Title: Infinity On High
Author: Kate (<lj user="lets_go_to_rome">)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nothing overt; Brendon/Ryan, Brendon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick, Spencer/Brendon, Spencer/Jon can be read into this, among others.
POV: Third.
Summary: Death and redemption, in a manner of speaking.
They get the results back from Ryan’s blood test. Worst fears confirmed: it is indeed AIDS. Spencer’s face is terrible and blank. His arm is around Ryan, who can’t stop staring at the floor. Brendon is trying to remember everything he can about RENT and still listen to the doctor at the same time so he can be Helpful when they get back to the bus.
Disclaimer: Very definitely not mine. Lyric belongs to the Panic! boys, and the Panic! boys themselves belong to Pete Wentz. As does practically everyone else mentioned. Not mine, you know? I'm just a slasher. None of this is true, to my knowledge. Et cetera.
Author Notes: This is about the third time I've tried to post this. I accidentally deleted it once and then my computer spazzed. In any case, this was only partially beta'd because my beloved Krista has rather a lot to worry about at the moment. So I kind of stuck this up without her going through this last draft. Therefore all screwups are mine. (Also: wtf? Aparrently "Girlfriend" is one of my comfort songs...? How the hell did that happen?)



I
Ryan’s in one of his funks again, and the whole bus feels it. Brendon gets sent in to see what’s wrong this time (not that he’s unhappy about it). He flips back Ryan’s curtain and Ryan’s curled up with headphones in, facing the wall. Brendon sits down, nudges his leg against Ryan’s back.

“Hey,” Brendon says, tugging at one of the wires.

Ryan glances behind him, sees it’s Brendon, and launches himself at him. Ryan’s arms lock around Brendon’s neck and Ryan presses himself desperately against Brendon.

It’s less sex-me and more save-me.

After a minute Ryan pulls back and sniffles. Brendon will bet you his entire stash of Red Bull that there are about six people in the whole world who can manage to look adorable when they’re crying, and Ryan’s one of them. It was one of the things Brendon used to hate Ryan for, in the beginning. Brendon can’t stand himself when he cries, so he doesn’t, mostly.

But there’s Ryan, pink blotches magically accenting his sculpted face like makeup. Ryan’s ducking under his bangs and Brendon’s thinking unfair, except for how it totally isn’t.

Ryan sniffles and Brendon rubs his arms, his neck, his back, everything he can reach, brings Ryan back in close and soothes him like a baby, bouncing Ryan very gently in his lap.

“What’s wrong, Ryan?” Brendon asks softly, as soon as Ryan quiets down a little.

“Nothing.” Ryan swipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, it’s gotta be something, Ryro. You wouldn’t be sitting in your bunk sobbing if it was nothing.”

Ryan aims a half-hearted whack at Brendon’s chest and leaves his hand there. His fingers dig into the pink fabric and he shudders convulsively.

“I had this dream last night,” Ryan starts.

“What was it about?”

“Shut up, man. I’m telling you!”

“Bitch.”

“You love it,” Ryan snaps back, but it’s more out of habit than any indication of lifting spirits.

“So…?” Brendon prompts.

“It was awful, Bren,” Ryan pushes closer, twists his fingers further into Brendon’s shirt. “It was awful.”

Ryan looks up at Brendon with haunted eyes and says, “Brendon. Brendon, I don’t want to die.”


II
Ryan seems to think that something awful is going to happen, soon, and the band is on edge. Brendon’s been getting Ryan cookies and candy and sugary sweet things at every stop they make, in case it makes him feel better. Spencer’s been forcing them all to act normally because he knows that doing anything else will put Ryan in an even worse state. Jon’s called a couple of the guys, including Pete, who suggested that Ryan get laid by Pete as that makes everyone feel better or, failing that, at least let Pete take the kid out to a party or three because come on Jon Walker you‘re not his fucking mom, let the kid have a bit of fun, it‘ll get his mind off things. Spencer vetoes the first suggestion with a feral look but grudgingly agrees to the second.

