hopelessly hopeful and hopeless enough
Pete/Gerard, Bob/Spencer, Brendon/Ryan/Patrick, handfuls of others. The gang is all here, folks.

Everyone works on a children's show (with puppets!) called Shut Up and Play!. Ryan Ross is a sociopath, Gabe's the boss, Bill runs around in drag, Jon makes the coffee, and somehow they still manage to get everything done.

The whole puppet idea evolved from THIS picture of Brendon looking like an evil muppet. Because, well, that’s exactly what he looks like. And then I discussed it with sinuous_curve HERE, and it exploded into complete randomness.

Thanks to sinuous_curve and sunshinepill for reading and assuring me I hadn’t gone completely ‘round the bend.





The show is called Shut Up and Play!, or SUP! for short, and it’s Gerard and Pete’s brainchild. The story is that they met in grad school after Pete kidnapped Gerard’s gerbil to use in one of his experiments, and when the gerbil returned with significantly less fur than it started with Gerard went looking for Pete’s head, only to end up drinking absinthe and watching Moulin Rouge! and The Last Unicorn for two days straight. (Pete still maintains that’s mostly Ryan’s fault. Ryan is in his hippie-cowboy stage right now, which means he’s wearing hard, pointy boots and everyone else has the common sense not to accuse him of anything.) Anyway, that was when Shut Up and Play! was born, and Pete and Gerard have been fighting about it ever since.

Frank and Mikey write the show – ‘write’ being a bit of an oxymoron and a lesson in futility since Joe changes lines at whim and Patrick sticks in a song whenever he sees the opportunity, and they’re also totally dependent on whatever random concept or storyline Pete decides they should cover that week – but they always manage to punch out a script, even if it gets ripped to shreds. This is in between bouts of making out, but that’s a rampant side effect of working around The Wentz, people have found, and Gerard just tries very, very hard not to twitch every time he thinks about Frank in bed with his little brother.

Pete is an actual, certified child psychologist –

(“Pete’s a child himself,” Ryan sneers, and the next time Pete sleeps over he puts purple dye in Ryan’s conditioner. It suits Ryan, but he has to plan his outfits to coordinate with his hair along with everything else, and even though it would give him an excuse to go on a massive shopping spree it’s just too much for one man.)

-- which no one is really sure if they believe, because it would be just like Pete to print a degree out on his computer and pass it off as real, but as long as corporate is okay with it everyone’s willing to keep Pete around.

Gerard has a degree in art therapy, so while his main job is to help Pete come up with concepts to discuss on the show – in other words, to keep Pete from getting too crazy – he also comes up with all the set and puppet designs himself. The most interesting things about Shut Up and Play! are the lack of bright, eye-bleaching colors and the fact that no one on the show talks like kids are idiots. Kids are smart, Gerard is always insisting, and they’re never going to learn anything if you treat them like they’re stupid.

Brendon thinks kids (and puppets!) are the most awesome things ever, and that’s why he’s the star of the show. He got the job when Gabe found him singing to the puppets one night after work. He and Patrick had just finished up their work on the theme song and Brendon was filled with the spirit of the music, or so he always insisted, and he was just lucky that Gabe looked at him and saw dollar signs instead of a weird little Mormon boy with a bad haircut molesting the puppets.

Anyway, Brendon gets to keep the job because he can relate to the puppets without it being fake or totally, totally creepy. (The first guy they had on the show, Brent? He made even Pete want to go home and take a shower, and that’s saying something.) Plus he has a great singing voice, can sight-read music beautifully, and plays about forty-billion instruments, all of which make Patrick weep with joy. Pete is all about having Patrick weep with joy, and once Brendon gets the Wentzian seal of approval the job was pretty much his, since Pete has Gabe wrapped around his little finger. (Or his dick, depending on who you believe.)

Gabe is the producer and technically everyone’s boss. No one knows where Gabe made all his money. There are rumors – oh boy, are there rumors – but no one ever asks, because if even the tamest of the rumors are half-true they don’t want to know anything.

William is Gabe’s manic personal assistant who occasionally dresses in drag. The general consensus is that Bill is fun, but scary – because let’s face it, there are not many things more impressive than a six and a half foot tall drag queen in four-inch heels, particularly one as touchy-feely and downright horny as Bill Beckett.

