Bandfic: Snapshots From a Possible Future [23-31] [II/II]
[continued from here]
29. The Arrivals
They aren't late, not really, but they aren't early either, because Pete calls while Patrick, Spencer, and Brendon are walking to the terminal from the parking structure, and says, "Dude, where the fuck are you? We landed, like, half an hour ago!"
"Or five minutes," Patrick hears Jon saying, and, okay, Patrick's still not really sure how this got so entirely out of control. One minute, he was agreeing to play a charity show (for rocks!) and the next, it was turning into a defacto extended family reunion: Pete, Joe and Jon in from Chicago, Brendon in from Vegas, Gerard from Portland, and Bob from... somewhere. Possibly Florida. Or maybe it was Maine? Basically, wherever it was the band he's doing sound for had played a show the night before. Andy, Ray and Mikey and Alicia had sent their regrets (they had actual shows of their own to play), and while Patrick will miss them, enough is probably enough.
"We're about ten steps outside the baggage claim," Patrick says. "Where the fuck are you?"
Pete splutters for a moment, which apparently gives Jon a chance to grab the phone because he's the one who says, "Still on the plane. We'll see you in, like, 15." In the background, Patrick can hear Joe saying, "Dude, Walker, you ruined it. We were going to send them on a wild-fucking-goose chase. It was going to be awesome."
Patrick laughs and says, "We'll see you then." Spencer's looking at Patrick, so he says, "Fifteen minutes or so," and then they're in the terminal and Brendon's throwing his arms wide and saying, "Oh, LAX, how I've missed you."
"Because you weren't here yesterday or anything," Spencer says, to which Brendon responds, "That was a whole 13 hours ago, Spencer. That is like, like, a *lifetime*."
They manage to find three seats in the baggage claim area, near the rental car kiosks, and Spencer and Patrick sit while Brendon goes to check the arrival board. Then he comes back and says, "Apparently your baggage claim-fu is still working, Spence, because their bags should be coming out right over *there*," as he points to carousel 12.
Provided they even have bags, of course, because Joe and Pete, at least, are only spending two nights with Patrick; they still have to figure out who gets the bed in the guest room and who gets the couch in the living room. Jon is staying with Ryan, as is Brendon.
"He's afraid that if I stay with Spencer, I'll kidnap him and take him back to Vegas," Brendon whispered to Patrick the day before, when Ryan and Brendon showed up at Patrick's to pick Spencer up from their second-to-last practice session before the big show. Ryan's worries might even have been justified, Patrick thinks, if Spencer hadn't taken on a few more teaching jobs while they prepared for this show, keeping him here at least another two weeks, the original three weeks turning into six.
Spencer just grins at Brendon. "You doubted my skills?" to which Brendon says, "Never, Spencer Smith, never." He almost throws himself into the empty chair on Spencer's other side, but only slouches for a moment before he sits up straight and leans across Spencer.
"Patrick," he says. "You need to come to Vegas again. We're in the process of working out a new routine to add to our lineup, and you need to see it. *Spencer* hasn't even seen it yet, I'll have you know, because he doesn't love me anymore…"
"Except how I've already got my ticket for opening night," Spencer says.
Brendon pulls back into his own space far enough to glare at Spencer. If Patrick had to put a name to the look, he would call it a 'we are not amused' face: lips pinched together in a straight line, brow just a little bit furrowed.
"Not the same, Spencer. Not the same *at all*."
"Of course not," Spencer sighs, and that's not the end of the conversation, but that's about the time that Patrick sits back and just listens to them banter back and forth, like it hasn't been four-or is it five?-years since they got off the road. Also, it helps to pass the time, because it doesn't seem very long at all before he sees Joe, Jon, and Pete approaching. They're actually pretty close by the time Patrick spots them, because the only thing visible above the crowd is Joe's hair, but then people are parting, and Joe stops where he is, throws his arms up into the air, and says, "Greetings, mother fuckers!"
Patrick stands up pretty much immediately, but Brendon's out of his seat first, running towards Jon like he's going to throw himself on him, possibly with legs wrapped around the waist. He manages to restrain himself apparently, since his arms just go around Jon's neck, tightly enough that after a moment Jon pats Brendon on the back and says, "Um, air?"
By this time, Pete's got himself wrapped around Patrick, Joe standing off to the side impatiently waiting for his own hug. When his turn comes, he actually tries to lift Patrick off the ground, for which Patrick feels he's completely justified in punching Joe in the shoulder until he puts him down.
"Dude," Joe says. "It's been too fucking long."
"Yeah," Patrick says, "it has."
"But our little Stump has been *busy*," Pete says. "Or didn't you hear? Starting up his not-band and all?"
"Fuck off," Patrick says, tugging at the bill of his hat. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocks back onto his heels, looking up at Joe and Pete, the both of them grinning at him.
Off to Patrick's left, the lights above the baggage claim start spinning, flashes of white light matched with the sound of an alarm. About half of the people hovering around them move en masse towards the carousel.
Pete and Joe sort of stand back, and Spencer asks, "So, are we waiting for anything?"
Joe and Jon have each got backpacks on-overstuffed, Patrick thinks, for what is pretty much going to be a 48 hour trip-but Pete's got a little rolling suitcase. It's got a Clandestine logo painted in red and white candy stripes on the front, a bright purple luggage tag.
"I've got one," Jon says, and Joe scoffs. "I'm ashamed, Walker. It seems like you and Pete have forgotten the meaning of 'packing lightly.' Remember how we all used to have to live out of the backs of vans? Which we shared with our equipment and our merch? Those were the days…"
"Yeah, right," Pete says. "Like you weren't the one who tried to sneak an extra bag into the van *every single trip*. Patrick'll back me up on this, right? You remember, don't you?"
"And not just that," Patrick adds, mostly for Jon, Spencer, and Brendon's benefit. "If he couldn’t fit it into his bag and he wanted it on tour, he'd, like, hide his shit in random corners. Oh my god, we'd be finding his dirty socks in, like, the glove compartment six weeks into tour."
"That was totally Ryan, too," Brendon says. "Remember, Spencer? How we'd find his scarves all over the fucking place?"
Joe nods sagely. "Who do you think taught him all of the best hiding places?"
Spencer arches an eyebrow-an 'oh, so *you're* the one to blame' look if Patrick's ever seen one-but is derailed from whatever he wants to say by Jon suddenly reappearing with his duffle bag. Patrick hadn't even noticed him leave.
"So, we ready?" Jon asks.
Spencer parked on the 7th level of the parking structure, in the orange zone, and it takes them about five minutes of walking and elevators and more walking to make it to the car. Joe starts laughing at Jon about two minutes in, saying, "Dude, don't you wish you'd packed less now? I know, see, I *know*."
They actually brought Ryan's car to the airport, because it's a Land Rover, compared to Patrick's sedan, Spencer's rental. They spend a good minute staring at it, before Pete says, "Okay, Urie, Walker, we're all little dudes. Let's get friendly."
