Summary: So, Fall Out Boy Walks into a Walgreens...And then after that Fall Out Boy walks into a Wallgreens...
Warnings: Dopplegangers. Crack. I don't even know.
Dedications: normalhumanbein for beta'ing, and for the ending, because i am a bit useless with those.
A/N: I'm kinda cheating, because this isn't bookverse. and i'm really very sorry about that. but i don't want to comm to die, and i have nowhere else to post this! forgive me?
It's not, Pete thinks, looking at Panic, that he's got a doppleganger. Because in reality, that's actually kind of awesome, and Andy, Joe, and Patrick's dopplegangers are actually almost as cool as the real thing. Pete's problem with Panic is that the bastard has just taken everything too far. Looking at Panic, all he can see is that he has no eyes, no eyes, because he took them out because he apparently never "sees" his problems until it's too late.
Pete was surprised. Patrick was not.
"Remember when I you needed to cut back on the lyrical motifs on the last album? Yeah. You can take a metaphor too far, dude, you really brought this on yourself." Patrick glanced at Panic. "That scar he's got? See if it's from a thorn--"
Pete covered his eyes. "Jesus Christ, you've got to be kidding me."
Which is theoretically why Pete decided to take up watercolor. To stop himself from doing things like that, taking himself too seriously. Because as Joe said, "when the world comes to an end, what else can you do?"
Post-apocalyptic Earth, apparently, meant that cities no longer had electricity, billions died, (and then turned into zombies, but Axe body spray, in another weird turn of events that life seemed to be full of now, turned out to be a very effective zombie repellent--meaning that in the shadier parts of town it smelled like nothing so much as Pete's bedroom circa 1994), and there was really no more need for Fall Out Boy: twenty-something singing sensation. There was, however, a need for Fall Out Boy: monster killing machine.
Which was how they ended up in a Walgreens at three in the morning, staring at...themselves. Only more badass.
"All I wanted," Pete said faintly, "were some watercolors."
Walgreens, the pharmacy/everything-else super-conglomerate, (that, in a stunning corporate takeover, beat out and went on to own CVS, Drugworld, and RiteAid in one go), now run by vampires, (which is not as bad as it sounds - all it meant was a decrease in daytime hours and a slight decoration shift to include more bats and less flourescent strip lighting), apparently had a problem.
"A problem," Tanya Wilde, senior CEO in charge of Sales told Pete over the phone, "only you can fix."
The tone of voice she used, in her rough, why-yes-I-just-had-sex-this-afternoon voice, was making parts of Pete's brain scream about ex-girlfriends and the anti-Christ and the kinds of things Pete would like to have that Voice whisper in his ear in the dead, (no pun intended), of night and well. Needless to say, Pete said yes.
A Little Later:
Patrick glared at him.
"Must be saved."
"By us--no, let me say it--must be saved by us, and the only way we can save it is if we sabotage Microsoft?"
Pete kind of wanted to hide. Patrick's voice was like somebody killing babies. Pitch-perfect, melodious babies.
"Look, it's stupid, alright? I never said it wasn't stupid. But in a twisted way, Walgreens is right. Goddammit if I am going to let Bill Gates take over the world with half-robot zombies, okay? Robo-zombies wearing argyle sweaters from the Neo-K Like, seriously, argyle."
Patrick gave him a dangerous look. "What's wrong with argyle?"
Which is, more or less, how Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe ended up in a Walgreens about to face off with their doppleganger robot counterparts. And really, Pete thinks, that would be the absolute coolest sentence he had ever thought if it wasn't possibly going to get him killed.
Peter Panic, (just Panic for short; the one with no eyes and the thorn in his side, jesus), is doing something crazy with a barbed wire chain that Pete would actually like a closer look at when it's not about to rip his face open.
"Nice chain," He says, dodging.
Panic shrugs, and the muscles in his back flex. Pete privately thinks that Panic's shirtlessness is a little gratuitous. "Mr. Gates thought it should be my weapon of choice. Given, y'know, the tattoo."
Pete catches Patrick in the act of checking out Panic's bare torso, and frowns. "That's right," Pete says, attempting to punch Panic with a set of brass knuckles. "How did 'Mr. Gates' get them all right? I mean, I've never met him, and your body looks almost as good as mine."
