wanted. trube hre 4 srsss was what it said when he accidentally hit send. He took a deep breath and typed again. truble here 4 serius, he sent, and then added HELP!!!!!
He waited a few seconds but Frank and Gerard didn’t call back. It felt like an eternity. Brendon tried not to hyperventilate.
Zack was standing in the doorway of the bus, glaring at him. “You okay?” he said, sounding more annoyed than concerned.
“Uh,” said Brendon.
“Feeling sick?” Zack frowned. “Because if this is some shitty attempt to get out of performing Spencer and I are going to take turns killing you. We’re still pissed about-”
“I know,” Brendon snapped, willing his phone to ring.
“You know shit,” said Zack. “What’s the big?”
Brendon couldn’t exactly turn to Zack and say, “Those stage lights and all the extra wiring? Those are exactly like the bombs Frank Iero showed me how to make.” He just pressed his lips together and bounced a little bit and stuffed the phone in his pocket. “Nothing,” he said.
“Then get your ass back to soundcheck,” Zack ordered.
Brendon nodded. If he was right, this was an attempt to kill the entire band, and maybe an arena full of fans. Brendon would stop it however he had to. He just… He had to talk to MCR first.
He stepped back on stage and Spencer and Ryan stared at him. It was the first time in a couple of weeks Ryan had looked at him - not that Brendon had noticed - and Brendon tried not to seem worried that they were all in danger of imminent death. His voice cracked and broke a lot more than usual, and he lost the words to a couple songs, but he laughed and rolled his eyes and made a face, so they were all willing to pretend it was normal.
A they finished up Zack walked over and said, “This is one of the suits here to hear you tonight. Mr. Donovan, say hello to the boys.”
“Hi boys,” said the man in a suit, walking over.
Brendon’s heart stopped beating.
It was the man who’d seen him in the hallway the night of the break-and-enter.
It was the voice that had asked him what he knew about the Way brothers.
They were all in so fucking much trouble.
Jon and Spencer were saying hi and being polite, while Ryan hung back a little bit. Jon shook the guy’s hand. Brendon concentrated on not running over and slapping Jon’s hand away. Screaming, “That guy shot me!” wasn’t going to do him any good. Plus, he hadn’t really been shot, he’d been rayed.
“And this is Brendon,” said Spencer, beckoning.
Brendon couldn’t move. He looked at Donovan and Donovan looked at him. Brendon’s mouth wasn’t working. Spencer frowned and said, “What? Brendon, what?” but Brendon just shook his head and fumbled for his phone. That man was going to kill Spencer and Jon and Ryan.
CALL ME. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. He snapped the phone shut and shuddered. Spencer was moving from confused in to mad.
Brendon’s phone rang. He almost burst in to tears. “Hey,” he said shakily, pretending he couldn’t see Spencer miming death threats at him. “What’s up?”
“What the fuck?” demanded Frank Iero’s voice. “This had better be fucking important.”
“Um,” said Brendon, dropping his voice and turning away as much as he could. “He’s here. The guy. The one who rayed me.” Did that sound suspicious? He threw a glance over his shoulder, but no one was looking.
Frank swore, creatively and loudly. “At the venue?”
“Yeah. When I looked at the stage setup, it looked a lot like stuff you showed me. You need to do something.”
He heard Frank talking to someone and then Gerard saying, “-right fucking now? Shit, Frankie, your pants-”
Behind him Donovan was still talking to Jon. He was getting his creepy killer evil cooties all over Jon Walker, one of Brendon’s three favorite people in the whole world. Brendon wanted to grab Jon and drag him away to safety.
“Just sit tight,” said Frank. “We can be there pronto. Hold tight and don’t let the band out of your sight until we get there. Okay? Bob and Ray will follow. Mikey’s gonna run ops.”
“Okay,” Brendon said. Ryan was looking at him, so he dropped his voice again. “Hurry, dude.”
“On our way,” said Frank, and hung up.
Donovan looked right at Brendon and smiled. “Two hours until show time,” he said.
Two hours. Brendon nodded. Spencer smiled and made a joke and Jon laughed. Ryan looked morosely at his sneakers.
Two hours. Shit. What could Brendon do in two hours besides worry?
Not a whole lot, he realized, and swallowed hard.
\\\\
Donovan smiled and walked them to the dressing room and shook everyone’s hands again. Brendon didn’t have an excuse not to, and Spencer was looking upset, so Brendon bit his lip and let Donovan shake his hand.
“You’re lucky to be here,” Donovan said with a bright, cheery smile.
Brendon was not fooled for an instant. “Yeah,” he said. “Lucky me.” He tried to narrow his eyes just a little, just enough to let Donovan know that he was on to him, and he’d called MCR, and whatever dastardly plotting was going on would be stopped.
“Why don’t you kids go in to the dressing room? I’ll shoo everyone else out, so you can have some time to relax before the show. Zack, can I show you some more of the setup around here?”
Zack pointed at Brendon. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said.
Brendon bit his tongue so he didn’t yell Don’t leave us. It was weird not having other people rushing in and out of the room. Gerard and Frank should have been getting there at any second. They would clean everything up, and then it wouldn’t matter anymore. Donovan shooed them all in to the room and shut the door, taking Zack with him.
“What?” Spencer demanded. “You’re acting crazy, Bren. What’s going on?”
“You know what would help,” offered Jon, with a complicated little hand gesture.
Spencer said sternly, “Jon, honestly, he can’t smoke up right before a show. It’ll fuck with his voice.”
“Where are my fingerless gloves?” Ryan asked. “I don’t see them here.”
A perfect excuse to rush in to the hallway and text Frank and Gerard, Brendon decided. “I’ll go look,” he said, bouncing to his feet.