At the same time, he can’t help remembering the rough patches early on in the band’s history when Ryan was so, so convinced, against all reason and evidence, that they’d make it big. His ‘feeling’ that out of the zillions of other young, eager bands, Pete would not only get the chance to listen to their stuff but would love it. The stuff in high school, where Ryan’s gut instincts had led them safely through like a guardian angel.

Spencer doesn’t think a party with Pete is the best idea, but  Ryan’s agreed to it. So Ryan’s going.


III
It’s six or seven months later and Ryan has a cold. He refuses to go to the hospital, even though he’s had the same cold for three weeks. He insists it’s seasonal, no matter what arguments Spencer lines up. All Spencer can get from him these days is an eye roll and “It’s just a cold, Spence, god!” so he gives up and sends in the heavy artillery. (There’s a small part of Spencer, low in his chest, wispy and curled in on itself, that remembers the days when Spencer was the heavy artillery.)

Brendon bounces over to Ryan’s bunk and whips back the curtain to find Ryan staring at some lyrics he’d scribbled a while ago, not writing anything.

“So, Ryro--hey, that rhymes! Anyway, whatcha doing?’ Brendon drops down besides Ryan, wraps his arms around Ryan’s middle, hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan plays with a frayed edge of paper.

“Brendon. I want to tell you something, but you have to swear, swear that you won’t tell anyone. Especially Spencer.” Ryan turns, breaking free of Brendon’s grip, takes Brendon’s face carefully in his hands.

“You promise me?” Ryan says.

“I promise,” Brendon answers, eyes wide and serious. Ryan takes a deep breath.

“So. Remember that party I went to a while ago?” Brendon nods. “Well, it was kind of wild.”

Brendon nods again, remembering.

“And you remember I got high, how I was high when I came back to the bus?”

Brendon nods. That was another thing he wasn’t supposed to tell Spencer, but Spencer had found out anyway. Ryan’s first and last brush with drugs.

“Well. I. It was heroin. I think. Or something. I don’t know what it was, and I don’t know who brought it. But I do know I wasn‘t the first one to use the needle.”

Brendon’s eyes widen.

“Do you--do you think you, you know, caught something?” Brendon inquires cautiously, like asking will make the possibility real. Ryan’s eyes flick down to the blanket.

“Um,” Ryan says.

“Oh,” Brendon replies. He swallows. Ryan does too, a second behind.

“Um, but I might not have? That’s the thing. I don’t know and I--fuck, I couldn’t stand it if Spencer knew I’d done something this stupid.” Ryan buries his face in his hands, pulls away form Brendon, curls up. “I mean, I‘m not in high school anymore. I should be fucking smarter than this.”

Brendon leaves quickly, hearing Ryan mutter behind him. He knows where this is going; every time Ryan thinks he’s done something wrong he rips into himself until someone makes him stop. That someone is usually Spencer or Jon; Brendon doesn’t have the steel in his voice to make Ryan do anything.

“Fucking stupid. So stupid. Fuckup. Why…can‘t believe this--”

Brendon weighs the pros and cons of telling Spencer the whole story as he walks away from Ryan’s voice quietly tearing its owner apart.


IV
They get the results back from Ryan’s blood test. Worst fears confirmed: it is indeed AIDS. Spencer’s face is terrible and blank. His arm is around Ryan, who can’t stop staring at the floor. Brendon is trying to remember everything he can about RENT and still listen to the doctor at the same time so he can be Helpful when they get back to the bus.

Ryan’s been lucky so far, very lucky, but even a cold can kill him if he’s not careful.

They leave loaded with prescriptions. Jon thanks the doctor for keeping everything so confidential and for seeing them on such short notice. The doctor gives them a wan smile.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he tells Jon. He tilts his head, the gesture encompassing the four young men. “My daughters are big fans.”

He clasps each of their hands in turn, bends down to look Ryan in the eye.

“Best of luck,” he tells them.

It‘s unspoken as he leaves the room: you’ll need it.


V
They tell Pete because they have to tell Pete. When he’s done flipping out and Patrick’s done yelling at him for taking Ryan to the party in the first place and not keeping a good enough eye on him, they form a game plan.

