Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco
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Battle of the Bands
“… So as a conclusion, the amplifiers and the guitars that you were so fucking worried
about turned out to be misplaced instead of stolen. All thanks to the fresh batch of interns that
can't even do anything right without having someone yelling at them.” Brendon finished his
report with a flourish and sat down with a huff. “And if you have any complaints about my
sloppy report, stuff it. Because I sure as hell didn't agree to be your errand boy when I signed
Brendon smirked, daring Pete to make a sarcastic, eccentric, and Pete-ish comment. But instead of
getting the usually snide remarks, all he got was a blank faced Pete whose mouth also happened to be
slightly opened making him look like on of those stuffed animal heads you usually see at your
gramps' place. Raising an eyebrow, Brendon stood and fluidly scooped up his jacket from the couch.
“Well, if there's nothing else that you'd want to burden me with, I guess I'll be going
now.” Brendon said as he made his way towards the door of Pete's rather spacious office. At
least he tried to. He didn't even manage to make a stride before his left wrist was caught by Pete
who seemed to come to his senses. Okay, so maybe there was something else he'd like
to burden me with. But damn, can't he just say it?
“What else do you want from me, Pete?” he asked wearily.
Much to Brendon's annoyance, the president of Decaydance didn't even bother to make eye contact with
him. In fact, the latter's eyes seemed to be fixed on the very wrist he held captive. His expression
was a mix of confusion, amusement, and something like thoughtful or maybe even baffled.
“What,” Pete raised Brendon's wrist up to eye level. “Is this?”
“That would be my wrist. Why? Didn't you learn anatomy in school?” Brendon answered
“What I meant was, what is this,” Pete pointed to a particular spot on Brendon's hand
with his free hand. “doing here?”
“It's a ring. You're suppose to wear them on your finger.” It took quite an effort for
Brendon not to say `duh'.
“I know, but what is a ring doing on you ring finger?!” the older man shook Brendon's
hand wildly to emphasis his point. Whatever it is..
“You're asking me what a ring is doing on my ring finger?” Brendon
stared. He's shocked, he really was. He always knew that Pete was a little slow, but this is more
“Don't play dumb with me, Urie. A ring on your ring finger means you're married, hitched, not
available, stuck with one woman for the next sixty years!”
“So? SO?” Pete's eyes went huge. “I don't remember you dating anyone. Hell. Even
the press doesn't know about this and they're like the devil's spies or something.”
Brendon rolled his eyes and yanked his wrist from the slightly crazed Pete. Taking a quick glance at
the smooth gold band on his ring finger, he mock-saluted his boss and exited the office.
The news of Brendon Urie finally getting hitched traveled fast and wild like wild fire on a summer's
day, fuelled by a very determined and slightly annoyed Pete Wentz. Although he failed to admit it to
anyone, the reason he's so interested is because he felt a little hurt that the boy he came to love
as a little brother (that he wished he never had) didn't bother to tell him that he married someone.
To add insult to injury, no one heard of any wedding since the totally random, totally awesome Mikey
and Alicia wedding. Pete should know, because he's the one who banzai charged Mikey into the hotel
pool during the reception. The couple needed an excuse to go to their room, anyway.
By the time the week was over, the entire Decaydance building occupants knew about the mysterious
Mrs. Urie. Contrary to popular believes, the punk family is rather hypocrite. They hate it when
people know about their secret, but they loathe it when one of their own kept a secret from
them. So it wasn't a surprise to see members of bands like MCR, Green Day, The Used, and Fall Out
Boy hanging around in the rather large building.
Who ever said boys don't thrive on gossip?
“Hey.” Brendon greeted Gerard Way as he grabbed two cans Red Bull from the lounge's
refrigerator and tossed one of them at Gerard. Flopping down on the plush velvet couch, he eyed his
once more raven haired neighbor who had his laptop opened on his lap. “What cha' up to?”
“Nothing..” Gerard mumbled and took a swing from his Red Bull. “Just Googling some
“Oh, I dunno.” He shrugged. “Something random like… celebrity
Brendon nearly spit out his Red Bull and was coughing violently while Gerard watched with slight
amusement. Deciding to push his luck a little, Gerard gingerly leaned in and said,
“Good luck with that.” And with that, Brendon shot out of the lounge before crashing
into Bert and Andy who were trying to keep the `we-weren't-trying-to-eavesdrop-or-anything' look on
Believing that his day couldn't possibly get any weirder, Brendon decided to make a trip to the
men's room to wash off the Red Bull he spilled on his hands while making a getaway from the
flamboyant MCR lead vocal. So after dodging Billie Joe, Patrick, and William on the second floor,
Brendon finally made it into the confines of the blue tiled restroom.