Nate and VickyT work with Gabe and Bill to handle the production and distribution side of things, acting as the liaison between SUP! and their parent company, Fueled By Ramen. VickyT handles most of the promotion, always dressed in really sharp suits that make her seem like a hard-hitting and competent yet unbelievably sexy secretary. Nate has been not-so-subtly trying to hit that for two years now, and it looked like a sure thing at the last company Christmas party, but when Pete and Mikey went into the copying room and left behind perfectly Xeroxed copies of Pete’s dick everyone got distracted.

Andy is responsible for the upkeep of the puppets – fixing broken poles and strings, stuff like that – and making new puppets whenever Gerard gets an idea for a character. His workroom is half-creepy, half-cool; filled with puppet-y arms and legs and the really hard plastic eyeballs that are perfect for throwing at people or leaving all over the set because whenever Patrick sees them he screams.

Alex and Ryland are the puppets handlers and Andy’s protégés. They basically live out of each other’s pockets and haven’t been seen more than ten feet from each other since 1997. Brendon is convinced they have their own language. Everyone else is just convinced they’re sleeping together.

Greta and Joe do the voices for all of the puppets. Surprisingly, Joe usually does the girls’ speaking voices while Greta does all the singing, mostly because when Joe’s high he can barely carry a tune in a bucket and he’s high most of the time. He never misses a mark, though, so Gerard just lets it slide. He’s pretty sure Gabe’s on worse.

Then there’s George Ryan Ross the Third – though if you call him that Spencer will probably have to bury your body – the real diva of the set. (Even though Brendon is high energy, his only demands were for Capri Suns and Disney Soundtracks). Ryan is the make-up and costume director, which means that on any given day Brendon is dressed like a circus performer, a hippie, a gay rodeo clown, or any combination thereof. Gerard and Spencer would step in on Brendon’s behalf if it bothered him, but Brendon half-adores, half-lives-in-mortal-terror of Ryan, so there’s only so much they can do. Ryan’s also responsible for making costumes for the puppets. Spencer likes to tease him about never growing out of playing with dolls. Only Spencer. Brendon did it once, and Ryan made him wear chaps on stage. Purple chaps.

(Coincidentally, Nate said his fanmail increased by twenty-six percent that week.)

Spencer is Ryan’s best friend, the kind that would help him bury a body – literally. He does all the camera work for show, and likes to keep Brendon in line by reminding him how easy it is to make someone look fat on camera. He’s also kind of stupidly in love with Bob, even though he’s pretty sure a) Bob barely recognizes his existence and b) Bob is straight.

Bob does the sound mostly, but also helps Patrick whenever he needs an extra hand with drums or the glockenspiel or whatever the hell his artistic spirit decides it needs. (Minus the tambourine, because Bill has a second sense when it comes to that thing and always manages to snatch it away first. Not that Bob cares. He looks ridiculous with a tambourine.)

Last but not least is Zack, the security guy for the building, a nice rent-a-cop type of guy who usually doesn’t have much to do but hang out with everyone else, but sometimes Brendon gets attacked by fans – large groups of preschoolers or, worse, single mothers who’ve spent so many mornings watching him they’ve developed a kind of weird crush – and Zack has to jump in with cookies and juice or a crowbar or whatever else may be necessary.

Then, of course, there are the puppets. Besides Brendon, who’s the only flesh-and-blood person on the show, there are five main characters on just about every day. First off is Ray, who could probably be considered the main puppet, and definitely the biggest one, with wicked yarn hair that Brendon is always braiding or pulling into pigtails and driving Spencer crazy. Siska has hair that’s almost as awesome as Ray’s and a pet llama puppet, which Brendon is also constantly molesting. Dirty is, well, grungy and kind of weird, but he’s also the necessary comic relief, and Pete gets a kick from bringing in different band tees for Dirty to wear. The fourth puppet, Keltie, is the one that makes people either coo or run away screaming – Andy gave her big eyes and perfect long lashes that make her look freakishly lifelike. She’s the center of the exercise part of the program, because Gerard insists that fitness is Very Important, so Ryan keeps dressing her up in tights and tutus and occasionally a soccer uniform because Spencer gets on his case about gender equality when really, Ryan just likes tights. The appearance of the last puppet, Ashlee, changes nearly every week. No one is sure if this is because Pete keeps doing weird things to the puppet or because Andy gets bored.