The FBR gang is notified and sworn to secrecy on pain of Patrick. And Spencer has been promised what little would be left when Patrick’s done with them. They’re told for two reasons. First, they can help out on tours with whatever comes up. Second, Pete really loves threatening people with Patrick.

(Patrick puts his foot down when Pete suggests applying the same strategy to the media.)

It’s agreed that everyone will keep it absolutely quiet until Panic! decides otherwise.


VI
I: And now a question for Ryan. You’ve been looking peaky lately; anything wrong?

R: No, I’m fine.

B: He’s just pregnant. The morning sickness is the worst part.

I: (chuckles) Who’s the lucky father?

B: Me!

J: Pete Wentz.

S: Keltie.

R: Spencer.

(all laugh)

I: (chuckles) Quite the list.

R: (laughs) No, but really. It’s just overwork. Between the tours and the album, it’s been taking a lot out of all of us.

I: So, yeah. Your third album! What can we expect on it?

S: Well, it’s not going to be out for a while, obviously--

B: (interrupting) Yeah, right after we finish this tour we’re hopping on the Damage Control tour with Fall Out Boy and the rest.

S: Yeah, it’s busy, but we want to get it out as soon as we can. We know a lot of people are waiting for it…


VII
Ryan presses his face against Spencer’s neck.

“I’m so sorry, Spence. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, over and over and over again.

Spencer rocks him gently and holds him close and says nothing. He can’t.

There’s really nothing to say.


VIII
They’re on the floor, Indiana Jones fighting Nazis for background. Ryan wriggles closer to Brendon. (Spencer’s off with Jon, somewhere.)

Brendon grunts, shifts, blinks, glares like a child.

“I was almost asleep, you bastard.” He nudges Ryan’s abdomen with his hip, turns over and grabs Ryan. There’s a brief wrestling match. Too brief, because Ryan gets tired easily these days.

Brendon waits for Ryan to catch his breath.

“So what’d you want?” Brendon asks finally.

“I want,” Ryan says gravely, boring into Brendon’s soul, pinning him to the wall with his gaze. “I want to not die.” He gestures at the Peter Pan DVD lying next to the case for the Indiana Jones movie. “I want Neverland, Brendon. I used to not want to get old. Now I feel like I should just not want to die, but. I don’t just want that. And it’s selfish and thoughtless and I’m stupid for even thinking it--”

Brendon tries to stop the slide into self-deprecation, but Ryan pulls back from the edge.

“I want everything. I want to really, really live, you know?”

Then he flops down beside Brendon and pokes him in the ribs. Soon, he’s asleep, clutching at Brendon’s upper arm. Brendon leans against the couch and adjusts the two of them so Ryan’s resting on Brendon’s chest.

He watches Ryan’s head bob up and down as Brendon’s heart beats in Ryan’s ribcage pillow and he wonders how he’s going to get Ryan what he wants.


IX
It’s two, maybe three weeks later. Brendon comes back on the bus, looking around furtively. Spencer and Jon are playing video games, Jon having dragged Spencer away from his scrapbooking (“Just so we have something for, you know, when.”).

Ryan’s in his bunk pretending to sleep.

He gives up when Brendon tumbles in beside him, grinning nervously.

“What,” Ryan says, “are you doing.”

“So. You remember how you were saying you wanted to find something that made it so you didn’t die?”

Ryan nods slowly.

“Yes, Brendon, that’s what I have the medications for.”

“Yeah, but they won’t work as well as this does.” Brendon flourishes a little jar, roughly the size of a bottle of nail polish. It looks as though it’s full of very small iridescent beads. Ryan’s curious.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but”--Brendon pulls out a sterile disposable needle, the kind used at hospitals--“if you take this then you’ll be better again. You won’t have to worry about getting sick, because you won’t ever get sick again.”

“What?” Ryan asks incredulously, eyeing the needle with apprehension.

“No, really! You’ll never get sick and your body won’t age and it’ll never wear out! Not unless you get, like, shot or something. It doesn’t protect you from that. But you do heal a lot quicker,” Brendon assures him.

Ryan laughs and shakes his head.

“Yeah, right.”

Brendon’s eyes are wide, earnest.

“No, really!”

“Brendon, thanks for trying, really, but I doubt that’s going to do anything good to me.”