The catch turned out to be that the door was locked. Brendon yanked and yanked, and then just stared at it for a second. “But he… He didn’t say, ‘No, Mr. Urie, I expect you to die,’ or anything,” he almost-wailed, banging on the door.
“What the fuck, dude?” Jon asked. “The door’s locked? Call Zack.”
Brendon was grimly certain that Zack’s phone would be off. Or missing. He dropped to the floor. “That won’t help.”
“Okay, even on the Brendon Urie scale of weirdness, you’re off the charts,” said Spencer. “What’s up, dude?”
Brendon was dying to tell them. He wanted commiseration and sympathy and someone to freak out with him. But he also didn’t want to make things worse. Maybe Donovan only wanted to kill him, and he’d leave everyone else alone. Maybe My Chemical Romance was going to swoop in at any second and fix everything.
“I don’t like that guy,” said Brendon. “He’s creepy.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Did he say something creepy to you? Do I have to kill him?”
Spencer was so reliably awesome that Brendon could have kissed him. “It’s… Mostly just the vibe I get from him,” said Brendon. Later, he decided, he would tell everyone and let Spencer go after Donovan.
“Dude, it’s pre-show jitters,” said Jon. “Chill.”
“It’s… Yeah,” Brendon agreed. He was extremely nervous to go out on a stage that was loaded with all kinds of explosives being run by a guy who’d tried to kill him. His phone beeped. “Oh, thank god.”
“Big phone call?” Ryan asked. He sounded weirdly… jealous?
“Sort of,” Brendon said. Here, said Frank’s text. Sit tite. “Oh, good.”
“What?” Spencer asked, grabbing for the phone.
That was the last fucking thing Brendon needed at this second. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… Good news.”
Frank and Gerard were totally going to handle everything, and Brendon could stop worrying. He closed his eyes for a second. Things were going to be fine. No one was going to kill him and his band. Everything was going to be fine.
His overwhelming relief was interrupted when his phone beeped again. That seemed too soon to be good news. Brendon frowned.
Thank you for bringing them here, Mr. Urie. I appreciate it. -D
Brendon’s jaw must have actually, literally dropped, because Spencer said, “Jesus, now what?”
“I have to-I need to make a phone call,” said Brendon, looking around. They were locked in a room, where the fuck was he supposed to call from that wouldn’t be overheard? “Give me… Just a second.”
He shut himself in the bathroom, locked the door, and tried Frank’s number. Then Gerard’s. Then Frank’s again. There was no fucking answer. Brendon took a couple of deep breaths so he wouldn’t pass out, and dialed Ray. Ray was reliable. Ray was smart. Ray knew stuff about things, and Ray would know what to do.
He picked up almost immediately. “We’re in a lot of fucking trouble,” Brendon whispered. He could hear the band arguing right outside the bathroom door.
“Guys, chill,” Jon was saying. “I’m sure it’s something totally explainable.”
“Family stuff, maybe?” Ryan muttered.
“He’s going to get punched in the mouth, I don’t even care,” Spencer said.
Ray asked calmly, “What happened?”
“Frank texted that he was here. And then Donovan - that’s the guy, okay, the one who totally tried to kidnap and murder me? - he texted me to thank me. Oh my god, if he hacked my phone, he’s listening to us right now, isn’t he? Fuck!”
Ray said, “He can hear you, but not me. Mikey invented a thing-”
“Tell me what to do,” Brendon pleaded. “He’s going to blow up the venue. Wait, I hope he’s listening. You fucker! No one messes with my band, okay, I will-”
“Hey, shhhh,” said Ray. “I’m going to tag in on Frank’s phone and see where he is. And then you’re going to go help Gerard and Frank.”
“The hell I am,” said Brendon. “Can’t you-”
“Listening, remember?” said Ray.
Spencer banged on the door a couple of times. “We’re waiting!” he yelled, in his fake-patient voice.
“I quit!” Brendon protested.
“Well, you un-quit when you called us for help,” Ray said. “If Frank and Gerard are in trouble, that’s your fault, and if you don’t help them your band is in trouble. Suck it up. Okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon said meekly, because he couldn’t argue with that.
There was a weird beeping noise. “Found them,” said Ray, “or at least I found their phones. You said the door is locked, right? Doesn’t matter; I pulled up the schematic and it looks like the air ducts are going to be the way to get there.”
“You remember the part where I’m bad at this, right?” Brendon asked. “I’m just checking.”
“I remember the part where shut up,” said Ray. “Okay, if you stand on the back of the toilet you should be able to get in to the ventilation system. You’re going to go north as far as you can and then you’re going to head to the east part of the building. Okay?”
“How the fuck do I-” Brendon started, and then remembered people were listening. “Um. No. Say it again?”
Ray sighed a little. “Stand on the toilet. Pull down the grating. Go straight ahead as far as you can, and when you can’t go further go right. Okay? You’ll be over the room where I think they are. And turn the phone to silent, because if it rings and you get caught or killed this shit doesn’t do anyone any good.”
Ray was so, so smart. “Okay,” said Brendon. “And then what?”
There was a long silence. “Then…” said Ray. “Then you’re going to have to improvise. Me and Bob will be there as soon as we can, so… Good luck.”
“But… No!” was all Brendon could come up with.
“Go,” said Ray. “Quickly.” He hung up.
Spencer banged on the door. “Dude,” he yelled. “Are you like, drowning yourself or something? Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” Brendon yelled back. “I just… Uh. I need some time, okay? Give me a few minutes.” By the end of which Brendon would either be dead along with Frank and Gerard or he’d have saved his band from certain doom. One or the other.
“We’re gonna play Guitar Hero,” Jon yelled. “C’mon, Bden. Come play!”
They thought he was so fucking easy, didn’t they? Brendon sighed. He usually was. “In a few,” he said. He stuck his Sidekick in his pocket and looked speculatively at the vent over the toilet. He could fit up there. Probably.