Joe takes one look at Patrick, whose hand is already gripping the handle on the passenger side door, and says, "What, I've been replaced as the object of your affections, dude? I'm hurt. I'm fucking devastated."
Pete reaches out to pat his shoulder. "Dude, don't be like that. You know I still love you best." Joe stares at Pete for a long moment, as if evaluating the truth in his words, before finally nodding, then diving head first into back seat, claiming the far window for his own.
Patrick shares a look through the windows of the car with Spencer, then opens his own door and slides into the front seat. Jon and Brendon somehow end up in the middle-Patrick is so not surprised-and then Spencer's starting the car.
*
Once upon a time, Patrick remembers instituting a closed practice policy. He remembers kicking Joe's friends out of Pete's basement, asking Pete's girlfriend of the moment to go upstairs please, because they really needed a bass player, asking his own friends to leave once or twice, because they just needed *one hour* of uninterrupted playing time, really. That was all.
He's thinking about instituting that policy again, because, see, instead of dropping Brendon and Jon off at Ryan's, as had been the original plan, Ryan just loaded them all immediately into Spencer's car to follow Spencer over to Patrick's house. Then, when Frank showed up at Patrick's door, maybe half an hour later, he had Gerard in tow.
From there, things pretty much devolved into conversation and catching up rather than practicing, and it's not that Patrick's not happy to have everyone there-he is!-but at the same time, *practice*, for a show *the next day*.
This is the reason why, an hour after everyone descends, Patrick takes a look at Spencer, who's sitting impatiently behind his drum kit, Adam who's sitting on top of one of the amps, watching Frank and Gerard talk to Joe and Ryan, Frank who's strapped into his guitar, fingers intermittently pressing down on strings, and says, "Okay, out."
Pete's the only one to hear him, apparently, and he turns to Patrick, raising an eyebrow. He interprets the look on Patrick's face correctly, though, because he starts shuffling towards the staircase upstairs, trying to herd Joe along as well.
No one else seems to be listening, though, which is why Patrick ends up tapping his finger against the head of the microphone, and says, "Hey. So. We actually need to do some practicing. Do you think we could do that?"
People don't look too chagrined, but with Pete's encouragement, they do head upstairs. "Yeah," Pete says, "I totally know where Patrick hides all the good snacks, so don’t even worry. I've totally got us covered."
There's a moment of blessed silence, then, where Frank actually looks to be a little apologetic, but then Adam stands and Spencer grins at Patrick as he says, "I totally thought you were going to have to resort to curse words, just so you know."
"I've trained Pete well," Patrick says. Then, "So? Shall we?"
"We shall," Frank says.
30. The Rocks (& Roll)
Somehow, it turns into a fucking caravan: Patrick's car, with Pete, Joe, and Adam; Ryan's Land Rover, with Jon, Spencer, Brendon, and Keltie, who's driving, because they're also pulling the trailer with all of the equipment. Amanda shows up at Patrick's house about ten minutes before they're all supposed to leave, telling Pete, "My boss is a little delusional if he thinks I'm not making the trip to see this all go down today. Besides, I've got to support the kid, right?" This last is said more loudly, directed at Adam, who scratches the tip of his nose with his middle finger.
So, caravan.
Or that's what Frank calls it, at least, when they all pull up into the staff-turned-performer parking lot, only a short hike away from the main campus. He's standing with Jamia, Gerard, Lyn-Z, and Bob under a cluster of eucalyptus trees, and by the time Patrick gets out of his car, Frank is fucking cackling.
"Dude, Gee," he says. "Look! Our caravan of roadies has arrived with all of our shit!"
Gerard nods, and Lyn-Z giggles. She's still wearing her hair in pigtails; today they're streaked with bright orange and yellow, seemingly to match the buttons pinned to Gerard's jean jacket.
Jamia and Bob-because they are helpful, unlike Frank and the rest of his associates-come forward to help unlatch the trailer door, and pretty soon all of them, Keltie and Amanda included, are pulling boxes out of the back, unloading amps and pieces of the drum set, spare guitars and pedals and everything else they might possibly need.
"I'd forgotten this, you know," Pete says, leaning his chin on Patrick's shoulder. "How we used to have to carry all of our own equipment and shit around. How did we ever get anywhere, you know?"
Ryan makes a noise of agreement, at which point Pete says, "Dude, you so don't even get to talk. We had you in a van for what, a whole summer? Try *years*, dude. Try breaking down on the side of the highway, like-"
"Three times in one week," Frank says. "In the middle of nowhere, where the most exciting thing around are the fucking, like, dandelions."
By this point, they're starting to attract a little bit of attention from the other performers crowded into the lot. Patrick sees a few kids trying to hide their stares, looking too cool for all of this, more who aren't even trying not to. It's at this point that Greg appears at Frank's side. Patrick's met him once before, but he introduces himself anyway, shaking all of their hands. He's got curly hair and an official event t-shirt-a screen-printed copy of the sharpie mountains on the front, a list of participating bands on the back-and he's practically bouncing with energy.
"People are *already lining up in the quad*," he tells Frank. "We've already sold more tickets than we did last year. We have actual *press*."
"Of course you do," Frank says. "You've got an awesome lineup."
Behind him, Patrick hears Ryan saying, "Yeah, they've got at least three bands I've been trying to hear."
"*And* the most important band of all," Brendon says, and out of the corner of his eye, Patrick can see him sling an arm across Spencer's shoulders.
"Exactly," Frank says. "Because we are just that awesome."
Greg laughs along with them, then says, "I've got a few details to go over with you, if you have time?"
Frank looks at Patrick, then nods. "Now's as good a time as any," he says, and Patrick would probably stay and help unload some more, except that Pete pokes him in the side and says, "Go."
So that is how Patrick finds himself standing underneath a striped tent-y thing with Frank, Spencer, and Adam, listening to Greg give a rundown of how the day is going to go. As the headliners, they're on last, of course. They're guesstimating they'll go on stage at approximately 3 o'clock, if everyone else on the lineup actually stays within their allotted amount of time. They've taken over the dining commons as a place for people to warm up if they need to, and Greg's sorry that it's not a private dressing room, but he can try to keep anyone from bothering Frank and his band.
At this point, Frank says, "Greg-o, chill. It's going to be awesome, I swear."
Greg takes a visible, deep breath, and says, "Okay, yeah. Okay. So. Um. What do you need?"
"We'll let you know, okay?" Frank says.
Greg nods.
*
There are actually, well, a lot more people at this thing than Patrick expected there to be, and not just in the tent off to the side of the stage that seems to have been designated the VIP tent, although it's pretty much just Patrick's group that's filling it, because it's not just their former band mates and assorted spouses anymore, either. Kevin and Aiden from the Aqua Angels, Benji and his bass player from the Atomic Turtles, more, more. The crowd keeps growing, both in the tent and outside of it, and by the time Patrick makes his way to the edge of the stage during the band directly before them, he thinks that there are 3,000, maybe 3,500 people out there watching, and more are filing in every minute.