Brendon tugs at a strand of hair, thinking, then spots a pair of scissors lying on Spencer’s bunk among colored paper and glue. He separates the blades and drags one heavily across his arm.

A gash opens up and blood begins to well. Brendon repeats the action several times until he has a deep gouge in his forearm.

Ryan’s mouth is open. He wants to shout something, grab at Brendon, but Brendon is biting his lips and shaking his head no, no, look.

And as Ryan watches, the torn flesh is beginning to heal itself, slowly, then gaining momentum until it’s closing and with a noise like zzzzzzp! Brendon’s arm is smooth and there’s a faint white line where the scissors had met skin.

The whole process had taken maybe four minutes.

Ryan’s eyes are popping out of his head. Brendon grins so widely his mouth hurts.

“You didn’t think I’d give it to you without knowing it would work, did you?” Brendon ruffles Ryan’s hair.

“How--that’s impossible,” Ryan gapes.

“Yeah, well, it just happened.” Brendon shrugs. “If it does that, I mean, that’s the only way to really test, because the other ways would be either, like, hanging out with the Ebola crowd or waiting sixty years.”

Ryan still can’t believe it.

“Where’d you get this shit, Bren?” Brendon shakes his head. His grin drops to a smile.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Who’d you get it from?”

“They didn’t tell me who they were.”

“What’d you have to pay for this?” Ryan cannot imagine how much it would take to get someone to part with such a miracle.

Brendon’s smile turns glassy and brittle.

“Not money,” he says.

“What, then?”

“That, you really don’t want to know,” he says flatly. “Anyway, you ready?”

Brendon fills the needle. Ryan offers his arm.


X
They called a meeting in Brendon and Ryan’s room as soon as they get to the hotel. Band members only.

Spencer’s reaction when Ryan finishes explaining is similar to what Ryan‘s own had been. Jon is very carefully not looking at them.

“So. Um,” Brendon says. “We thought that since, you know, half the band has taken this stuff, the other half should at least have the option.”

“Now, this magic whatever-it-is, it lasts forever? No boosters?” Spencer asks suspiciously.

“No, no boosters. The person I got it from, they said it lasts as long as you do. The only way you can die is decapitation or if your heart’s destroyed. Also, I don’t think your brain cells regenerate, because they can’t anyway. They said that all this does is boost your cells, make them better.”

Jon starts humming ‘Harder Better Faster Stronger’. Ryan laughs.

“As far as I can tell, something happens so it’s coded into your DNA. It’s been a couple of days since I took it and a little longer for Brendon and it takes about a week to reach every cell in your body. But I’m looking so much better, Spence. I feel so much better. I don’t feel like a dead man walking,” Ryan tells them.

Spencer’s eyes gleam. “That’s fantastic. I’ll take some too.”

They all turn to Jon.

Jon takes a breath, looks at Ryan, lets it out. He glances at Brendon, then Spencer.

“Actually,” Jon says slowly. “Actually, I think I’ll pass.”


XI
Brendon ends up getting Spencer’s dose, too. He’s the only one who knows where to get the stuff and he said that he didn’t want Spencer to have to worry about anything. He glances sideways at Spencer and says softly that Spencer shouldn’t have to pay the price they ask, so Brendon can go. It’s no trouble; he’s done it twice already. It’s fine. Really.

He looks a bit faded and hollow when he comes back with the little bottle, but they never get him to say what the price is.

There are no marks on Brendon but, like Spencer points out, they heal so fast these days that any mark would be long gone by the time Brendon gets back.


XII
This doesn’t change anything, not radically; it doesn’t turn them into a Christian rock band by any means and Brendon’s young. He didn’t have much time to accumulate any heavy sins anyway, so there isn’t really anything to fix there.

Since that first time Brendon went out to get the miraculous stuff, he’s been a lot more into religion. Not Mormon stuff, necessarily--he reads the holy books from a lot of different religions. He likes the Bible, though, because it reminds him of when he was little and church seemed like the answer to everything.

No one asks why Brendon does this. He offers no explanation.