“…leave him alone, then,” said Spencer to someone else. Then he called, “Fine! You have half an hour. Then we’re knocking the door down.”
Well, half an hour ought to do it, either way. “Great,” said Brendon, climbing up on the back of the toilet. “Thanks!” He pushed on the vent, which, thank fuck, wasn’t screwed in or anything. It took a little shoulder work, but he got it up.
It would have been nice if he’d had a gun, even if he sucked at shooting them. It would have been nice to tell Spencer and Jon and Ryan, so they could back him up. It would have been nice if Ray and Bob had suddenly shown up to be competent and ass-kicking.
Brendon sighed and wiggled up in to the ceiling.
\\\
NOW
“Tell us what we want to know,” said the man. He wasn’t Donovan, he was just some guy in a suit, but he had a gun, and it was pointed at Gerard, and Frank didn’t look likely to talk.
Brendon swore under his breath. Frank and Gerard were all tied up. That sucked. Brendon’s hands were sweaty and shaking and he was pretty sure his contribution to the world of super spying was going to be when he threw up all over the bad guys right before he got shot.
It was one of those things, though. You just closed your eyes and did it, and it either worked or it didn’t, and that was it. Worrying and planning were just going to get in the way and oh god, oh god, oh god, Brendon moved the grate.
“I’m not telling you shit,” said Frank.
“Then I’ll kill him,” said the suit. “Do you think Donovan came all the way back here for nothing? Tonight is going to go off without a hitch-”
“You mean when you blow up a bunch of kids?” Gerard asked, spitting blood. “You sons of bitches.”
The man shrugged. “All I was told was that the band had to be stopped. Permanently. Do you have something else to share?”
Brendon wiggled around so he wouldn’t have to go head-first in to the room. He figured he had a better shot if he was on his feet, although as many times as Bob had shown him how to drop-and-roll he still hadn’t quite gotten it. Or that grab-the-gun thing, either, which was seeming like a pretty vital move to have mastered.
“Fuck, no,” said Gerard, and looked at Frank. “I love you, dude.”
“I love you, dude,” said Frank back.
Brendon didn’t pray anymore, so he just closed his eyes and jumped.
He didn’t land on the suit, which might have been perfect. Instead he was in front of the guy which… Wasn’t. “What the fuck?” said the suit.
“Oh, shit,” said Frank.
There was a gun aimed at him, but this time it wasn’t Ray or Bob trying to show him how to do stuff in a friendly practice session. Muscle memory, Brendon told himself firmly, and reached for it.
Just like he expected, he knocked the gun out of both of their hands and it clattered across the floor. “Good enough,” Brendon said, and punched the suit in the face.
It hurt like fuck, all the way up his arm to the shoulder, but he’d aimed through the nose like Bob said and put his weight behind it. Brendon might have been six inches shorter than the guy, but the suit wasn’t expecting it. He folded like a towel. Bob Bryar didn’t fuck around with ninja training.
“Gun gun gun gun!” yelled Frank.
Brendon was so there already. He scrambled on his knees for the gun and by the time the guy straightened up Brendon had it aimed right at his chest. His hands were only shaking a little bit, which was pretty fucking amazing. “I will shoot you dead, motherfucker,” said Brendon. His voice was shaking a lot, unfortunately.
“You’re in the band,” said the man incredulously. “Give me that.”
Brendon’s brain and his mouth were still dithering over what to do, but his hands apparently had listened to Bob carefully. His fingers tightened totally without his supervision, and the gun fired. The recoil made his arms jerk back and his hands burn, but the suit… The suit dropped to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” Brendon whispered.
His whole brain shut down in a fuzzy cloud of white noise and overwhelming panic and the need to throw up right fucking now. The bang had been so much louder than when he’d practiced with Ray, it was still echoing around his brain. His mouth tasted like copper. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold on to the gun and he leaned over and lost his lunch.
When he could hear again, Frank was yelling, “Fucking untie us, dumbass, someone’s going to have heard that.”
Brendon nodded because he couldn’t talk. He clicked on the safety and started pulling the ropes around Frank apart. It took forever, because his fingers were still tingling with adrenaline. The second Frank could wiggle free he did, taking the gun from Brendon, who didn’t object.
“You did good,” said Gerard, spitting a little more blood. Frank pulled a knife out of his sneaker and cut Gerard free, too. “That was awesome, Brendon. You didn’t hesitate, you didn’t freak out, you didn’t drop the gun. You did a really good job.”
“I…” said Brendon, and couldn’t say anything else because there was a guy lying on the floor and there was blood all around him. “I’m gonna throw up again, I think.”
“The time for freaking out,” said Frank, “is after we’re done. That guy was gonna kill us, and then he was going to kill Spencer and Jon and Ryan. Focus on that. He was going to kill Ryan. You are a big goddamn hero. Okay?”
“No one gets to kill Ryan,” Brendon agreed numbly. He wished, for the millionth time, that Spencer were around. Spencer would have known how to handle this.
“Give the kid a minute,” said Gerard.
“I would, but we can’t,” said Frank, with one of those significant looks he was always giving Gerard. “The band’s the target. If we’re here and they’re found out, why wait until tonight to blow them up?”
Gerard swore loudly. “Where’s the rest of your band?” he demanded.
Oh god, it wasn’t over? Why wasn’t it over? “Locked in the dressing room,” said Brendon. “Why? What’s… Ray and Bob are going to be here soon. Can’t we just wait?”
Gerard leaned over the guy on the floor. “He’s not dead,” he said. “You hit his shoulder. Nice shot. And no. If Donovan panics he’ll default to killing your band.”
“I can’t shoot anyone else,” said Brendon flatly. “I… I can’t. Someone else has to… I can’t.”