"Jesus," he says, and Spencer says, "I know. At least it's not Reading though, you know?"
"Jesus," Patrick says again, because yeah, in comparison, this is just a drop in the bucket. This is just a small portion of the crowds he used to play for anyway, but-but he can see this crowd, unlike the crowd when they did their show at The Gateway. He can see people with homemade t-shirts, Reason No. 437 done in glitter and puffy paint, plain black paint, marker. He can see old Fall Out Boy/My Chemical Romance/Panic at the Disco t-shirts, as well as shirts from pretty much every other DecayDance band Pete's ever signed. Not a lot, yeah, but they're out there, and this is just-
"We're going to rock their fucking faces off," Frank says, coming up behind them and dropping his arms over their shoulders. "They aren't going to know what hit them."
"Fuck yeah," Adam says.
"*Fuck* yeah," Spencer echoes, and Patrick has no choice but to agree.
*
This time, it's different.
Oh, they get introduced just like last time, but this time they don't get to walk out onstage shrouded in the anonymity of darkness, no one knowing quite what they are about to see. No, this time, there are maybe 4,000 faces peering back at them, most clapping, some screaming, a lot just staring. People get to watch as Spencer gets settled at his drum kit, as Adam adjusts the strap on his bass, as Patrick and Frank get their microphones set to the height they need them to be at.
After that, with no curtains to hide behind, well, Patrick is starting to remember why they'd started doing leaps out of the stage, or distracting the audience with videos while they made their entrance, because after years of that, it actually feels a little bit awkward to just stand there, to just start playing.
This is the thing: while two weeks is longer than they had to prepare the last time, it still wasn't enough time to do more than practice their combined back catalog. Which is why their set list is pretty random: a selection of songs from their former bands, their friends' bands, a few random classics thrown in for good measure.
They start out with one of Patrick's again, just to give him a chance to get comfortable on stage. They'd talked about doing 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs'-despite their lack of violins (and chimpanzees)-but Frank had put in a vote for 'Thriller', if only because the idea behind it was just as egotistical as the idea behind their name.
Patrick is the one to start them off, picking out the initial melody, and it's a long intro, long enough for him to wander back to Spencer's drum kit then back to his microphone again, for him to see Frank grinning like a fucking maniac, poised and ready to start playing, for him to turn his attention to Adam in the instant that he and Frank both join in. There's no hesitation there, just guitar riffs sliding out across the quad, and when Patrick turns his attention out towards the audience, he sees that people are already nodding along, that they've already identified the song.
"That summer we took threes across the board," he sings, and suddenly it isn't awkward anymore, because just like last time, at The Gateway, instinct kicks in. This is what he knows how to do, after all. He still knows how this all goes, and the audience does, too, singing along, joining Frank and Adam on the backup choruses, scream-singing, "Long live the car crash hearts."
They'd considered stopping, doing their introductions after the first song, but in practice it had actually seemed easier to create an arrangement that led right into their second piece, 'Give 'Em Hell, Kid'. Adam's choice, actually, but Frank had agreed, an oldie but goodie, he'd said. And Spencer certainly had no objection to banging the hell out of his drums.
Adam is the one to carry the initial melody on this one, five seconds worth of playing before Frank and Spencer join in, dirty guitar riffs and steady beats. At the right moment, Frank steps up to his mic, leans in as close as he can and says, "Oh baby, here comes the sound," right before Patrick starts in on the first verse: "I took a train out of New Orleans…" It's a faster paced song than Patrick's used to performing, and his tongue feels, just a little bit, like it's getting twisted up in his mouth, but if Gerard could do it, he can do it, and when he gets to "This is how we do it-" Frank and Adam join him on the "--on the murder scene" and from that moment forward, it's full steam ahead.
It's at the end of song two that they take their introductory break, and Patrick takes the time to step away from his microphone so that Frank can take over.
"Hello, Riverside!" he says. "How the fuck are all of you today?"
They get quite a bit of clapping and screaming in response to that.
"Fuck yeah," Frank says. "So, I think some of you probably know who we are already, but I've been told we should introduce ourselves. Just in case, you know. Just in case you're standing there wondering who the fuck these guys on stage are and why the fuck people are actually screaming for them. So, quickly: our illustrious singer is Mr. Patrick Stump. We've got Spencer Smith on drums. We've got AJ-better known as 'The Kid'-on bass."
Patrick looks over at Adam as Frank's talking, watches as Adam flips Frank off. Frank laughs at that, voice shrill in the microphone, echoing out across the campus, before he continues.
"And me, I'm Frank Iero. Way back when, we used to be in a few bands called Panic at the Disco, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and the Still Wanderers. Perhaps you've heard of them?"
He pauses then, lets the crowd scream. Patrick hears people shouting his name, Frank's, Spencer's.
"Today, though, well. *Together*, we're pretty much reason number 437 you shouldn't let retired musicians hang out in a room together. Because we'll start talking, right, and the next thing you know, we think it's a good idea to start playing songs from our glory days and force them on unsuspecting ears!" Frank laughs, then says, "Really, though, we want to thank you for coming out and supporting this awesome cause and all of these awesome bands that played before us today, and we hope that you'll enjoy the rest of the show."
As Frank finishes speaking, Patrick starts picking out the intro to the next song. So completely random, the product of another evening spent eating pizza after all of them were off for work for the day, a conversation about what songs they'd always wanted to perform on stage, yet had never had the opportunity to.
It takes more than a few moments-most of the intro-for the crowd to figure out what song they're actually performing, but then Patrick's singing, "At first I was afraid, I was petrified." There's a resounding cheer at that, and Patrick can see a group of girls and guys at the front barrier doing some sort of disco dancing. They aren't doing it quite as quickly as Gloria Gaynor performed it, but a whole lot faster and rougher than the Cake cover.
Off to Patrick's right, Frank is bouncing with his guitar, halfway dancing as he plays. Adam's not quite that comfortable on stage yet, but he's definitely bobbing his head in time with the beat.
"I will survive," Patrick sings, then throws his arm out at the audience, letting them carry the song for a line, longer, since they all know the words, are all signing along anyway.
After that, there's barely a breath before they launch into song number four. None of the Cobras are here today, but out of the corner of his eye, off to the side of the stage, Patrick sees Pete holding up his cell phone, knows who is on the other end of the line. "The city is at war," Patrick sings. "Playtime for the young and rich. Ignore me if you see me, 'cause I just don't give a shit." Frank and Adam are currently spinning on their own sides of the stage, slowly making their way towards the middle. They meet to Patrick's left, playing guitar at each other as Patrick sings the "Come on, live it up while you can," making their way back to their mics in time for the echoed chorus of, "Bang, bang, shoot 'em up, yeah!"
Song five is another cover, another MTV pop princess: Jade. It's a love song, but their remix is more of a dance punk number, fast lyrics, interludes that allow Patrick to head bang as much as he wants.