They put out five shows a week, so they don’t get a lot of time off, but as long as everyone doesn’t decide to run away to Bermuda all at once they can usually find a temp for a week or two – Travis is always willing to fill in, if even to just ogle at Bill in heels. And there are usually specials for July Fourth, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Earth Day (though that’s pretty much all Andy), and
Christmas –

(“The Holiday Season,” Brendon always insists, obnoxious as hell, and Pete always throws something at him, hissing back “what do you care, you’re Mormon,” and depending on how stoned Joe is he might step in to wave the token Jewish flag or he might watch the chaos.)

-- all holidays of which prompt a good amount of violence. One of the things people would probably find most surprising about SUP! is how much violence goes on in the day to day. The other thing would be the homosexuality. The rampant homosexuality. VickyT is straight and so are Greta and Nate, and probably Bob (he’s too huge and scary for anyone to outright ask), and somehow Ryan convinced a girl to go out with him once, but other than that? Gay as blazes. This can be proven simply because Pete has slept with most of the crew. The running count in the break room has Ryan, Mikey, Joe (though he claimed dude exception), Andy, Gabe, and Bill all down as definites, with Patrick, Gerard, Spencer, and Alex-n-Ryland as probablys. (Greta is convinced the Alex-n-Ryland with Pete thing is just a rumor, but they all stumbled into work looking very, very satisfied one Monday morning, and Spencer has a suspicious mind.) Either way, it keeps the rumor mill grinding and the betting pool flush.

In October they get an intern. This is about the same time a rumor starts about corporate sending someone down to keep an eye on SUP!, to make sure everything is ship-shape and soulless and economic, and at first everyone thinks it’s the new intern –

(“A new intern!” Brendon exclaims, flailing so hard he nearly falls off the edge of the sound stage. “Hah!” Spencer just rolls his eyes.)

-- but then he turns out to be relentlessly loveable and makes the best coffee ever and everyone forgets they ever suspected him in the first place. In fact, Pete’s been trying like mad to get into Jon’s pants, but so far he seems to be disappointingly straight.

“Aren’t college students supposed to experiment?” he asks Patrick.

“Maybe you’re too old for him,” Patrick answers reasonably, and keeps tuning his guitar like he hasn’t just stabbed Pete through the heart.

“Too old?” Pete gasps. “Too old?”

Instead of realizing his grievous error, Patrick just rolls his eyes. “Pete, you can’t keep chasing jailbait all the time.”

“He’s not jailbait! He’s… twenty-something. Honest. Or he wouldn’t be interning. Bill’s a stickler about these things.”

Patrick keeps tuning his guitar.

Pete frowns. “Besides that one time.”

“Uh huh.” They try not to mention the Tomrad incident.

Pete crosses his arms and scowls. “Anyway, I’m not old, just…”

“On your way to a midlife crisis?”

“Is this you being supportive? Because normally you’re better at it.”

“Tough love, Peter Pan,” Patrick sighs, and finally, finally puts down the guitar and opens his arms in silent invitation. Pete pulls his hoodie tighter around himself and settles in. “I just thought you were being, you know, your usual kind of stupid. Should I be more worried?”

“No,” Pete sulks. And then suddenly brightens. “I’m just going to have to try a little harder with Jon.”

Patrick pushes him onto the floor.



Pete’s idea of trying a little harder with Jon involves molesting Jon right after he makes coffee in the mornings. Only afterwards, because Pete still wants coffee even if Jon spurns his romantic advances. Once Pete has his hands on his liquid crack it’s go-time.

“Jon Walker,” Pete warbles, “Johnny, Jon, Jon, when are you going to give into my dubious charms and let me have my wicked way with you?” Because, really, he’s on a schedule. He knows for a fact that Nate put cold hard cash on Pete not getting into Jon’s pants for another month. If he scores soon he can split the pot with Bill.

Jon hands him coffee and flashes him an easy smile. “When you get over Gerard.”

Pete almost swallows his tongue.

“So probably sometime next century,” Jon says, still smiling. Smiling like he means it, and, okay, Pete is just going to drink his coffee and hope that things will make sense when there’s more caffeine in his system.