Frank patted him on the shoulder. “The sooner we get there, the less we need to kill people,” he said. “I’ll text Ray and Mikey.”
Brendon nodded shakily. As long as there was no more shooting, he was probably okay. Maybe. He could fake it, at least.
“I threw up, too,” said Gerard, with a friendly smile. The effect was kind of ruined by all the blood on his face. “The first time, I mean. I threw up all over the place.”
Frank flipped his phone shut. “Their ETA is five minutes, so let’s get this done up, guys. Here.” He tossed Brendon the gun.
Brendon caught it gingerly and grimaced. “I don’t want-” he started.
Frank grinned wolfishly. “We have to go save your band, genius. Don’t you want to look heroic and cool?”
Brendon did, more than almost anything else in the world - short of finding a corner to curl up in for a few hours- but not if it meant using it again. “Don’t you need guns?” he asked.
“Watch,” said Frank, and opened the door.
There were a couple of guards outside, and they weren’t expecting Frank. There was a blur of motion - Frank was a ninja just like Bob - and then they were both on the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Frank took their guns. “It was a fucking fluke that they caught us on the way in,” he said.
“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” crowed Gerard.
Frank put his hands on his hips. “I keep telling you,” he said. “I don’t think Monty Python is appropriate for this kind of situation.”
“That is totally binary thinking,” Gerard replied. “I mean, if it’s our situation, don’t we get to decide what’s appropriate?”
Brendon followed them down the hallway. Frank whispered, “Quoting Monty Python ruins the atmosphere a little.”
“Oh, fine,” Gerard whispered back, “judge me. What should I be quoting? Reservoir Dogs? Should I shoot someone and then say ‘Yippe-ki-yay, motherfucker’?”
Frank looked like he was considering it. Brendon pointed. “Our dressing room was that way,” he said. It was a lot easier to tell when he wasn’t crawling through the ceiling. His knees had mostly stopped shaking too, so that was nice.
They managed to avoid people, ducking around corners and waiting in doorways for them to pass, while arguing in hushed voices over quoting movies. Brendon wondered if they ever stopped in the middle of one of these missions to just make out.
“There’s someone outside the door,” Frank reported, sticking his head around the corner. “I’ll handle him, you two head in. Expect Donovan to be in there.”
“You know Donovan?” Brendon whispered to Gerard.
“Later,” Frank hissed, and attacked.
Frank Iero attacking was really fucking impressive to watch. Gerard kicked in the door - who knew Gerard could even do that? - and pulled Brendon with him.
Brendon’s hands were still sweaty and he was worried he was going to drop the gun and then no one would be impressed after at all. Donovan was inside, pointing a gun at Ryan, which made Brendon stop breathing. Spencer and Ryan and Jon were all standing against the wall, looking bewildered, while Donovan shouted, “Where did the other one go?”
“Right here, asshole,” Brendon yelled. He was surprised that his voice was so loud, and thrilled that he sounded a little bit Dirty Harry.
“What the shit?” Spencer demanded.
Donovan didn’t turn or move his arm. “Ah,” he said. “Unfortunate. Put your gun down, Brendon, or I’ll shoot your friends.”
“No fucking way,” said Gerard. “If you shoot them we’ll shoot you.”
“But maybe I only have to kill one of them,” said Donovan evenly. “So it doesn’t matter if you kill me or not.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Spencer demanded. “Why-” Donovan moved the gun toward him, and Spencer shut up.
Brendon said, “No one is shooting anyone from my band. No one!” He didn’t have a plan, and he didn’t know if Gerard and Frank had one, either. He just wanted Donovan to turn the gun away from the rest of Panic!.
“Maybe I’ll take a hostage,” said Donovan, grabbing Ryan. Spencer automatically grabbed Ryan’s other arm. Donovan had his gun pointed at Ryan’s head, but he used his elbow to clock Spencer right in the face. Spencer doubled over, and Donovan yanked Ryan away.
Brendon was so mad he was seeing red. “I already shot one guy,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Let him go.”
“You what?” Jon asked, putting an arm protectively around Spencer. “This is weird.”
Ryan hadn’t said anything, he was just looking at Brendon with his big, stupid eyes and letting Donovan pull him toward the door. Brendon was going to cry, nothing was allowed to happen to Ryan.
“No fucking way,” said Frank, popping up behind Donovan. He knocked Donovan’s gun arm away from Ryan, and Brendon launched himself at them both. He fell on Donovan more than he attacked him, but he got an arm around the guy’s neck and dragged him off balance long enough for Gerard to get Ryan away and Frank to reach for his gun.
But Donovan wasn’t as easy to take down as his henchmen had been - Brendon got an elbow in the face that fucking hurt - and Frank got bitten, it looked like, and then Donovan was on his feet and running for the door. “Fuck,” said Frank. “I’m going after him.”
Brendon stood up painfully. “What about the bombs?” he said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You know,” he said impatiently to Gerard, “the reason I called you here? The entire stage is wired to blow the fuck up, remember? If he goes there -”
“It’ll take the whole building down,” Gerard agreed. “Okay, new plan. Brendon, get your band the hell out of here, and Frank and I will handle the bombs.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” said Spencer. He had a bloody nose that looked nasty, and he was still leaning on Jon a little bit. He mostly looked incredibly mad. “No one is going anywhere, okay, until someone tells me what the fuck is going on.”
“Can we?” said Brendon. “Please?” He looked earnestly at Gerard.
Gerard looked at Frank. Frank shrugged. “Fine,” said Gerard. “The short version. Sometimes when we’re not on tour, we help save the world. Brendon’s been helping out.”
The entire band turned to stare at Brendon, who shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not actually very helpful,” he said. “Plus, I quit.”
“And now,” said Ray’s voice behind him, “You’re un-quit. Right?”
The relief Brendon felt was physical. “I shot a guy,” said Brendon to Bob.
Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes shit happens,” he said. “I bet you were awesome.” Brendon shook his head. He didn’t feel awesome.
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Spencer, holding up his hands. “This is… Why Brendon? I would be so much better at this than Brendon, you don’t even know-”
“That’s what I said,” Brendon agreed.
“Donovan’s getting away,” said Gerard firmly. “Ray, Bob, you want to handle that? Frank and I can go find the bombs. Brendon, get the kids out of here-”
“I’m coming with,” Spencer said immediately. He glared accusingly at Brendon.
Brendon looked apologetic. “I wasn’t allowed to say anything.”
“We’ll take Spencer with us,” said Ray unexpectedly.
“Then I’m going with Spencer,” Jon volunteered.
“Ryan and I will go with Gerard and Frank,” said Brendon. He realized suddenly that Ryan hadn’t said a word since he’d walked in. “Ryan? Are you okay?”
Ryan looked uncertainly at him. “When I… When we were mad at you for being missing… Were you okay?” he asked quietly. “Or were you like… You had a black eye.”
“Donovan kidnapped him,” said Frank. Spencer’s face got even madder somehow. “Can we go, please?”
The urge to reach out and take Ryan’s hand or pet him or something and make him stop staring like that, all upset, was intense. Brendon bit his lip. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m so glad you guys know about this. Keeping it to myself was awful.”
“Let’s go,” Gerard repeated, hustling them out the door. “Up to the stage!”
“And for fuck’s sake,” Frank added, “put the gun away. We’re not trying to get stopped by security between here and there.”
Brendon nodded and shoved it in his pocket. He wanted to put it in the waistband of his jeans, but they were really tight, number one, and number two the potential for getting hurt was scary. Ryan looked shocky and upset, so Brendon let himself - just this once, it wasn’t a big deal, they’d both almost gotten shot - grab Ryan’s hand and pull him along.
They ran toward the stage. There were lots more people around - people who were going to be blown up, fuck - but they saw Brendon and Ryan and mostly moved out of the way. It was nice to be important as long as it didn’t lead to being kidnapped.
They burst on stage and Frank started yelling, “Out! Get out! Everybody out!” The techs and lighting guys and security just stared.
Ryan pulled his hand out of Brendon’s and leaned in to one of the microphones. “Hi,” he said, “Sorry. We need a few minutes alone in here to figure out some of the stuff for the show. Can everybody leave, please?”
He must have looked like The Guy From The Band Tonight. It was probably the ruffly, weird shirt or the fingerless gloves or the top hat. Maybe it was all those things together. Whatever it was, people started moving toward the doors. “Nice,” Brendon whispered.
Ryan smiled a little shakily. “I figured I ought to do something besides standing around looking confused,” he whispered back.
As the place cleared out, Frank started inspecting the stage. “This is going to suck to defuse,” he said. “We might need to fake a fire alarm and let it blow by itself. I’m sure it’s on a timer. Did you see one, Brendon?”
Brendon shook his head. “Just the wires and all the C4,” he said.
“Well fucking go and look,” Gerard ordered, kneeling by an amp. “Fuck. Do you see this?”
“I saw,” said Frank, in his grim this-shit-is-serious voice. Then he giggled. “Remember the time in Berlin?”
“With the ninjas?” Gerard asked.
“That fucking ruled,” Frank agreed. “And hey, we didn’t die.”
“Not quite,” Gerard agreed, yanking on wires.
Brendon wasn’t sure where to look for a timer. “Backstage?” he said to Ryan. “Or underneath, maybe?”
“Sure,” Ryan agreed. They poked around the curtains and the wings, but while there were lots of soundboards and other equipment, there was nothing that looked like a sinister bomb countdown. After a minute or two Brendon was ready to give up and call Mikey to get some kind of pen-that-also-found-bombs.
Ryan found the door that led to under the stage. “We could have cool stuff pop out from here during the show,” said Brendon, following him.
“The show isn’t happening,” Ryan pointed out. “I mean. Not unless we find the bombs. Do you feel up to singing? I don’t feel up to playing.” He smiled uncertainly at Brendon.
It was the adrenaline, clearly, but Brendon could have sung ten shows if they made Ryan happy. “Maybe,” he said, and started poking around.
It was dusty and cluttered under the stage, but not as dusty as he expected. Someone had been down there recently. “Shit,” said Ryan suddenly, from all the way in the corner. “Are we… Are we maybe looking for a box with blinking red lights counting down?”
Brendon’s stomach dropped. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds right.”
Ryan pointed. “Okay,” he said. “Then we have… Eleven minutes and a couple of seconds before this whole thing blows up. They weren’t going to wait for the show?”
“He changed it when Frank and Gerard showed up,” said Brendon certainly. “Donovan is really set on killing us.”
“Why?” Ryan asked plaintively. “I don’t mind the haters and stuff, but this is… This sucks.”
Brendon shrugged. “They didn’t tell me.”
“Weird,” said Ryan.
Brendon turned to go back upstairs to tell Frank and Gerard what they’d found, but he couldn’t get the door to the stairs open. “Um,” he said. “Ryan? Did you lock this?”
“Nnnnno,” said Ryan slowly. “That’s. Not good. Call them?”
Brendon grabbed for his phone, but it was gone. “I think it fell out of my pocket when I jumped Donovan.”
They stared at each other for a minute. “Scream and bang on the stage?” Ryan offered finally. And then, “Ten minutes four seconds.”
“Shit,” said Brendon.
\\\\\
“Will someone,” Spencer said, “tell me what is really going on?”
It was hard to run and keep up with Ray and Bob while his nose still hurt like a bitch, and his head was kind of spinning with all the new information he’d just gotten. My Chemical Romance was friends with Brendon, and they were all bad-ass spies or something.