Then, because their set is nothing if not totally random and really, why *shouldn't* they play some Nirvana, Frank starts in on song number six, Spencer joining him on the drums, Adam keeping a steady rhythm of notes going.
"Load up on guns," Patrick sings, "bring your friends." When the chorus comes, he lets Frank and Adam take the repeated "hello"s as he wanders back to Spencer, curves over his guitar and just *plays*. He's into it enough that the second time the chorus comes around, he lets Frank take over: "With the lights out, it's less dangerous. Here we are now, entertain us. I feel stupid and contagious."
Song number seven is back on Patrick's home turf, because, well. Who turns down the opportunity to perform 'Beat It' when given the chance? No one. So, 'Beat It' it is, with Frank taking the guitar solo, all of them taking the opportunity to rock the fuck out.
Then, last, because it seemed like a good song to end on, they go back to the Panic vault: "Come save me from walking off a window sill," Patrick sings, and as he does, he turns towards the side of the stage, and there's Brendon singing along, dancing in place. Pete is joining in on the dancing, too, Jon and Joe nodding their heads with the beat, and Patrick's smiling when he turns his attention back to the crowd.
All three of them are singing when they reach the final lines-"We must reinvent love, reinvent love," and then it's just Patrick singing the last words, "Reinvent love," trailing off, and then they're done, bowing, listening to the screams from the crowd, almost louder still from the side of the stage. Because everyone's there, all of their band mates, spouses, friends, and as soon as he's within reach, Pete's got an arm around his shoulders, Joe's slapping at his back, everyone's saying things like, "Fucking awesome, dudes," and "So when's the next show?" and "Next time you should think about playing such and such," and Patrick looks at Frank, at Adam, at Spencer. And he smiles.
31. The After Party
So, there's an after party. Of course there's an after party, because Pete is Pete, and Frank is Frank, and Ryan is Ryan, and it is pretty much a reunion. Party-wise, though, Patrick was thinking that they might all go out for dinner, something, but when Patrick goes to make the turn towards the highway, Pete says, "No, you're going to want to make a left here."
Patrick raises an eyebrow, but does what he's told, and that is how he ends up parked in front of a hole-in-the-wall looking bar, 'T- -U-R-S. B- -N-G-O' letters on the sign above the door. Patrick raises an eyebrow, but Pete just smiles.
They meet up with Frank and Jamia (who are also grinning) and their group, as well as Ryan and Spencer and their carload on the sidewalk out front, then Pete pushes open the door, and suddenly they're in a room decorated with streamers and balloons and-fucking Pete-a table full of 'Reason No. 437' t-shirts in an array of colors. There are tables of food, two bartenders behind the bar, apparently ready to serve drinks, and Patrick would glare at Pete, except he's being pushed into the room by the mass of people behind him, and the next thing Patrick knows, Pete's jumping on Joe's back, saying, "Dude, we've got to fucking *celebrate*."
There are 16 of them there to start, but within ten minutes of their arrival, the doors to the bar start opening again, and the guys from the Turtles and the Aqua Angels come in-full bands this time-and more of Ryan's kids arrive, and Karen's there, blue hair now aqua. Then there are more people arriving, bands from the benefit today, others that Patrick's worked with in the studio, and given that Amanda refuses to meet his gaze, he's suddenly thinking that this may not have been all Pete and Ryan and Frank.
Pete climbs on top of the t-shirt table about fifteen minutes into the party and says, "Hey, you fuckers. I expect you all to take these and wear them, commemorate this occasion, okay?" He drapes one over his shoulder, then picks another one up off of the table and stalks towards Patrick. It's bright red, white lettering, and Patrick starts trying to back away, but Joe grabs him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides as Pete pulls Patrick's hat off and forces the shirt over his head. He puts Patrick's hat back on before Patrick can commit totally justifiable homicide, then dances backwards, hiding behind Ryan and Keltie.
Patrick sighs and straightens the shirt out, pushing his arms through the sleeves. He may be glaring at Pete as he does it, but the next thing he knows, Frank and Jamia are grabbing shirts off the table, and Frank's tossing them to Spencer and Adam, and then Jamia is herding the four of them together for their first official not-band photograph. Then somehow-and this, actually, was not the way Patrick was expecting it to go-he ends up at a table with Frank, Adam, and Spencer, their bands mingling around them, catching up. Ryan's kids are floating around the outskirts of the room, more people coming in still, and then someone starts the jukebox in the corner of the room, 'Take On Me', and half the room starts singing along: loudly, off-key, mostly shouting the words rather than singing them.
And this, okay, this Patrick has missed. Not the t-shirts, or the parties in his honor, but the spending time with the people who've known him for years: Gerard, always ready to talk comics; Bob making sly remarks under his breath; Ryan and Brendon and Jon and their constant familiar banter; Joe and Pete being, well, Joe and Pete. So really, as the evening wears on, it's no surprise to Patrick that the 10 of them end up at a table in the far corner doing the inevitable reminiscing that always seems to happen nowadays.
Patrick's back is to the room, Pete on one side, Spencer on the other, and the door's been opening and closing all night, he's not paying a whole fuck lot of attention to it anymore, so he's not really sure why he chooses that moment to turn around.
Or maybe it's just his self preservation instincts kicking in, since when he turns to look over his shoulder he sees that Casey, Last Bastion's singer, is standing right inside the doorway, looking around. Patrick turns to look at Pete, but he's looking just as confused as Patrick.
"It's not like we didn't invite half the greater Los Angeles music scene," Pete says. "She could have heard about it from anyone."
Patrick nods and turns to look back over his shoulder and sees that Casey has spotted Adam, who's talking with the members of the Aqua Angels, and is walking in his direction. Adam gets a little bit of a deer-in-headlights look in his eye when he notices her approach, Patrick sees, but he manages to hide it quickly enough. Then Casey is there, talking to him, and Patrick wonders if his suspicions are true, if she is asking the kid to go out on tour with them, tech. He sees Adam's eyes go wide, then he's saying something, but Patrick can't read lips, can't hear from this far away. Before he can do more than wonder, though, Bob is saying, "Isn't that right, Stump?" and Joe's saying, "Of course he's not going to fucking agree. Tell him, Patrick. Tell Bryar what really happened," and Patrick has to say, "I'm sorry, what?"
So, Joe launches into his version of events, with Bob chiming in with corrections, and Pete is leaning his head on Patrick's shoulder, and yes, Patrick thinks again, yes, he's missed this a lot.
Concert Set List (a.k.a., things I would like to hear Patrick Stump sing):
'Thriller', by Fall Out Boy
'Give 'Em Hell, Kid', by My Chemical Romance
'I Will Survive', originally by Gloria Gaynor, cover by Cake
'The City is at War', by Cobra Starship
'Smells Like Teen Spirit', by Nirvana
'Beat It', by Michael Jackson
'Mad As Rabbits', by Panic at the Disco
continued
29. The Arrivals
They aren't late, not really, but they aren't early either, because Pete calls while Patrick, Spencer, and Brendon are walking to the terminal from the parking structure, and says, "Dude, where the fuck are you? We landed, like, half an hour ago!"