“I… okay,” Pete finally manages to say. And then he flees.



Pete thinks he hides his obsession with Gerard very well, thank you very much.
He’s never even told anyone. Patrick probably knows, because Trick is his best friend and best friends know that kind of thing. And Ryan knows because, well, if there’s one thing Ross is good at its watching people and figuring out what makes them tick. (It’s kinda creepy, actually, but that’s Ryan in a nutshell.) But that’s it. Besides the fact that Jon Walker has somehow managed to figure it out. Maybe Jon’s psychic. That’s a perfectly acceptable and plausible explanation.

Right.

Pete gulps down the rest of his coffee and considers braving the psychic wonder for more.



This morning Bob found Pete hiding behind Ray and Siska, clutching a coffee mug and muttering to himself. When Bob tried to say good morning he shrieked at a pitch Bob was pretty sure shredded his eardrums, then tried to sweet-talk Bob into bringing him back a cup of coffee from the break room. Bob told Pete he’d had enough caffeine, and that he should stop molesting the puppets and go to his office and get some real work done. Pete made no promises.

Bob would like to say this was atypical, but it really isn’t. He came in one morning to find Pete and Gabe doing Jello shots with Brendon passed out in a pile of sugar with a fruit roll-up half-in, half-out of his mouth, Joe glued to the underside of the one of the interior sets, Bill trying on Keltie’s outfits with rather frightening success, Nate still locked up in a closet where Gabe had apparently left him, Ashlee and Siska’s noses were switched, and Mikey, Frank, and VickyT pegging puppet eyes at each other from the lighting rafters. Andy nearly blew a gasket because they couldn’t find Dirty for a week after that particular incident. (He was in the refrigerator.)

Sometimes Bob feels like the only sane person he knows.

Other times he just feels left out.

And he knows there are reasons for it. He knows he’s kind of big and scary and intimidating, and it doesn’t help that he never talks much and when he does his brand of humor goes right by most people’s heads. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s the new guy. Pretty much everyone else has been here from the beginning – either Pete and Gerard knew them in college, like Andy and Joe, or they all came on when SUP! started to take off, like Ryan and Brendon. (Or they’re complete crazies like Bill, who insert themselves into your life whether you want them to or not, but that’s neither here nor there.) Bob’s just a friend-of-a-friend. The old sound guy – Matt? Bob thinks it’s Matt, anyway – ended up getting engaged and moved halfway across the country with his new wife; Frank remembered Bob from high school way back when, and that’s why Bob’s here.

So he doesn’t know the in-jokes, he doesn’t know that Pete and Mikey hooked up for a few months before Mikey and Frank starting dating, or that Gee’s a recovering alcoholic, or that Nate used to live in Gabe’s basement. He doesn’t know that anything left in the break room is unspoken fair game – minus chocolate, because chocolate is serious stuff – or that Ryan is actually allergic to roses, or that for all Gabe’s ass-smacking, leering, creepy-eyed ways Bill would kill him if he even thought about anyone else. He doesn’t know that Andy is the unspoken SUP! therapist, or that Brendon is always available for cuddling (okay, that he might have some inkling of), or that you should never play poker with VickyT. Perhaps most importantly – at least for Bob’s current mental state – is that he doesn’t know if Spencer is seeing anyone.

The last thing freaks him out more than all of the others put together.

There are a few reasons for this:

1) Bob’s pretty much considered himself straight his whole life. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with liking guys – Bob’s known Frank since high school and he was always right beside the little fucker whenever he threw the first punch because some guy called him a fag – but it’s still throwing him for a loop, you know, because he just figures it would have hit him before now.

2) Then again, Spencer can drum like a madman and there are few things that can make Bob hotter – but on top of that, Spencer has hips that could tempt a saint of either gender and a smile that’s the worst kind of secret because he never shares it with anyone.

2-B) Bob recognizes that it’s not just an attraction. He’s pretty much ass over tits, huge romantic gestures, moving to Canada and adopting Cambodian children in love with Spencer Smith.

3) If and when Bob somehow manages to wrap his head around the first two and ask Spencer out, Ryan Ross will probably eat his liver for breakfast. (Ryan is a quarter of Bob’s size but Bob has seen half-rabid dogs back down when Ryan stared at them. He’s wary.)