If he’d been pressed, Spencer would have admitted that the least believable part of the whole thing was that Brendon had kept a secret for that long. Brendon sucked at secrets. Especially cool ones, and this was definitely cool.
It was also incredibly scary. Spencer had never had a loaded gun aimed at him before. He didn’t like it much. He liked it less aimed at Ryan and Brendon and Jon - Jesus Christ, who would shoot Jon, that was totally unacceptable.
“Gerard gave you the rundown,” said Bob, and shrugged.
“Yeah, but…” Spencer almost ran straight in to Bob’s back when he stopped suddenly. “He didn’t explain why anyone was trying to blow us up or shoot us.”
Ray looked at Bob. Bob shrugged. After a minute, Ray nodded. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “You two are kind of the… You’re the part of that band that makes sense, right? You two have your heads on straight. You’re not going to freak out?”
Spencer prided himself on not freaking out, even under really fucked up circumstances like these. “Of course not,” he scoffed. Behind him Jon made a face, but he nodded.
“The thing is,” said Ray in a hushed voice, “We’re not entirely sure. All we know is from emails Mikey’s gotten. He gets emails from himself in the future.”
Spencer blinked. “Fine,” he agreed, because he wanted Ray to keep talking, even if it was completely insane.
“Ask Brendon,” Bob advised. “He got shot with a ray gun from the future. He knows.”
Spencer filed that away grimly. “You let him get shot?” he demanded. “What kind of shitty-ass spies are you?”
Ray glared. “The point is,” he said, “Future Mikey says you guys… Well. There’s this group of people we don’t like very much. Donovan works for them. They’re trying to destroy the economy and ruin the world and other kinds of supervillain shit.”
“They suck,” Bob said succinctly.
“We can’t get in to all their nefarious reasons right now,” Ray went on. “You’ll just have to trust us. But what we do know is… Future Mikey says you guys… Fuck, Bob, I don’t know how to say this.”
Bob sighed. “First he told us to keep an eye on you. Gerard thought it was like a music thing, like you’d steal our songs or something.”
“Hey!” Spencer protested. “We never -”
“Yeah, we know that now,” Bob agreed. “His emails got less cryptic because he decided we were being dumbasses. Apparently at some unspecified point in the future, your band is going to do something that… Well. That saves the world.”
Spencer stared at him. “Us?” he managed finally. “That… Are you sure you mean us?”
“That’s what he said,” Ray agreed.
Spencer looked at Jon. Jon shrugged good-naturedly. “It kind of seems unlikely,” he said. “I mean… Songs about clowns or something? Sure, we’re your guys. World saving, though? Uh. Will it involve wearing hats?”
“We don’t know what the fuck it involves,” said Ray. “Donovan’s guys hacked our phones a few weeks ago and found out, and you’ve been their major targets since then.”
“The thing is,” said Bob, “we didn’t tell this to Brendon. And you won’t, either.”
“But-” Spencer started, and then stopped. He was just barely able to deal with this stuff, and he couldn’t quite imagine Brendon or Ryan’s face if they were told they were world saviors. “We… You don’t even know how or when?” he asked plaintively. “What if we… Listen, this is a lot of pressure.”
“Frank didn’t want to tell you at all,” Ray agreed. “He and Gerard are pretty resentful that your shitty dance-pop emo punk crap is that important. No offense.”
Spencer nodded. “So, our album saves the world?” he said. “Like Bill and Ted?”
Bob shrugged again. “Maybe. We have no fucking idea.”
Spencer loved their album, and he loved Ryan’s lyrics, but he was willing to admit that it seemed pretty farfetched. “Maybe in like, ten years, we put out a really awesome album,” he said.
Ray looked doubtful, but he said, “Sure. Maybe.”
Bob crept ahead a few steps. “There’s six guys in the hall,” he said. “I’m betting this is what Donovan’s been using as an office. And I bet there are stairs in there to the fucking roof.”
“Helicopter,” Ray said immediately. “Blow the place and leave.”
“He knows we’re here,” Bob agreed.
Ray took out his phone and started typing. “Mikey can jam the helicopter,” he said. Spencer didn’t even want to know how Mikey was going to do that, wherever the fuck Mikey was. “We just have to get to Donovan. You two stay here.”
“No fucking way,” Spencer replied. If Brendon could handle all this super ninja shit, then Spencer could handle it better. That had to be true. “We’re here to help.”
“You can’t save the world if you get shot before you’re old enough to drink,” Ray muttered.
Bob looked at Spencer seriously. “Listen,” he said. “Don’t fuck around here. Go for the throat.”
Spencer was secretly thrilled that Bob was taking him seriously. He was also more than a little scared that he was about to get really, really fucked up. “Okay,” he nodded. “Jon?”
Jon looked queasy, but he gave them a thumbs up.
“Three,” whispered Ray. “Two.”
On ‘one’ they burst around the corner. There were six guys in suits and they had guns, and for a second Spencer’s heart stopped, but Bob punched one of them in to the wall before anyone had time to register what was going on.
Spencer had a lot of pent-up anger about the whole thing; Brendon lying, Brendon getting hurt, Ryan almost getting shot, all the insane fucking weirdness of this afternoon. He channeled it into punching the shit out of the guy closest to him. He wasn’t as cool as Bob, he couldn’t quite take him out with one swing, but he knocked the guy to his knees. Spencer believed in fighting dirty. These guys would have killed his band, if they could have. Spencer kneed the guy in the face and then kicked him in the balls.
Jon was not having an awesome time; he’d gotten punched in the stomach and the guy was reaching for a gun. Spencer threw himself at the suit, wrapping his arms around his neck and squeezing until the guy fell to his knees. Spencer kept squeezing, until the suit’s eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp.
“Dude,” said Jon. “Nice. Anger management much?”
Spencer panted for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “I… That was fun.”