"Or five minutes," Patrick hears Jon saying, and, okay, Patrick's still not really sure how this got so entirely out of control. One minute, he was agreeing to play a charity show (for rocks!) and the next, it was turning into a defacto extended family reunion: Pete, Joe and Jon in from Chicago, Brendon in from Vegas, Gerard from Portland, and Bob from... somewhere. Possibly Florida. Or maybe it was Maine? Basically, wherever it was the band he's doing sound for had played a show the night before. Andy, Ray and Mikey and Alicia had sent their regrets (they had actual shows of their own to play), and while Patrick will miss them, enough is probably enough.
"We're about ten steps outside the baggage claim," Patrick says. "Where the fuck are you?"
Pete splutters for a moment, which apparently gives Jon a chance to grab the phone because he's the one who says, "Still on the plane. We'll see you in, like, 15." In the background, Patrick can hear Joe saying, "Dude, Walker, you ruined it. We were going to send them on a wild-fucking-goose chase. It was going to be awesome."
Patrick laughs and says, "We'll see you then." Spencer's looking at Patrick, so he says, "Fifteen minutes or so," and then they're in the terminal and Brendon's throwing his arms wide and saying, "Oh, LAX, how I've missed you."
"Because you weren't here yesterday or anything," Spencer says, to which Brendon responds, "That was a whole 13 hours ago, Spencer. That is like, like, a *lifetime*."
They manage to find three seats in the baggage claim area, near the rental car kiosks, and Spencer and Patrick sit while Brendon goes to check the arrival board. Then he comes back and says, "Apparently your baggage claim-fu is still working, Spence, because their bags should be coming out right over *there*," as he points to carousel 12.
Provided they even have bags, of course, because Joe and Pete, at least, are only spending two nights with Patrick; they still have to figure out who gets the bed in the guest room and who gets the couch in the living room. Jon is staying with Ryan, as is Brendon.
"He's afraid that if I stay with Spencer, I'll kidnap him and take him back to Vegas," Brendon whispered to Patrick the day before, when Ryan and Brendon showed up at Patrick's to pick Spencer up from their second-to-last practice session before the big show. Ryan's worries might even have been justified, Patrick thinks, if Spencer hadn't taken on a few more teaching jobs while they prepared for this show, keeping him here at least another two weeks, the original three weeks turning into six.
Spencer just grins at Brendon. "You doubted my skills?" to which Brendon says, "Never, Spencer Smith, never." He almost throws himself into the empty chair on Spencer's other side, but only slouches for a moment before he sits up straight and leans across Spencer.
"Patrick," he says. "You need to come to Vegas again. We're in the process of working out a new routine to add to our lineup, and you need to see it. *Spencer* hasn't even seen it yet, I'll have you know, because he doesn't love me anymore…"
"Except how I've already got my ticket for opening night," Spencer says.
Brendon pulls back into his own space far enough to glare at Spencer. If Patrick had to put a name to the look, he would call it a 'we are not amused' face: lips pinched together in a straight line, brow just a little bit furrowed.
"Not the same, Spencer. Not the same *at all*."
"Of course not," Spencer sighs, and that's not the end of the conversation, but that's about the time that Patrick sits back and just listens to them banter back and forth, like it hasn't been four-or is it five?-years since they got off the road. Also, it helps to pass the time, because it doesn't seem very long at all before he sees Joe, Jon, and Pete approaching. They're actually pretty close by the time Patrick spots them, because the only thing visible above the crowd is Joe's hair, but then people are parting, and Joe stops where he is, throws his arms up into the air, and says, "Greetings, mother fuckers!"
Patrick stands up pretty much immediately, but Brendon's out of his seat first, running towards Jon like he's going to throw himself on him, possibly with legs wrapped around the waist. He manages to restrain himself apparently, since his arms just go around Jon's neck, tightly enough that after a moment Jon pats Brendon on the back and says, "Um, air?"
By this time, Pete's got himself wrapped around Patrick, Joe standing off to the side impatiently waiting for his own hug. When his turn comes, he actually tries to lift Patrick off the ground, for which Patrick feels he's completely justified in punching Joe in the shoulder until he puts him down.
"Dude," Joe says. "It's been too fucking long."
"Yeah," Patrick says, "it has."
"But our little Stump has been *busy*," Pete says. "Or didn't you hear? Starting up his not-band and all?"
"Fuck off," Patrick says, tugging at the bill of his hat. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocks back onto his heels, looking up at Joe and Pete, the both of them grinning at him.
Off to Patrick's left, the lights above the baggage claim start spinning, flashes of white light matched with the sound of an alarm. About half of the people hovering around them move en masse towards the carousel.
Pete and Joe sort of stand back, and Spencer asks, "So, are we waiting for anything?"
Joe and Jon have each got backpacks on-overstuffed, Patrick thinks, for what is pretty much going to be a 48 hour trip-but Pete's got a little rolling suitcase. It's got a Clandestine logo painted in red and white candy stripes on the front, a bright purple luggage tag.
"I've got one," Jon says, and Joe scoffs. "I'm ashamed, Walker. It seems like you and Pete have forgotten the meaning of 'packing lightly.' Remember how we all used to have to live out of the backs of vans? Which we shared with our equipment and our merch? Those were the days…"
"Yeah, right," Pete says. "Like you weren't the one who tried to sneak an extra bag into the van *every single trip*. Patrick'll back me up on this, right? You remember, don't you?"
"And not just that," Patrick adds, mostly for Jon, Spencer, and Brendon's benefit. "If he couldn’t fit it into his bag and he wanted it on tour, he'd, like, hide his shit in random corners. Oh my god, we'd be finding his dirty socks in, like, the glove compartment six weeks into tour."
"That was totally Ryan, too," Brendon says. "Remember, Spencer? How we'd find his scarves all over the fucking place?"
Joe nods sagely. "Who do you think taught him all of the best hiding places?"
Spencer arches an eyebrow-an 'oh, so *you're* the one to blame' look if Patrick's ever seen one-but is derailed from whatever he wants to say by Jon suddenly reappearing with his duffle bag. Patrick hadn't even noticed him leave.
"So, we ready?" Jon asks.
Spencer parked on the 7th level of the parking structure, in the orange zone, and it takes them about five minutes of walking and elevators and more walking to make it to the car. Joe starts laughing at Jon about two minutes in, saying, "Dude, don't you wish you'd packed less now? I know, see, I *know*."
They actually brought Ryan's car to the airport, because it's a Land Rover, compared to Patrick's sedan, Spencer's rental. They spend a good minute staring at it, before Pete says, "Okay, Urie, Walker, we're all little dudes. Let's get friendly."