Brendon paused and looked up from washing his hands, only to meet with the sight of a certain Frank
Iero with a Cheshire cat grin etched on his face. He sighed with frustration. “What the fuck
do you want from me, Iero?”
Brendon immediately regret saying those words as the grin on the hyper guitarist's face broaden
scarily so. Face still set into the Cruella De Vil's grin, Frank walked nonchalantly towards Brendon
and swung an arm around the boy's shoulders.
“So.. who's the lucky girl?” Frank asked in a sing song voice that made Brendon itched
to strangle the man.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” He answered with a strained voice. Ha. As if he didn't
notice the one, two … eleven pairs of feet from behind the bathroom stalls. Actually, there
are only six bathroom stalls in there, so he rather not think of how that many men can fit in.
“Awww… come on!” Frank pouted. “I'm good with secrets. Ray stole Mikey's
straightener once and I didn't tell anyone about it! So your secret would totally be safe with
Brendon pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself no to kick Frank in the gut right there
and then. It's really flattering that the guys actually cared about his life, but now it's just
getting annoying. Brendon Urie doesn't handle annoyance very well.
“Thanks, but I'll let you know when I actually have secret to tell.” He sighed.
“Well what?” Seriously. The thought of Frank rolling on the floor with a bruised stomach
looked pretty tempting.
“Do you have a secret or don't you?” Frank poked Brendon's cheek, ignoring the shuffling
of feet from under the stalls.
“Yeah, I do.” Brendon was sure he heard someone elbowed another from the nearest
bathroom stall as Frank smiled with glee. Gesturing for the latter to lean in closer, he whispered;
“Jon nicked your Mortal Combat game as a revenge for deleting his Kingdom Hearts II data from
the memory card.”
Patting Frank on the head, he left the restroom and expecting a large scale argument between the two
As the other's curiosity grew thicker and thicker, Brendon's patience ran thinner and thinner. It
was so thin by next Monday that the act of approaching the lead singer could be easily be another
way of asking “Hey, can you please kill me?”
But the men of the music world weren't called emos, Goths, and punk for nothing. They had no fear of
dying if it means finally getting their hands on the answer to the greatest mystery known to human.
Just the sight of the smooth gold band on Brendon's finger made them queasy and it took all of their
will to not shake the truth out of the boy.
Brendon wasn't making it easy for the men, either. Whenever someone (that, meaning Frank and Bert)
dared to ask him the name of his spouse, he would simply say “No” or “Fuck
off” when he was feeling creative, and that was the end of conversation.
So needless to say, he was more than surprise to find his head locked in Spencer's death grip one
fine, dandy afternoon at the Decaydance productions with half of the employees' population in
“Dude.. gerroff!” Brendon chocked.
“Brendon, man. I respect you and your privacy, but can you please tell these fine people who
you're married to so that we can all get on with our life?” Spencer grunted, using one
hand to indicate the crowd that had form around them.
“But you and Jon already know. What else do you fucking want?!” he gasped. There's a
reason why you should never anger Spencer Smith, and his iron grip of doom is one of them.
“For you to admit it yourself, dammit!”
A `ting' from the elevator door caught everyone's attention and Ryan Ross stepped out from the
silver mobile containment wearing his usual tight pants, white button down and a black vest. Okay,
so not his usual attire.
He took one look at the sight of Brendon in Spencer's iron grip with a mass crowd around him before
sighing, head shaking in disbelieve. “What did you do this time, Bren?”
“I didn't do anything!” Brendon whined. “They were picking on
Ryan walked casually towards the somewhat circus like scene and put his hands on his hips.
“Let him go, Spence. The last thing we need is for him to die from lack of oxygen.”
Detaching himself from Spencer's weakening grip, Brendon massaged his neck and mumbled loud enough
for the ones nearest to hear. “Like hell I'd die before that fucker Pete.”
“I'm right here, you know.” Pete called out in a deadpanned voice somewhere from the
Ryan sighed again and took a step forward. He took Brendon's hands in his and looked him in the
eyes, saying “You really can't behave grown up even if your life depending on it, can
And Brendon kissed him. On the lips. Of the French variety. While the crowd's jaw dropped all the
way down to the ground floor (that's saying something since they're all on the fifth floor), Spencer
and Jon politely looked away, relieved that the pursuit of the Mrs. Brendon Urie has finally ended.
The employees and bands that were in presence that day never spoke of the incident to anyone. One,
because they felt that it was the couple's decision to go public. And two, simply because they
wanted to protect the boys from the closed minded people of the world.
Of course, that didn't stop Pete from thinking that next weekend would be a fine day for a
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.