“Says you.” Jon shook his head.
Ray and Bob had taken down everyone else without even breaking a sweat. Spencer had to learn how they did that. They collected the guns and Spencer opened the office door.
Donovan had a briefcase and a couple of men with them; they pulled out guns and so did Ray and Bob, and Spencer was in the middle of a fucking standoff for the second time that day. This time, Spencer knew enough to actually be afraid, instead of just confused.
“Thank you for bringing them with you,” said Donovan. He didn’t seem anything like the nice guy from earlier. Spencer remembered Brendon’s face when he’d recognized Donovan and wanted to stuff the guy’s stupid face down his stupid throat. “Now I can shoot them.”
Ray sighed. Bob whispered, “This is the part where they talk. It goes faster if Gee’s not here.”
“What the fuck, dude,” Spencer burst out. “You tried to fucking kill us!”
“I’m still trying to kill you,” Donovan said evenly. “It ruins quite a lot of my financial investments if you go on to do whatever it is you’re going to do.” He smirked at Ray. “You’re not the only ones getting emails.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Sometimes this goes on for a while.”
“I thought it would be enough to get rid of this one,” said Donovan, picking a paper off his desk and throwing it at Jon. “But then you showed up, and apparently that’s better.”
Jon’s eyes got huge and he held the paper up to Spencer. It was a fucking picture of Brent. “Hey!” Spencer said. “He was a friend of ours!”
“It was easy to convince him that rock star life wasn’t for him,” said Donovan.
“You son of a bitch,” said Spencer. He loved Jon, but losing Brent had been awful for the band, and for their friendship, and for Ryan, and for everything. He lunged, but Jon caught his arm and held him back.
“Guns,” Jon said. “Remember?”
Donovan smiled. “It wasn’t the plan to only kill half of them,” he said, “but it’ll do for an emergency measure.” He turned the gun toward Spencer and Jon.
It had been sort of hazy, before; just something Ray had said, not something that was true. But Donovan wanted to kill them. He planned to blow them up. He would have shot them earlier if Gerard and Frank hadn’t shown up. And now, he was going to pull the trigger on the gun and actually kill them. Spencer tried to edge in front of Jon, which was awkward, because Jon was trying to edge in front of him. Spencer glared at him.
“No one’s shooting anyone,” said Ray, and threw his phone in the air.
There was a tremendous screeching noise and a flash of light and then Spencer was coughing his lungs out. Ray grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “Shirt,” Ray ordered, pulling Spencer’s t-shirt up so it was over his mouth.
It helped a little, but Spencer was still coughing and his eyes were watering. Ray and Bob were doing something incredibly impressive with their ninja-fu, and by the time the smoke cleared the floor was covered in henchmen lying around unconscious.
“Where’s Donovan?” Spencer asked.
“He ran,” Bob said. “Come on.”
He took off for a hidden door in the wall that was wide open now. Spencer coughed and ran after him.
They went up a dark staircase and came out on the roof, where Donovan’s helicopter was taking off. “How do we stop him?” Spencer yelled, holding his arm up against the buffeting wind from the blades.
“We don’t,” yelled Bob. “Mikey does.”
“But-” Spencer started. He was pretty sure he could get to Donovan before the asshole got too far away, and then he would punch the shit out of him. Bob grabbed his arm and shook his head.
When the helicopter got high enough up, Bob pushed Spencer back toward the stairs and pulled his phone out and typed a couple of letters. Spencer braced himself.
The helicopter blew up with an amazing fucking noise. Fire and blades and metal flew everywhere. Spencer pushed himself flat against the wall and tried not to be too scared of the fiery death raining down all over the roof. “Holy shit,” he said.
Bob turned and flashed him a quick smile. “Still want to help out?” he asked.
Spencer tried to feel upset that a couple of people had just been blown the fuck up in front of him. But that guy had almost killed him and Jon and Ryan, and he’d hurt Brendon. “Totally,” said Spencer.
“I knew you were a secret badass,” said Bob, and they went back downstairs.
\\\
Ryan shifted uncomfortably on the stairs. Brendon sighed and sat down next to him. Banging around and screaming hadn’t done a damn thing to alert anyone. Shooting the fucking gun hadn’t even helped. “Frank and Gerard don’t know we’re going to blow up in… four minutes,” he said. “That really sucks.”
“I think blowing up is going to suck more,” said Ryan. “They never showed you how to defuse a bomb?”
Brendon shook his head. “Only how to make one.”
“You can’t…” Ryan wiggled his hands. “From that?”
“And accidentally blow us up? That doesn’t seem like a great plan.”
There was a moment of silence. The big red numbers kept clicking down. “Okay,” said Ryan suddenly. “If we’re about to blow up. You should know.”
“Know what?” Brendon put his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fist. This sucked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.
Ryan took a deep breath. “I wasn’t just mad that you were gone,” he said. “I was… I was jealous. I’ve had this stupid… This…” He stopped again.
“Three minutes ten seconds,” said Brendon morosely. “Spit it out.”
“This stupid crush,” Ryan blurted. “On you. For, like, ever. And you were away doing things without us, and you’d gotten all weird, but… I just thought you should know I wasn’t really mad. Um. The end.”
Brendon stared at him. His heart was pounding in his ears, and it wasn’t because he was worried about the bombs, just this once. “I’ve had a big stupid crush on you forever,” he protested. “So you can’t… What?” So much for being over his crush, apparently; every stupid thought he’d ever had about Ryan came rushing back, this time with added dry mouth and shaking hands.
“Really?” Ryan said. “You… Oh. Maybe I should have said something sooner.”
Brendon wasn’t sure what to do. Under normal circumstances he would have been celebrating, maybe even have throwing himself at Ryan like an octopus or something and demanding immediate making out. But there was a bomb and imminent death to consider. It took some of the joy out of the situation.