Joe takes one look at Patrick, whose hand is already gripping the handle on the passenger side door, and says, "What, I've been replaced as the object of your affections, dude? I'm hurt. I'm fucking devastated."
Pete reaches out to pat his shoulder. "Dude, don't be like that. You know I still love you best." Joe stares at Pete for a long moment, as if evaluating the truth in his words, before finally nodding, then diving head first into back seat, claiming the far window for his own.
Patrick shares a look through the windows of the car with Spencer, then opens his own door and slides into the front seat. Jon and Brendon somehow end up in the middle-Patrick is so not surprised-and then Spencer's starting the car.
*
Once upon a time, Patrick remembers instituting a closed practice policy. He remembers kicking Joe's friends out of Pete's basement, asking Pete's girlfriend of the moment to go upstairs please, because they really needed a bass player, asking his own friends to leave once or twice, because they just needed *one hour* of uninterrupted playing time, really. That was all.
He's thinking about instituting that policy again, because, see, instead of dropping Brendon and Jon off at Ryan's, as had been the original plan, Ryan just loaded them all immediately into Spencer's car to follow Spencer over to Patrick's house. Then, when Frank showed up at Patrick's door, maybe half an hour later, he had Gerard in tow.
From there, things pretty much devolved into conversation and catching up rather than practicing, and it's not that Patrick's not happy to have everyone there-he is!-but at the same time, *practice*, for a show *the next day*.
This is the reason why, an hour after everyone descends, Patrick takes a look at Spencer, who's sitting impatiently behind his drum kit, Adam who's sitting on top of one of the amps, watching Frank and Gerard talk to Joe and Ryan, Frank who's strapped into his guitar, fingers intermittently pressing down on strings, and says, "Okay, out."
Pete's the only one to hear him, apparently, and he turns to Patrick, raising an eyebrow. He interprets the look on Patrick's face correctly, though, because he starts shuffling towards the staircase upstairs, trying to herd Joe along as well.
No one else seems to be listening, though, which is why Patrick ends up tapping his finger against the head of the microphone, and says, "Hey. So. We actually need to do some practicing. Do you think we could do that?"
People don't look too chagrined, but with Pete's encouragement, they do head upstairs. "Yeah," Pete says, "I totally know where Patrick hides all the good snacks, so don’t even worry. I've totally got us covered."
There's a moment of blessed silence, then, where Frank actually looks to be a little apologetic, but then Adam stands and Spencer grins at Patrick as he says, "I totally thought you were going to have to resort to curse words, just so you know."
"I've trained Pete well," Patrick says. Then, "So? Shall we?"
"We shall," Frank says.
30. The Rocks (& Roll)
Somehow, it turns into a fucking caravan: Patrick's car, with Pete, Joe, and Adam; Ryan's Land Rover, with Jon, Spencer, Brendon, and Keltie, who's driving, because they're also pulling the trailer with all of the equipment. Amanda shows up at Patrick's house about ten minutes before they're all supposed to leave, telling Pete, "My boss is a little delusional if he thinks I'm not making the trip to see this all go down today. Besides, I've got to support the kid, right?" This last is said more loudly, directed at Adam, who scratches the tip of his nose with his middle finger.
So, caravan.
Or that's what Frank calls it, at least, when they all pull up into the staff-turned-performer parking lot, only a short hike away from the main campus. He's standing with Jamia, Gerard, Lyn-Z, and Bob under a cluster of eucalyptus trees, and by the time Patrick gets out of his car, Frank is fucking cackling.
"Dude, Gee," he says. "Look! Our caravan of roadies has arrived with all of our shit!"
Gerard nods, and Lyn-Z giggles. She's still wearing her hair in pigtails; today they're streaked with bright orange and yellow, seemingly to match the buttons pinned to Gerard's jean jacket.
Jamia and Bob-because they are helpful, unlike Frank and the rest of his associates-come forward to help unlatch the trailer door, and pretty soon all of them, Keltie and Amanda included, are pulling boxes out of the back, unloading amps and pieces of the drum set, spare guitars and pedals and everything else they might possibly need.
"I'd forgotten this, you know," Pete says, leaning his chin on Patrick's shoulder. "How we used to have to carry all of our own equipment and shit around. How did we ever get anywhere, you know?"
Ryan makes a noise of agreement, at which point Pete says, "Dude, you so don't even get to talk. We had you in a van for what, a whole summer? Try *years*, dude. Try breaking down on the side of the highway, like-"
"Three times in one week," Frank says. "In the middle of nowhere, where the most exciting thing around are the fucking, like, dandelions."
By this point, they're starting to attract a little bit of attention from the other performers crowded into the lot. Patrick sees a few kids trying to hide their stares, looking too cool for all of this, more who aren't even trying not to. It's at this point that Greg appears at Frank's side. Patrick's met him once before, but he introduces himself anyway, shaking all of their hands. He's got curly hair and an official event t-shirt-a screen-printed copy of the sharpie mountains on the front, a list of participating bands on the back-and he's practically bouncing with energy.
"People are *already lining up in the quad*," he tells Frank. "We've already sold more tickets than we did last year. We have actual *press*."
"Of course you do," Frank says. "You've got an awesome lineup."
Behind him, Patrick hears Ryan saying, "Yeah, they've got at least three bands I've been trying to hear."
"*And* the most important band of all," Brendon says, and out of the corner of his eye, Patrick can see him sling an arm across Spencer's shoulders.
"Exactly," Frank says. "Because we are just that awesome."
Greg laughs along with them, then says, "I've got a few details to go over with you, if you have time?"
Frank looks at Patrick, then nods. "Now's as good a time as any," he says, and Patrick would probably stay and help unload some more, except that Pete pokes him in the side and says, "Go."
So that is how Patrick finds himself standing underneath a striped tent-y thing with Frank, Spencer, and Adam, listening to Greg give a rundown of how the day is going to go. As the headliners, they're on last, of course. They're guesstimating they'll go on stage at approximately 3 o'clock, if everyone else on the lineup actually stays within their allotted amount of time. They've taken over the dining commons as a place for people to warm up if they need to, and Greg's sorry that it's not a private dressing room, but he can try to keep anyone from bothering Frank and his band.
At this point, Frank says, "Greg-o, chill. It's going to be awesome, I swear."
Greg takes a visible, deep breath, and says, "Okay, yeah. Okay. So. Um. What do you need?"
"We'll let you know, okay?" Frank says.
Greg nods.
*
There are actually, well, a lot more people at this thing than Patrick expected there to be, and not just in the tent off to the side of the stage that seems to have been designated the VIP tent, although it's pretty much just Patrick's group that's filling it, because it's not just their former band mates and assorted spouses anymore, either. Kevin and Aiden from the Aqua Angels, Benji and his bass player from the Atomic Turtles, more, more. The crowd keeps growing, both in the tent and outside of it, and by the time Patrick makes his way to the edge of the stage during the band directly before them, he thinks that there are 3,000, maybe 3,500 people out there watching, and more are filing in every minute.