XIII
Things have changed for Jon. Where he used to be the communal big brother, the pillar of strength, the steady, capable one, the other three now treat him a bit more softly, like he’s going to break. He’s still the strong, steady, capable man of the band, but it’s like a cousin who’s going to go to war while the younger ones are going to go to college. He’s still strong, he’s still capable, but.

He feels older now, not that he didn’t used to, hanging around with what everyone half-jokingly called the jailbait band, but.

They’re immortal now, or close to it, and that’s changed things.

Jon’s reread Brendon’s old high school copy of The Iliad. He wonders if any of them ever felt like he does, walking with gods.


XIV
They tell Pete about it, because they have to tell Pete. Pete grabs Patrick and Joe and Andy and they fly out (they’re between tours) and arrive on the Panic! bus the very next day.

Jon makes everyone snacks while the other three explain. The Fall Out Boy members listen raptly. Pete is beside himself with euphoria.

It’s decided that all four members of Fall Out Boy will take some, and Brendon pulls Pete aside to explain in a low voice what will have to happen in order for them to get four doses.

Pete just stares at him as Brendon leads him back towards the others.

“Seriously, man?”

Brendon nods. They’re back; the other guys can hear them now.

“And you did that four fucking times?”

“Three,” Brendon says tightly. “Jon’s still. You know. Normal.”

Ryan and Spencer look down. Jon doesn’t turn away from the microwave where he’s watching the popcorn.

Andy and Joe and Patrick exchange glances.

They don’t ask why Jon hasn’t taken any, bless them.

“Come on, Pete. We should get going. After tomorrow I don’t think we’ll be able to find anything again,”
 Brendon calls.

They head out. The other guys play video games to kill time.

Jon says nothing.


XV
Pete and Brendon return with the bottles. There are a few extra because Pete has some other people he wants to have this stuff.. Pete’s visibly shaken, Brendon’s his usual hollowed-out self, same as every other time he’s gotten things.

(Pete only paid for enough for himself and Patrick. The toll for the rest was too high for him. Brendon paid for those.

Brendon never mentions this, not even when Andy and Joe and the others die after a thousand years or so. He goes to their quiet funeral looking like hell had just spat him out, says only, “Oh, Lazarus” and wails, fucking wails. It‘s Pete that tells the gang afterwards, tears in his eyes.

“All my fucking fault,” he‘ll say, reverting in his grief to the ancient slang he grew up with. “All my fucking fault. I‘d gotten him to get theirs for me…I was so…” and he breaks down. Patrick comforts him. Brendon is silent in Ryan and Spencer‘s arms.)

Brendon and Spencer administer the doses to Patrick, Andy and Joe. Ryan does Pete’s.

“Brendon fucking Urie. Fuck the pyramids, I swear to you that boy should be one of the seven manmade wonders of this fucking earth,” Pete tells Ryan, his voice low.

Ryan nods his head yes.

“He didn’t ever tell you what it takes to get one of these bitches, did he?” Pete asks Ryan casually. He winces as the needle goes into his arm, grasps the hand Ryan’s not holding the shot with.

Ryan shakes his head no.

“Yeah, I figured. Well. I’m just gonna say, man, that he really loves you guys.” Pete moves his hand to the back of Ryan’s neck, squeezes a little, pets Ryan. “He really fucking loves you guys. Jon too. Remember that.”

Ryan’s never quite sure whether Pete meant that Brendon loves Jon too or that Jon loves them all too. He never asks, and they both forget.

Ryan rests his forehead against Pete’s temple. He looks over at Brendon, laughing at something with Patrick.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I know. I‘ll remember.”


XVI
It’s not so bad, really. All they have to do is fade into obscurity every five or ten years. One of them will always stay on, make sure they definitely, for sure can get back in, and then it’s the name roulette, and then it’s the same deal until the non-aging could get noticeable.

Come on, it’s the music business. Bands shunting in and out practically every hour, like one big, exclusive public school. But once you’re in for real, not just showing up to a class or two, you never forget how it‘s done. The back door is usually open for you.

(Repeat all.)

Jon is usually the one to stay in the scene; everyone likes Jon. He’s aging normally so he doesn’t have to play the name game, just does a few stints in other bands while his guys are working back up the ladder and ping! Wonderful new, young band discovered by veteran Jon Walker, bassist for dozens of other bands that you’ve forgotten about already!

