This Impossible Year [Brendon Urie Fanfic] <COMPLETED>

Are You Nasty?

(Brendon's Point of View)

   The concert was about to start, and Cecily decided to join me again. We were backstage getting our final touches set in.
   I had tried to talk to Cecily about what happened, but every time I did, she stopped talking. Her face always dropped and she wouldn't do or say anything until I either sang or turned on Impossible Year.
   "You ready," I asked her, leaning against the wall. She spun around in a chair on wheels and beamed up at me.
   "I was born ready!"
   The crowd that night was great. They were super hyped and gave off really positive vibes. We were halfway through the set when I started to feel a bit queasy.
   I took a seat and sipped my water, hoping to wash the sickness out of my stomach. Cecily came and sat next to me. With her head resting on my shoulder, I felt happy inside. It was like having a child.
   "Well, if it's okay with everyone," I spoke into my microphone, "I'd like to change up the set list a bit." I looked to the crowd for approval, and they all screamed back.
   "Why," Cecily asked, extremely confused. I grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her with me.
   "For you," I simply replied. I talked to a few people and got Impossible Year going. The lights dimmed and the crowd pulled out their phones. A sea of phone flashlights peaceful waved back and forth.
   "There's no good times, this impossible year. Just a beachfront of bad blood, and a coast that's unclear." Cecily stood, arms slack, face contorted into excitement and.... a bit of something else. I couldn't tell what. "All the guests at the party, they're so insincere. They just intrude and exclude, this impos-" I was cut short.
   The crowd murmured in uncertainty as I stumbled backwards and fell onto my backside. I dropped the microphone and an awful screeching emitted from the speakers. Cecily ran over, genuine concern playing in her eyes, but still with a bit of something else.
   I grabbed my head in an effort to rid myself of the awful headache that had just appeared out of nowhere. A few of my stage crew, along with Sarah, ran over and asked questions.
   "What's wrong?"
   "Did someone throw something?"
   "Did something hit you?"
   "Are you sure that's water?"
   It was all too much. My head was killing me. I winced and looked to Cecily who stood three feet away. She looked disgusted and frightened. I called out to her as she turned and ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Cecily's Point of View)

   What had I done? Such a handsome and talented singer. It was what I had been trained to do. I discarded the microphone and ran. I had what I needed. Out of my shirt, I pulled a small circular locket on a chain. It had hung around my neck for as long as I could remember, waiting to serve its purpose. Now it had.
   I ran out the door and doubled back to close it. I chuckled to myself. I ran down the street and into an alley. I hadn't been here before, but I knew where I had to look.
   Glass and trash littered the ground, and I frowned at my shoes. I would have to get my calluses back. My feet had become soft, too much like my heart. I pulled a door open and entered a musty room. More and more memories flooded back. Torture and pain; my childhood.
   "Finally," the man said, "Did you get it?" I turned my head to the right, then the left. I couldn't see where he was standing.
   "I've got it," I affirmed, pulling the necklace over my head and holding it out. "I've done your dirty work, now let me go."
   "Not so quick, sweetie." I saw movement in one of the corners. Not too far from there, a small, flickering lightbulb lit up. There he was, leaning against the wall.
   "Please let me go," I whimpered, backing towards the door through which I came. He clicked his tongue.
   "I'm not done with you." He snapped his fingers and two sets of solid hands swept up and held my arms from behind. I pulled at them, and their grip tightened. I winced. The man in the light stood straight and started towards me. He snatched the locket out of my hand and slipped it over his head. A menacing grin spread across his face.
   "Take me to him," he said. I shook my head furiously.
   "You said you only wanted his voice! You have that, now leave him be!" I fought back tears as I struggled under the grip of the hands.
   "I'd rather not," he said, shrugging. He snapped again and the hands turned me towards the door. "Now take me to him," he whispered in my ear.
   "Please, Ryan, leave him," I begged the man.
   "Not a chance," Ryan Ross said. "I want Brendon to pay."