"Jesus," he says, and Spencer says, "I know. At least it's not Reading though, you know?"
"Jesus," Patrick says again, because yeah, in comparison, this is just a drop in the bucket. This is just a small portion of the crowds he used to play for anyway, but-but he can see this crowd, unlike the crowd when they did their show at The Gateway. He can see people with homemade t-shirts, Reason No. 437 done in glitter and puffy paint, plain black paint, marker. He can see old Fall Out Boy/My Chemical Romance/Panic at the Disco t-shirts, as well as shirts from pretty much every other DecayDance band Pete's ever signed. Not a lot, yeah, but they're out there, and this is just-
"We're going to rock their fucking faces off," Frank says, coming up behind them and dropping his arms over their shoulders. "They aren't going to know what hit them."
"Fuck yeah," Adam says.
"*Fuck* yeah," Spencer echoes, and Patrick has no choice but to agree.
*
This time, it's different.
Oh, they get introduced just like last time, but this time they don't get to walk out onstage shrouded in the anonymity of darkness, no one knowing quite what they are about to see. No, this time, there are maybe 4,000 faces peering back at them, most clapping, some screaming, a lot just staring. People get to watch as Spencer gets settled at his drum kit, as Adam adjusts the strap on his bass, as Patrick and Frank get their microphones set to the height they need them to be at.
After that, with no curtains to hide behind, well, Patrick is starting to remember why they'd started doing leaps out of the stage, or distracting the audience with videos while they made their entrance, because after years of that, it actually feels a little bit awkward to just stand there, to just start playing.
This is the thing: while two weeks is longer than they had to prepare the last time, it still wasn't enough time to do more than practice their combined back catalog. Which is why their set list is pretty random: a selection of songs from their former bands, their friends' bands, a few random classics thrown in for good measure.
They start out with one of Patrick's again, just to give him a chance to get comfortable on stage. They'd talked about doing 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs'-despite their lack of violins (and chimpanzees)-but Frank had put in a vote for 'Thriller', if only because the idea behind it was just as egotistical as the idea behind their name.
Patrick is the one to start them off, picking out the initial melody, and it's a long intro, long enough for him to wander back to Spencer's drum kit then back to his microphone again, for him to see Frank grinning like a fucking maniac, poised and ready to start playing, for him to turn his attention to Adam in the instant that he and Frank both join in. There's no hesitation there, just guitar riffs sliding out across the quad, and when Patrick turns his attention out towards the audience, he sees that people are already nodding along, that they've already identified the song.
"That summer we took threes across the board," he sings, and suddenly it isn't awkward anymore, because just like last time, at The Gateway, instinct kicks in. This is what he knows how to do, after all. He still knows how this all goes, and the audience does, too, singing along, joining Frank and Adam on the backup choruses, scream-singing, "Long live the car crash hearts."
They'd considered stopping, doing their introductions after the first song, but in practice it had actually seemed easier to create an arrangement that led right into their second piece, 'Give 'Em Hell, Kid'. Adam's choice, actually, but Frank had agreed, an oldie but goodie, he'd said. And Spencer certainly had no objection to banging the hell out of his drums.
Adam is the one to carry the initial melody on this one, five seconds worth of playing before Frank and Spencer join in, dirty guitar riffs and steady beats. At the right moment, Frank steps up to his mic, leans in as close as he can and says, "Oh baby, here comes the sound," right before Patrick starts in on the first verse: "I took a train out of New Orleans…" It's a faster paced song than Patrick's used to performing, and his tongue feels, just a little bit, like it's getting twisted up in his mouth, but if Gerard could do it, he can do it, and when he gets to "This is how we do it-" Frank and Adam join him on the "--on the murder scene" and from that moment forward, it's full steam ahead.
It's at the end of song two that they take their introductory break, and Patrick takes the time to step away from his microphone so that Frank can take over.
"Hello, Riverside!" he says. "How the fuck are all of you today?"
They get quite a bit of clapping and screaming in response to that.
"Fuck yeah," Frank says. "So, I think some of you probably know who we are already, but I've been told we should introduce ourselves. Just in case, you know. Just in case you're standing there wondering who the fuck these guys on stage are and why the fuck people are actually screaming for them. So, quickly: our illustrious singer is Mr. Patrick Stump. We've got Spencer Smith on drums. We've got AJ-better known as 'The Kid'-on bass."
Patrick looks over at Adam as Frank's talking, watches as Adam flips Frank off. Frank laughs at that, voice shrill in the microphone, echoing out across the campus, before he continues.
"And me, I'm Frank Iero. Way back when, we used to be in a few bands called Panic at the Disco, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and the Still Wanderers. Perhaps you've heard of them?"
He pauses then, lets the crowd scream. Patrick hears people shouting his name, Frank's, Spencer's.
"Today, though, well. *Together*, we're pretty much reason number 437 you shouldn't let retired musicians hang out in a room together. Because we'll start talking, right, and the next thing you know, we think it's a good idea to start playing songs from our glory days and force them on unsuspecting ears!" Frank laughs, then says, "Really, though, we want to thank you for coming out and supporting this awesome cause and all of these awesome bands that played before us today, and we hope that you'll enjoy the rest of the show."
As Frank finishes speaking, Patrick starts picking out the intro to the next song. So completely random, the product of another evening spent eating pizza after all of them were off for work for the day, a conversation about what songs they'd always wanted to perform on stage, yet had never had the opportunity to.
It takes more than a few moments-most of the intro-for the crowd to figure out what song they're actually performing, but then Patrick's singing, "At first I was afraid, I was petrified." There's a resounding cheer at that, and Patrick can see a group of girls and guys at the front barrier doing some sort of disco dancing. They aren't doing it quite as quickly as Gloria Gaynor performed it, but a whole lot faster and rougher than the Cake cover.
Off to Patrick's right, Frank is bouncing with his guitar, halfway dancing as he plays. Adam's not quite that comfortable on stage yet, but he's definitely bobbing his head in time with the beat.
"I will survive," Patrick sings, then throws his arm out at the audience, letting them carry the song for a line, longer, since they all know the words, are all signing along anyway.
After that, there's barely a breath before they launch into song number four. None of the Cobras are here today, but out of the corner of his eye, off to the side of the stage, Patrick sees Pete holding up his cell phone, knows who is on the other end of the line. "The city is at war," Patrick sings. "Playtime for the young and rich. Ignore me if you see me, 'cause I just don't give a shit." Frank and Adam are currently spinning on their own sides of the stage, slowly making their way towards the middle. They meet to Patrick's left, playing guitar at each other as Patrick sings the "Come on, live it up while you can," making their way back to their mics in time for the echoed chorus of, "Bang, bang, shoot 'em up, yeah!"
Song five is another cover, another MTV pop princess: Jade. It's a love song, but their remix is more of a dance punk number, fast lyrics, interludes that allow Patrick to head bang as much as he wants.
