Hum Hallelujah for the Wicked! {A Young Blood Chronicles AU}

Chapter #1 (Dead On Arrival):

Pete Wentz's alarm goes off on his phone, and he groans. Already? He asks himself. He crawls out of his bed, hitting the floor. He groans, and stands up. Great, he thinks. Time to go to my  job. He picks up his phone, shutting off the alarm.

He wanders over to his wardrobe, which has a mirror beside it. Pete sighs. He was wearing some navy blue skinny jeans, and a band t-shirt. Well, I'll change into those uncomfortable pants and shirt now. Pete changes into a pair of black slacks and black collared shirt, and wanders into the hallway.

He lives in a small apartment, it has his room on the left, and across from him is Patrick Stump's room, his roommate and childhood friend. The bathroom was beyond the two bedrooms, to the left. Leaving the hallway on the right, is the living room and the kitchen.

Pete wanders into the kitchen, to see a note attached to the refrigerator that read; "I've already left for work, hope you get up in time, you Sleepyhead. ~Patrick." Pete chuckles. Patrick worked at the Library, which opens at 9 am, and for whatever reason never got Pete up at the same time. Pete worked at a sandwich shop which Pete always referred to as the "Discount Subway." (It is actually called King Sandwiches).

He grabs a pen, and draws a winky face on the note. He chuckles again, and heads for the door. They live on the second floor of the apartment complex, so it didn't take too long for Pete to get down, and get onto his motorcycle. He turns it on, and heads off to work.

He arrives and checks his phone, it's 9:52 am. Oh, good, 8 minutes early. He knew that his co-worker, Cherry Blossom, always got here early, so he figured the door would be unlocked already. He reached for the handle, and sure enough, it was open.

"Oh, sorry! We're not-- oh. Hi, Pete!" Pete chuckles. "Hey.", Pete says back, with a smile. "How are you doing, Cherry?", "Good, thanks for asking." Pete makes his way towards the opposite side of counter. Here we go. Time to deal with annoying customers who "want to speak to the manager" that doesn't exist. Pete thinks.

It's really not too bad, especially since every morning Pete's friend Brendon Urie, who is all rich and famous because he has a band, (Panic! at the Disco), always came in at 10:30 am on the dot, to say hi, and get a sandwich. Pete has known Brendon 3 years now.

Pete and Patrick had their own band called Fall Out Boy, but they didn't have a label, so they weren't as popular. But being a good friend, Brendon has always tried to convince his label, Fueled By Ramen, to sign them. So far no luck, but it's a nice thought. "Fall Out Boy" had four albums; Take This To Your Grave (2003), From Under the Cork Tree (2005), Infinity on High (2007), and Folie à Deux (2008). They decided to take a few years off, but it's 2012 now, and Pete is itching to write some new songs.

Cherry flips the Open sign on, and walks back towards the counter. "Everything good to go?", She asks Pete. Pete nods. "Yup, I think we're good." "Alright.", she says, putting on her rubber gloves. Pete puts on his gloves, too.

"So, how has your day gone so far?", Cherry asks. Pete laughs. "I literally woke up 25 minutes ago. If you asked my roommate Patrick, he'd have more to say, as he got up almost 2 hours ago." She chuckles. "How was your first 25 minutes of being awake?" Pete thought for a second. "Hmm, not too bad. I wasn't late, my work uniform didn't get dirty on the way here, so I'd say things are going well." She smiles. "Good. Nice to hear that." Pete grins.

As always, on 10:30 on the dot, Brendon walks in. He sees Pete talking to his co-worker. Brendon never got her name, he'd always talk to Pete, and not her. He walks up to the counter. "I think I'm going to get my usual, if that's okay." Brendon smiles. Pete chuckles. "Alright, Brendon. Coming right up." Pete starts working on making Brendon's sandwich. "So, how's Sarah?", Pete asks. Sarah is Brendon's wife. "She's good, she's out with some friends.", Brendon answers.

They talked until Brendon finished eating, and he left. Pete watched him get into his nice and fancy car, and drive off. Pete loved his motorcycle, but it paled in comparison to Brendon's car. Pete sometimes wishes he had that kind of money, but right now, he's just glad he has a steady income.

Pete grabs a broom, and starts sweeping. But then on the radio he hears something familiar. "Say my name and his in the same breath, I dare you to say they taste the same!..." He turns to the radio, reaches for the volume dial, and turns up the sound. Cherry chuckles. "You like this song?", She asks. Pete stops sweeping, and looks at her. "Dude. I wrote this song.", he says, as he mouths the lyrics. "You wrote a song?", she says. "Well, don't act so surprised, yes, I wrote a song. I written many songs. I'm in a band, with Patrick. He's the singer." She nods. "Cool. I'm surprised I didn't know about this." Pete shrugs. "Didn't come up, besides, we haven't made a record since 2008." "Oh, I see.", she says.

"You know, you talk about your friend Patrick a lot, and I've never seen him." Pete puts the broom and dustpan into the closet. "He works from 9 to 3. You and I get off at 1, so, there's that." She nods. "Gotcha." "... I'm the Oracle in my chest, let the guitar scream like a fascist! Sweat it out, shut your mouth, free love on the streets but, in the alley, it ain't that cheap now! I! Don't! Care what you think as long as it's about me..."

She bobs her head to the music. "It's pretty good. What's the song called?" Pete blinks in surprise. Besides Brendon, she's the first and only person he knows personally that seems interested in his music. "Uh, it's called I Don't Care. Our band name is Fall Out Boy.", Pete says. Cherry pulls out her phone, unlocks it, and taps her YouTube app. She hits the search button, and looks up the song. She lets out a snicker when she sees the thumbnail. It looked like Pete and someone (presumably his friend Patrick) dressed as nuns. Well, now I have to watch this, she thinks. She hits play, smiling.