"Better," Panic smirks, and swings the chain again. "Come on Pete. We're not shy. All he had to do was type "naked + Pete Wentz" into any search engine in the world and he'd get what he wanted." Panic frowns. "Plus, a disturbing amount of fan fiction."
Pete grins. "What can I say? The camera loves me."
Everyone stops to stare a Pete in disbelief.
"Dude," Trick says, pausing in the act of hurling a romance novel at Patrick. "He did not just say that."
Patrick rolls his eyes. "Try living with him. And you guys never went on tour. The clichés just keep on coming."
Trohmania, Joe's counterpart, shrugs. "We read all your fanfic. That's almost as good."
The fighting resumes.
When they first found out that they had dopplegangers that were part robot, (from a universe run by Bill Gates), Pete desperately wanted to meet them. Well, more specifically, him. Because who doesn't want to meet their evil clone?
The Lady From Walgreens had told him that the Bill Gates' Post-Apocalyptic universe was on a crash-course with this one, because Bill Gates apparently didn't know the meaning of the word "stop". Or "independent", or "equal-opportunity market". He did, however, seem to have a thorough grasp of the meaning of "dictatorship", because that's what he wanted to have, (except instead of swastikas, everybody was required to wear argyle sweater-vests with pocket protectors, and carry around gadgets that were more advanced than the Hubble telescope).
And, apparently, Walgreens would rather have the anarchy of their current world, (quasi-capitalism running rampant through the streets), than what might actually be the better form of government, Gatesism.
Only apparently, Bill Gates had enlisted the help of his universe's Fall Out Boy to win over this universe's Fall Out Boy, because people still tended to listen to what they said. It was like having a basketball star endorse Pepsi, except there was no more basketball. Or Pepsi.
It was around this point in the Walgreens Lady's briefing that Pete got squinty-eyed, complained of a headache, and handed the phone to Patrick.
And so, long story short(ish), Fall Out Boy met Fall Out Boy 2.0(tm) in a Walgreens at three in the morning, (because Joe was the self-proclaimed master of every Walgreens layout, or as he put it, "I know where all the shit is.")
Fall Out Boy 2.0 tried to reason with them at first.
"Look," Trick said politely,"I know you think we're like, evil."
Patrick blinked. His counterpart had this Mikey Way-esque hair thing going on, with spikes and bangs, that he actually thought looked kind of cool. It was like playing Styling Head Barbie with your own face. It was very distracting. "What?"
"Because of the robot-clone thing." Panic explained, and somehow he managed to give the impression of rolling his eyes without actually having eyeballs.
"But Mr. Gates didn't actually do anything to our bodies. Well, not a lot. I mean, nothing that he didn't ask us about first. He's really very nice. Do you know that him and his wife have a fund set up to help kids in Africa?" Trick said helpfully.
Panic looked at him. "We did get some stuff, like the heat-seeking chips in our brains, and the x-ray vision--oh, and Andy's got this canon thing coming out of his arm sometimes--"
Fall Out Boy stared at them.
"Dude," Andy said suddenly, "I'm a Transformer. I call Optimus Prime!"
"The fuck? Didn't I just say--" Panic started, annoyed.
"This is like some Shakesperean tragi-comedy gone wrong," Patrick muttered, and then the fighting began.
Ironically, after the apocalypse, Fall Out Boy turned into the kind of vampire/everything else hunters that people like Joe and Gerard Way had been lusting over since childhood. A lot of bands were doing it, it seemed to be a very good option. Even the group codenames were already there. My Chemical Romance turned into the most elite werewolf/zombie/vampire hunting taskforce this side of the tri-state area, Panic! At The Disco disappeared into the bowels of the Los Angeles (what was left of it after all the explosions) magick scene, and The Sounds were now kicking so much ass in Sweden that there was nothing left of it. It was like somebody saw it coming.
It didn't take that much practice for Andy to buy a couple of katanas and a taser and learn kung-fu from old Jet-Li movies. Patrick, oddly enough, acquired this thing about setting things on fire. Joe cobbled together some technology expertise from a combination of their now useless amps, some piano wire, and watching the Blade trilogy a couple times through. Pete was Pete, and didn't really need anything except some brass knuckles and a smile.