4) Even if Bob does manage to pull his balls out of their current hiding spot and Ryan doesn’t eat his liver (i.e. Bob crawls out of this alive), Spencer might not even be interested. Bob’s the kind of guy who would rather gnaw off his own fist than draw attention to himself, so he’s not too keen on giving everyone something to gossip about for the next six months.

That said, he’s taken to eating lunch at the soundboard so he doesn’t have to watch Spencer wrap his lips around a straw – Brendon’s always bringing in these ridiculous fruit smoothie drinks to share – even though last week he had Spencer help him carry the instruments back to the locker at close-up just so he could watch his hips.

Bob is only a man, and Spencer Smith is driving him crazy. Something has to give.



Pete spends the whole week thinking about Jon and his freaky mind powers, and chimpanzees, and Gerard, and his potential midlife crisis, and obviously the only person who can fix his fractured thinking is Ryan, who is just as fucked up as him (if not more).

Pete bursts into the dressing room and settles down into the make-up chair. He is not above letting Ryan paint designs all over his face if it gets him the information he needs. “Hey, Ross.”

Ryan doesn’t look up from where he’s applying sequins to the edge of his jacket. “What do you want, Pete?”

“Can’t I just stop by and molest you during work hours?”

“Normally the molestation would have started by now. I sense something more irritating.”

It’s like the whole set was suddenly on psychic pills and no one gave Pete the memo. “What would you say if told you I wanted to sleep with Gerard? Hypothetically,” Pete adds quickly.

“Do you hypothetically want to sleep with him or are you hypothetically telling me?”

“… the second?”

“Right. Well, hypothetically, I’d be glad you’re pulling your head out of your ass.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’ll miss the sex,” Ryan says dryly. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll live.”

Pete grins and smacks him on the ass. “Shut up, fucker, and help me with my emotional distress.”

“You would choose now to develop emotional depth.”

“Patrick thinks I’m having a midlife crisis.”

“That implies you’re living ‘til at least sixty. I’ve got money riding on you dropping before forty-five.”

“Fuck you, seriously. Don’t make me steal your Bedazzler again.”

“I’ll tell Bill you were hitting on Gabe.”

Pete’s eyes narrow. Bill’s heels are fucking pointy. “I’m giving Brendon Red Bull right before he’s due in make-up tomorrow. Just you wait, Ross.”

Empty threat. Give Brendon caffeine and they all suffer. “What do you want?”

“I just. I’m kind of rusty at the dating thing. Sex, no. The part that’s supposed to come before it, yes.”

“You want to date Gerard?” Ryan can’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. He can believe that Pete is a little hot for Gerard, but an actual relationship takes a bit more faith, especially after the whole Jeanae thing,

Pete shrugs and leans up against the countertop next to Ryan. “Well, it’s not like I don’t want to fuck him too.”

“Go ask Gabe for some GHB.”

“I’m pretty sure asking Gabe for seduction advice would involve duct tape, a basement, and live video feed. At the very least.”

Ryan tsks. “And Gerard’s kind of shy. I can see your problem.”

“I can’t get him drunk either. I’m pretty sure even my conscience wouldn’t stand for that.”

“All your usual seduction tactics, gone,” Ryan adds mournfully, before smacking Pete upside the head. “You are such a fucktard.”

“What?”

“You could make a move. Flirt? Ask him on a date? You know how this works, Wentz, I know you watch Degrassi.”

Pete rubs his head and scowls. The thing is, he really does watch Degrassi, but he’s pretty sure he’d kill Ryan before admitting that. (This is unfortunately not an option, because he’s also pretty sure if he killed Ryan then Spencer would come after him – probably with a knife, and Pete wouldn’t even notice because Spencer would use his hips to lull Pete into submission and carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Pete does not underestimate Spencer’s diabolical mindset.) “You’re the one who requested a personal day after Marco and Dylan broke up.”

If looks could kill, half of Pete’s head would be spattered on the wall right about now. The chances of that happening were still pretty high.

Pete inches his way towards the door. “I take it you won’t be helping, then?”

The Bedazzler misses his head by about three inches.