Then, because their set is nothing if not totally random and really, why *shouldn't* they play some Nirvana, Frank starts in on song number six, Spencer joining him on the drums, Adam keeping a steady rhythm of notes going.
"Load up on guns," Patrick sings, "bring your friends." When the chorus comes, he lets Frank and Adam take the repeated "hello"s as he wanders back to Spencer, curves over his guitar and just *plays*. He's into it enough that the second time the chorus comes around, he lets Frank take over: "With the lights out, it's less dangerous. Here we are now, entertain us. I feel stupid and contagious."
Song number seven is back on Patrick's home turf, because, well. Who turns down the opportunity to perform 'Beat It' when given the chance? No one. So, 'Beat It' it is, with Frank taking the guitar solo, all of them taking the opportunity to rock the fuck out.
Then, last, because it seemed like a good song to end on, they go back to the Panic vault: "Come save me from walking off a window sill," Patrick sings, and as he does, he turns towards the side of the stage, and there's Brendon singing along, dancing in place. Pete is joining in on the dancing, too, Jon and Joe nodding their heads with the beat, and Patrick's smiling when he turns his attention back to the crowd.
All three of them are singing when they reach the final lines-"We must reinvent love, reinvent love," and then it's just Patrick singing the last words, "Reinvent love," trailing off, and then they're done, bowing, listening to the screams from the crowd, almost louder still from the side of the stage. Because everyone's there, all of their band mates, spouses, friends, and as soon as he's within reach, Pete's got an arm around his shoulders, Joe's slapping at his back, everyone's saying things like, "Fucking awesome, dudes," and "So when's the next show?" and "Next time you should think about playing such and such," and Patrick looks at Frank, at Adam, at Spencer. And he smiles.
31. The After Party
So, there's an after party. Of course there's an after party, because Pete is Pete, and Frank is Frank, and Ryan is Ryan, and it is pretty much a reunion. Party-wise, though, Patrick was thinking that they might all go out for dinner, something, but when Patrick goes to make the turn towards the highway, Pete says, "No, you're going to want to make a left here."
Patrick raises an eyebrow, but does what he's told, and that is how he ends up parked in front of a hole-in-the-wall looking bar, 'T- -U-R-S. B- -N-G-O' letters on the sign above the door. Patrick raises an eyebrow, but Pete just smiles.
They meet up with Frank and Jamia (who are also grinning) and their group, as well as Ryan and Spencer and their carload on the sidewalk out front, then Pete pushes open the door, and suddenly they're in a room decorated with streamers and balloons and-fucking Pete-a table full of 'Reason No. 437' t-shirts in an array of colors. There are tables of food, two bartenders behind the bar, apparently ready to serve drinks, and Patrick would glare at Pete, except he's being pushed into the room by the mass of people behind him, and the next thing Patrick knows, Pete's jumping on Joe's back, saying, "Dude, we've got to fucking *celebrate*."
There are 16 of them there to start, but within ten minutes of their arrival, the doors to the bar start opening again, and the guys from the Turtles and the Aqua Angels come in-full bands this time-and more of Ryan's kids arrive, and Karen's there, blue hair now aqua. Then there are more people arriving, bands from the benefit today, others that Patrick's worked with in the studio, and given that Amanda refuses to meet his gaze, he's suddenly thinking that this may not have been all Pete and Ryan and Frank.
Pete climbs on top of the t-shirt table about fifteen minutes into the party and says, "Hey, you fuckers. I expect you all to take these and wear them, commemorate this occasion, okay?" He drapes one over his shoulder, then picks another one up off of the table and stalks towards Patrick. It's bright red, white lettering, and Patrick starts trying to back away, but Joe grabs him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides as Pete pulls Patrick's hat off and forces the shirt over his head. He puts Patrick's hat back on before Patrick can commit totally justifiable homicide, then dances backwards, hiding behind Ryan and Keltie.
Patrick sighs and straightens the shirt out, pushing his arms through the sleeves. He may be glaring at Pete as he does it, but the next thing he knows, Frank and Jamia are grabbing shirts off the table, and Frank's tossing them to Spencer and Adam, and then Jamia is herding the four of them together for their first official not-band photograph. Then somehow-and this, actually, was not the way Patrick was expecting it to go-he ends up at a table with Frank, Adam, and Spencer, their bands mingling around them, catching up. Ryan's kids are floating around the outskirts of the room, more people coming in still, and then someone starts the jukebox in the corner of the room, 'Take On Me', and half the room starts singing along: loudly, off-key, mostly shouting the words rather than singing them.
And this, okay, this Patrick has missed. Not the t-shirts, or the parties in his honor, but the spending time with the people who've known him for years: Gerard, always ready to talk comics; Bob making sly remarks under his breath; Ryan and Brendon and Jon and their constant familiar banter; Joe and Pete being, well, Joe and Pete. So really, as the evening wears on, it's no surprise to Patrick that the 10 of them end up at a table in the far corner doing the inevitable reminiscing that always seems to happen nowadays.
Patrick's back is to the room, Pete on one side, Spencer on the other, and the door's been opening and closing all night, he's not paying a whole fuck lot of attention to it anymore, so he's not really sure why he chooses that moment to turn around.
Or maybe it's just his self preservation instincts kicking in, since when he turns to look over his shoulder he sees that Casey, Last Bastion's singer, is standing right inside the doorway, looking around. Patrick turns to look at Pete, but he's looking just as confused as Patrick.
"It's not like we didn't invite half the greater Los Angeles music scene," Pete says. "She could have heard about it from anyone."
Patrick nods and turns to look back over his shoulder and sees that Casey has spotted Adam, who's talking with the members of the Aqua Angels, and is walking in his direction. Adam gets a little bit of a deer-in-headlights look in his eye when he notices her approach, Patrick sees, but he manages to hide it quickly enough. Then Casey is there, talking to him, and Patrick wonders if his suspicions are true, if she is asking the kid to go out on tour with them, tech. He sees Adam's eyes go wide, then he's saying something, but Patrick can't read lips, can't hear from this far away. Before he can do more than wonder, though, Bob is saying, "Isn't that right, Stump?" and Joe's saying, "Of course he's not going to fucking agree. Tell him, Patrick. Tell Bryar what really happened," and Patrick has to say, "I'm sorry, what?"
So, Joe launches into his version of events, with Bob chiming in with corrections, and Pete is leaning his head on Patrick's shoulder, and yes, Patrick thinks again, yes, he's missed this a lot.
Concert Set List (a.k.a., things I would like to hear Patrick Stump sing):
'Thriller', by Fall Out Boy
'Give 'Em Hell, Kid', by My Chemical Romance
'I Will Survive', originally by Gloria Gaynor, cover by Cake
'The City is at War', by Cobra Starship
'Smells Like Teen Spirit', by Nirvana
'Beat It', by Michael Jackson
'Mad As Rabbits', by Panic at the Disco
continued