And they were doing pretty well. They could eat, barter for candles and other supplies, and rent a lair from an enterprising banshee named Mrs. Winthrop(Yeah, much better) Pete guessed that it was only a matter of time until one of them was bitten by a vampire, (it would probably be him, proving that irony was not dead, but was sharp enough to kill), but until that day came, they were pretty happy. Pete decided to take up watercolors because there was no point in writing anymore except for his own sanity, (which, oddly enough, was better now that life was so much simpler), and as he told Patrick, it sort of almost kind of worked for Gerard Way.
But then, that was the day that Walgreens called, so maybe he was jumping the gun.
"Look, you've got to be fucking kidding." Joe said from the floor.
His weapon of choice, christened the Cheese Slicer, was sunk deeply into Trohmania's collarbone, but he just kept...moving around. Blood was soaking halfway down his band tee, enough blood that Trohmania should at least be weak, and yet the guy was just about to hit Joe in the side of the head with a giant Pez display.
"Dude, that's not. Healthy." Joe actually sounded concerned.
Patrick looked at them after punching Trick in the stomach. "Joe, get up. He's a robot, okay? Well, sort of."
"We are not robots.!" Trick protested, wheezing. "We're still human, we've just got some extra--"
"--parts. Oh, shut up, asshole."
"I know you are, but--" Patrick started, and then looked confused. "Oh."
"Kids, get braces, right?" Andy reasoned from where he was sitting on Hurley.
Pete threw him a dirty look and kicked Panic in the stomach. "Always have to be so fucking contrary--look, Patrick's trying to make a point here. About robots."
"Why are we even fighting?" Trick asked, arms falling to his sides. He had been about to thrown a bottle of conditioner at Patrick.
Trohmania actually did throw conditioner at Joe, along with a can of Pringles, (both of which exploded all over him like a sleepover gone wrong, tarring and feathering him circa The American Revolution), but then he shrugged, wincing as it jostled the Cheese Slicer.
"We're supposed to fight to the death because Bill Gates wants to rule the world and the Walgreens vampires don't want him to." Patrick explained, and then put his head in his hands." Christ. How is this my life?"
"That, right there," Trick said pointing. "Has been our whole life. Its crap, I know, but the rest of us were kind of cloned and built for this. And if we don't either get you over to our side or kill you, Mr. Gates is definitely going to give us the "prime directive" speech again, and really? I don't want to hear that stupid shit."
"That's bullshit. We shouldn't be fighting the battles of corporate assholes," Andy said, now helping Hurley up. For the two people in the room that could kill each other fastest, they hadn't really been doing anything in the past half hour, (that Pete noticed), besides throwing half-hearted punches and asking each other about their favorites.
"If you don't want to kill us, which, by the way, I'm all for, why don't you just, I don't know, not?" Joe reasoned.
"Gates'll be mad." Trohmania said with another wince.
"We'll tell him to shove his sweater-vest up his ass." Panic said with a grin of anticipation.
"I don't know," Trick said, tapping a finger on his chin. Patrick caught himself ogling his own thighs, and made himself turn towards Pete and Panic. Which really wasn't much better. Really, since when was everyone this attractive? It had to be all the leather. Patrick was a sucker for leather."We really should fight, I guess, but..."
Everybody thought about this, (except Joe and Trohmania, who were doing their collective bests to remove Joe's weapon from Trohmania's collarbone. It came away with a sucking pop, and Joe couldn't deny that he was kind of impressed. Trohmania's lung was visible. It's not everyday you get to see your own lung in technicolor like that.
"Dude," he said to himself, (both of them)," We really have to stop smoking weed. My lung is green."
"No, that's just the teflon Mr. Gates put around it." Trohmania said, rolling his shoulders and wincing again.)
"Look, how about we just don't, and let them fight their own stupid corporate takeovers?" Pete suggested finally.
"Sounds good to me." Hurley said. "Want to get pizza?"
"Want to tell me where I can find some watercolors?"
Panic shot him a smug look as they walked towards the door. “Dude, you’re shopping for paint at Walgreens? Fuckin’ amateur. I exhibit.”
“Hey, I only just thought of it, dickwad.” Pete pushed the door open for him. “Have you seen a gallery around here? No, you haven’t because we’ve been fighting our asses off with no robotic enhancements, unlike some people.”
They wandered off into the sunrise bickering.
“If they have sex I’m killing them both,” Patrick warned no-one in particular.
“Yeah right,” Trick shot back. “Like you weren’t ogling our thighs.”