“I wish I had more than two minutes and forty seconds to tell you how awesome I think you are,” he said instead.
Ryan smiled and slipped his hand in to Brendon’s. “You’re awesome, too,” he said. “I… I wish I’d said so before.”
Brendon said seriously, “I’m going to kiss you, okay? Normally I’d be all weird about it and like, have a total attack of being nervous, and freak out at you. But we’re going to die, so-”
“So you should shut up and kiss me,” Ryan agreed.
“I should,” Brendon said, and kissed him.
It was an awkward angle and there wasn’t a lot of time to try and finesse it in to anything good. They were still holding hands - Brendon’s was getting all sweaty and gross, and he wanted to pull it away, but Ryan didn’t seem to care, since they were going to die in a minute anyway. He brought his other hand up to Ryan’s face and just held it there. He’d wanted to for so long, and here it was, and if this was it he might as well enjoy it.
“What the fuck?” yelled Frank.
Ryan jerked back like he’d been electrocuted. Frank and Gerard were standing on the stairs, looking at them with horror and a little bit of disgust. “Now is not the time for making out,” said Gerard in his lecture-iest voice. “That’s for after you win and everyone’s safe.”
“Bomb,” said Brendon, and pointed at the wall.
“Fuck!” yelled Frank, and vaulted over them to get to it.
The numbers clicked over to TEN.
Ryan laced his fingers through Brendon’s and squeezed.
NINE.
Frank yanked the box open and started pulling at wires.
EIGHT.
Gerard pulled out his phone and started dialing frantically.
SEVEN.
Brendon put his head on Ryan’s shoulder, because honestly, why the fuck not at this point?
SIX.
Frank swore and sent a shower of sparks all over the floor.
FIVE.
Ryan smelled like soap and greasy stage makeup and it was awesome.
FOUR.
Gerard shouted something to Mikey.
THREE.
Brendon managed to wrap himself in to a hug around Ryan without letting go of his hand.
TWO.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and screwed his face up adorably.
ONE.
“I got it!” yelled Frank.
ZERO.
Nothing.
“We’re not dead,” Brendon whispered. Ryan opened his eyes again.
“Yeah, motherfucker, that’s how we do it!” yelled Gerard triumphantly. He jumped over Ryan and Brendon and threw himself at Frank, who caught him with a hug and a giant, sloppy kiss.
Ryan made a face. “Did you throw up earlier?”
Fuck. Brendon had totally thrown up earlier, and then he’d kissed Ryan, how gross was that? “Um,” said Brendon, “Sorry. Yeah, I shot a guy and then I threw up, and--”
Ryan shrugged philosophically. “It’s not like you had time to brush your teeth,” he said.
“But I ruined our first kiss.” Brendon stopped for a second. “That was our first kiss, right?” he said uncertainly. “Not some ‘I’m about to die so fuck it’ thing? Because I don’t think I could handle that, Ryan, honestly.”
“First kiss,” Ryan agreed. “Let’s not wait until we almost die to do it again, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed, grinning.
Gerard’s phone rang again. “Mikey says Ray and Bob stopped Donovan, but we still don’t know who he was working for,” Gerard relayed. “And everything here looks okay. You guys are fine to play the show tonight just like usual.”
“Maybe you’re fine,” Brendon said. “I need a week or two to recover.”
Gerard waved a finger at him. “If you’re going to be a rock-star-spy-ninja, Brendon, you need to toughen up. C’mon, Frank; Mikey’s making pizza bagels on the bus.”
Ryan frowned. “That’s it?” he said. “That’s… You just defuse the bombs and kill the bad guy and go home for snacks?”
Gerard shrugged and gave Frank a one-armed hug. “That,” he said, “is how we save the fucking world.”
A LITTLE WHILE LATER
Spencer banged on the door to the cabin a couple of times. “Fucking hurry up!” he yelled. “These guns aren’t going to practice themselves!”
Brendon appeared in the doorway. He was still in his pajamas despite it being four in the afternoon, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. “As the only person here who has ever actually shot someone,” he yawned, “I think I should be excused.”
Spencer crossed his arms. “You’re fucking with me, right? We only have like, two months out here to actually get good at this stuff, and you’re not going to ruin it by lying around in bed with Ryan all day. Speaking of which, tell Ross to get his ass out here. He sucks at all of this.”
“Bob didn’t make you band dictator!” yelled Ryan from inside. “Chill the fuck out!”
“You chill the fuck out,” Spencer yelled back, which didn’t make any sense. Ryan was totally chill, and had been since he and Brendon had finally gotten their shit together.
Jon ambled out and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Spence,” he said, in his most reasonable you-are-being-a-crazy-person voice, “We’re allegedly up here to record an album. People are going to notice if there’s no music.”
“We’ll just tell them it sucked and we scrapped it,” Spencer said. “Now come on, Jon, seriously, I think I can flip you over my shoulder.”
“I think you can, too,” Jon agreed. “That doesn’t mean I want you to.”
“I’m going back to bed,” Brendon announced.
“You-” Spencer spluttered. “You can’t just… Jon!”
Jon nodded wisely. “We are totally the worst spies ever,” he said. “I think you have to accept that.”
Spencer deflated a little. “Not the worst-worst, though, right?” he said hopefully. “Like, Gabe Saporta would be way worse.”
From inside the cabin, Brendon suddenly yelled, “Spencer! Tell Ryan that tickling is not fighting fair! Tell him!”
Spencer didn’t even have to roll his eyes. Jon gave him a hug. “I love you guys,” said Jon. “But. This crew is going to save the world?”
Spencer just nodded. It was going to be okay; the band weren’t ideal world-savers, maybe, but they were all willing to try. That was going to have to be enough. “Worst spies ever,” he sighed, and went back to practicing.