As Ryan obviously will not be helping, Pete has to come up with his own plan. He calls it ‘The Seduction of Gerard Way Through the Cunning Use of Caffeine, Music, and Sheer Sexiness,’ or, for short, THE PLAN. (Patrick outlawed the use of acronyms after Gabe introduced the Complete Organization Boolean Resource Architecture, and the Wireless Integrated Logical Logic Interpreter Array Multi-Interface Systemized Mail Yield Balanced Interchangeable Turbo Computer Hardware. You can’t even say TGIF without Patrick’s eyebrows getting twitchy. And besides, TSGWTCUCMSS is probably a word only in Welsh. Or Comanche.)

“Jon Walker,” Pete drawls. “Feel up to helping me get my man?”

Jon looks up from the storyboards with mild interest. “Just so we’re clear, was that another come-on or are we talking about Gerard?”

“Smartass. Just make with the coffee mojo.”



It’s Thursday.

It’s Thursday, which is close to Friday but not nearly close enough, and right now Gerard needs caffeine like he needs air, only worse, because if he tries to live without air he dies, whereas if he lives without caffeine that’s what happens to everyone else. Plus, Ross has been looking at Gerard like he was a piece of meat all day, and that would put anyone on edge.

So when Pete appears like the fruitiest, most color-blind caffeine fairy to ever flit across the face of the earth, Gerard is thankful, if understandably confused.

“Coffee,” Pete announces cheerfully. “Black as Patrick’s mood when he listens to the Top Forty, man.”

“Uh.” Gerard stutters out, fingers automatically curling around the mug and lifting it to his mouth. “Thanks?”

Pete grins – a full-on, generally only seen when stoned, showing all his freakishly pearly white teeth type of grin – and wanders off again whistling.

Gerard spends a moment in quiet contemplation while Frank snickers behind him. “I’m confused,” he says finally.

Frank grins and takes another sip of his coffee. “Yeah, Mikey was pretty oblivious too.”

“What?”

This time Frank cackles outright. “Exactly.”



Brendon, contrary to popular opinion, is not a complete idiot. Whenever Bob is around Spencer’s hips go into supreme sexy generator mode. Whenever Spencer is nearby Bob starts to show emotion. Brendon knows exactly why this is happening. He just needs to get them to admit it, that’s all. Brendon is a romantic soul, and he has a not-so-secret weakness for romance and marriage and babies and being a general yenta and pain in the ass.

Which is why he is going to use his super secret ultra awesome tricky Mormon powers to bring Spencer and Bob together.

“I think Bob needs help with the soundboard,” he says one day. It’s totally not even a lie, but Spencer still looks dubious.

“Seriously, it’s been going in and out all day. I totally think it’s the mice I’ve been seeing around set. Little mice nibbling on the wires. Oh my God, Spencer, couldn’t they get electrocuted? Can’t we stop them from nibbling on the wires?” Brendon gives Spencer his best wide-eyed look.

Spencer rolls his eyes and super-sexy-generates his way over to Bob.

Brendon makes sure no one is paying attention before pumping his fist in the air.



“Hey.”

Bob’s head snaps up so quickly he think he might have fused two discs together. “Hey.”

Spencer shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The effect on his hips is entrancing. “Brendon said you needed some help with the soundboard.”

Bob might have to worship Brendon for the rest of his natural life. “I, uh, yeah, actually. Brendon’s been getting delay and some weird feedback, I guess.”

Spencer’s bitch-face is only at half-mast, which Bob counts as a win. “Okay.”

“Could you maybe go put on his headset for a few minutes? Thumbs down, thumbs up kind of deal, tell me what you’re hearing?”

Spencer nods and slinks his way across the set. Bob watches and wonders how long he can fuck around with the soundboard and not seem like a complete idiot.



During break Ryan corners Brendon in the lunchroom.

(No, really, he literally corners him, between the fridge and the countertop. The only way out is over the lunch table and they both know Brendon’s not that coordinated.)

“I know what you’re doing, Brendon,” Ryan says, and images of his body chopped up in a gutter flicker across Brendon’s vision.

Wide-eyed innocence, wide-eyed innocence. “What am I doing, Ryan?”