Jon’s been in long enough that he knows he’s never getting out. Music is the love of his life. Well, there’s Cassie, too, and the kids, but music was his first. He loves them all, though. Till death do them part.

Not that, you know, he’d want it any other way.


XVII
Brendon adjusts Ryan’s tie, brushes off Spencer’s jacket. Spencer holds Ryan’s hand like Ryan’s going to disappear if he lets go. Spencer’s other hand is gripping Brendon and Ryan is holding the phone to his ear.

“Yeah, Pete. No. Um, about two miles, so yeah. Left. No, it’s a blue sign. That’s the one. See you in a minute.”

Ryan shuts his phone, takes a shaky breath. He looks at the other two with tears in his eyes, looking just as fucking beautiful as he did sixty-some years ago when Brendon found him crying in his bunk about the terrible dream he had.

“Ready to go, guys?”

“Let’s give Jon the best fucking funeral he’s ever had,” Brendon says fiercely.

“It’s the only fucking funeral he’s ever had, dumbass,” Spencer snarls, but there’s no bite in it and they all know why.


XVIII
It’s a very pretty ceremony, Jon’s coffin is nice, and Brendon forces himself to walk by the open casket. He glances around, then places a tender kiss on Jon’s cheek.

“We’ll miss you, you bastard.”

Spencer and Ryan don’t come up close to see the wrinkled, distinguished gentleman corpse Jon Walker has become.

Brendon touches each of his smooth palms to Jon’s grey face, transferring Ryan and Spencer’s goodbye kisses.

Jonathon Jacob Walker is buried beside his wife of fifty-five years, Cassie. Their children and grandchildren sob.

The members of Jon’s third band, Mad As Hatters, give short speeches when it’s their turn, then stand at the back respectfully with a few other men in dark glasses. The family nods at them when the service is over. Just Grandpa’s Music Friends.

“It would have been nice,” one offspring says sharply to another as they all head to the parking lot, “if Dad’s first band--what was it? Panicking Disco? --had showed up. I mean, I know that the rest of his second band died in that awful crash--remember, they never recovered the bodies?-- but he’d always said the Panicking crew was still alive. I just think it’s awful, leaving old friends like that…”

Ryan, or Tory Tripp as he’s known these days, guitarist and lyricist for Mad As Hatters, leads Matthew Marier (drummer) and Danny Weber (singer, pianist) back to the car.

“ ‘Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love‘,” Danny quips, throat tight with sorrow.

The others nod. They drive away.


XIX
It’s the early 2110’s and Panic! At the Disco is all but forgotten, even though there are double-twenty-somethings walking the streets who were twenty for real when Panic! was in its heyday, a hundred years ago. The boys have been around the world; they’re still traveling. They figure they’ll get back into the music business in another decade or so. Pete and Patrick and Andy and Joe are there. No rush. They’re young; they’ve got all the time in the world.


XX
Once, on a particularly long train trip, Ryan asked Brendon what the price was, for all this. What Brendon had to do to give this to all of them. Spencer had been sprawled across both of their laps and listened intently.

“Orpheus,” Brendon says, “was lucky.” He takes a shuddering breath to continue, but lunch arrives and neither Ryan nor Spencer could muster the courage to ask him again.

They are never sure if Brendon was joking (what he meant).


XXI
On a different train, they talk about Jon. This is a rare thing; it’s been so, so long.

It’s been hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years and they still look like they’re in their early twenties. Jon wouldn’t have understood the language they normally spoke. They still talk to each other in their old English, sometimes, when they don’t want to be understood by other people.

“Why do you think he didn’t want to do it?” Ryan asks.

Spencer shrugs, outlines various hypotheses that none of them really believe in.

“This was no accident, this was a therapeutic chain of events,” Brendon says in a singsong, quoting one of their very first songs.

It’s terribly cheesy and Ryan wants to hit him and hug him and break down and cry all at once.

“Sing it for us,” Spencer says, cuddling closer to them both.

The train chugs on to the tune of the twenty-first century.