Ryan’s eyes narrow and Brendon sends up a brief prayer to God asking for continued protection from Ryan’s bitchface. “Throwing Spencer and Bob at each other for bullshit reasons is not going to work. Life is not a Disney fairytale, Urie, and you are not some gay fairy godmother.”

Gabe stops poking around in the fridge just long enough to ask, “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

Ryan pauses. “Possibly.”

“I think that might be three times the gay, actually. The cobra disapproves.”

“Regardless.” Ryan looks like he’s contemplating chopping Gabe up and putting him in the freezer. “Brendon needs to stop.”

Brendon crosses his arms and pouts his very best pout. He practices. He knows it’s irresistible. “Why? At least they’re talking to each other.”

Everyone thinks this over until Gabe pulls his head out of the fridge again, munching on something that looks about three days from becoming sentient. “You know, he might be right.”

“That’s what’s so wrong about it,” Ryan mutters, and he does not – he does not – react when Brendon sticks his tongue at him.

Joe rushes into the lunchroom, clearly panicked. “Gabe, man, what the fuck? Nate said you were you eating my lunch again?”

“Dude, I don’t even know if this is animal, mineral, or vegetable.” Gabe smacks Ryan on the ass as he goes, and Brendon takes this as his cue to escape.



On Monday Pete leaves Gerard a mix he made over the weekend. He calls it “vampires will never hurt you,” and fills it with Quicksand and Morrissey and The Nightmare Before Christmas and even one song from the band Pete was in during college. He’s kind of ridiculously proud of it, and draws little skulls and demented looking hearts all over, and one Bartskull in the margins next to the track listing.

Gerard is still confused, but listens to it on the ride home and then spends the rest of the night drawing.

On Thursday there’s another one, this time called “i brought you my bullets you brought me your love.” The week after that, “the world has its shine (but i would drop it on a dime)” and “its not a side effect of the cocaine i am thinking it must be love.” All of them are disturbingly, perfectly right. No seemingly obvious connection that should tie them together – they just do. Gerard listens to them driving to work and driving home and falling asleep and when he draws or paints and reads comics and – once, seriously, fucking once – when he jerks off.

One Friday Gerard leaves some of the pictures he’s been drawing on Pete’s desk. Like, in thanks. He’s pretty sure it’s in thanks.



Pete, however, has no such scruples, and jerks off thinking about the pictures multiple times.



Brendon is about halfway to the T when he realizes he’s forgotten his iPod in the dressing room. He gasps so loud the people around him instantly gave him a two-foot berth on all sides. Which is useful, really, since he spins around like a madman to run back for it before Zack locks up the building. Even though he’s coming back to the studio tomorrow and he could get his iPod then, well, Brendon’s pretty sure he likes his iPod more than people sometimes. His iPod will always sing Disney songs with him, that’s for sure. His iPod will not yell at him when he dances into things. He can even cuddle up to his iPod, were he so inclined.

And this is starting to get pathetic, so Brendon hurries up and gets back to the studio.

The doors are still open, luckily, so he slips in and hopes he doesn’t get locked up for the night. He’d freak out and have to call Zack and somehow Pete would find out about it – Brendon’s not entirely convinced he doesn’t have taps on all of their phones – and then sneak into the studio to tape Brendon hyperventilating and clutching one of the puppets while waiting for rescue.

When Brendon gets back he has to re-trash his room to find the iPod. And there it is, under one of the sweaters he always insists make him look like Mr. Rogers but Ryan dresses him in anyway, lying still and shiny in all its iPoddy goodness. Brendon clutches it to his chest and tries to decide if he’s more in the mood for The Lion King or The Little Mermaid when he hears the music floating in from down the hall. And the thing about Brendon, see, is that if there were such a thing as Pied Piper he’d be fucked, because music is about the only thing besides Capri Suns and unicorns that can hold his attention for more than three seconds.

Today is no exception.

Brendon prances – yes, seriously, prances. There’s no one around to make fun of him, so why the hell not? – down the hall towards the studios and sound booths. He hears piano, so he peers into Patrick’s studio and sure enough, there Patrick is, clunking away on the piano and singing a little under his breath. When the song ends Brendon starts to applaud and Patrick jumps about five feet in the air.

“Jesus, Brendon.” Patrick puts his hand over his heart just like a little old woman, and Brendon can’t help giggling.

“Sorry, sorry.” Okay, in retrospect, the phantom clapping was probably a little creepy. “What were you playing?” Brendon asks, bouncing down on the piano bench next to Patrick. “Something for the show? Because it sounded way, way cool. Tell me it’s totally one of my songs and not one of Greta’s, because if it’s Greta’s that would definitely make me all emo and I don’t think I can handle any more negative emotion today.”

“Um.” Patrick blinks at him a little. He’s used to a slightly more wound down Brendon by this time of night. “I was composing. It was… I mean, it’s my song.”

Brendon brightens and scoots closer to Patrick, thigh smushed up to thigh. “Really? It was awesome. Patrick, I’m pretty sure it was almost as awesome as Disney,” Brendon gushes, bouncing all over the place, gratified when Patrick laughs. “Sing it for me, sing it for me. I will totally accompany you on the tambourine, since Bill’s not around.”

“It’s not really a tambourine kind of song.”

“Cowbell?”

Patrick punches him lightly on the shoulder. “You’d ruin my masterpiece with cowbell? Harsh, Urie.”

“Hey, I’ve got a fever, Stump,” Brendon snickers, waggling his eyebrows. “Patrick. Hey. Hey, Patrick.” Brendon opens his eyes very wide. “That was really beautiful. And, like, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you writing songs for a kid’s show?”

Patrick shrugs. “I’ve got a paying job where I get to write music every day, and I get to do it with my friends. Plus, you know, health insurance and a 401k. Always important. It doesn’t really get much better, right?”

“Guess not.” Brendon never thought he would get paid to sing and dance and flail like comes naturally, so there you go. Even if it is with puppets.

“Besides. Kids need songs too.”

“I’m not sure kids need songs like that.” Brendon’s pretty sure there was some sex in there. Some very, very passionate lovin’. “That was a very adult song, Mr. Stump. Marvin Gaye would be proud.” Brendon pauses. “Or Madonna.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Patrick says dryly. “Madonna’s approval.”

“Don’t we all? Although my faith in her totally waned after the whole kissing Britney Spears thing, seriously. I’m pretty sure her mouth’s been worse places, but not on national TV, you know what I mean?”

Patrick expression is somewhere between amused and appalled. “Brendon, why are you even here?”

He doesn’t ask in a mean way, so Brendon just fishes his iPod out of his pocket and waves it merrily around. “Dude, I totally forgot Norman.”

“Norman?”

“Like you haven’t named your guitar.”

“Okay, point. But Norman?”

“He’s secretly a psychopath who wears his mother’s clothes,” Brendon says seriously. “But he’s got great taste in music. He totally loved your song, for instance. Are you going to use it on the show? Ooh, can I sing it? Don’t give it to Greta, Patrick, please, please, she gets all the fun songs, I want the masterpiece. Let me siiiing it.”

Patrick glances down at the keyboard, obviously uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

Brendon is crestfallen. “You’re going to give it to Greta, aren’t you? You totally are, I knew it. You think Greta is the better singer and you’re giving her your masterpiece and ---“

“Brendon,” Patrick interrupts, suddenly. “I’m not giving the song to Greta. If I was going to give the song to anyone, it would be you. Not for the show, even, just. I just.”

“Oh.”

“I just. I, um,” Patrick continues, blushing, and pushing at his hat. “I write all the songs for you.”

“Oh,” Brendon says blankly, like that’s suddenly the only sound he’s capable of producing. He grins so hard it stretches his face. “Oh, oh, wow.”

“Yeah. I mean, of course I write them for you, you’re the one who has to sing them every day, but I just…”

“No, I get it. I get it. And Patrick Stump,” Brendon nods solemnly, drawing himself to his very tallest five feet and seven inches, “I think this is the part where you kiss me.”

“Yeah?” Patrick says, and blushes pink to the very tips of his ears. Brendon thinks it’s so adorable he might have to suck on them. Thoughts. Tucks that away for later.

“I’ve watched a lot of Disney movies. I have it on very good authority.”

When Patrick starts singing “Someday my Prince Will Come,” Brendon can’t help but giggle like the little girl everyone knows he is. It’s not Aladdin, but Brendon is more than willing to accept it.


Part the Second