Chapter Text
I’d been friends with Don for years. Never did I think this would happen. Donny was a good man. And a good bowler. I had never thought he’d ‘a swung like that. But there he was, talkin’ to Coach Lebowski like it was nothing. Something about that new bird who’d arrived. Brendon was his name. They’d gotten into an altercation of sorts, lots of screaming.
I wouldn’t have thunk much of it, ‘cept he’s got so much on his mind, it’s spinnin’. He had spoken to me earlier, something about that Urie kid. Sayin’ that he would get him back for what happened on the bus. That was a couple days ago. Today, the sun’s so damn hot, I think I might cry. And, we have to run the mile. One thing’s for sure - that Brendon fella’ ain’t gonna hurt Don anymore. Not my friend.
Tom’s deep in thought. Perhaps a bit too deep. He doesn’t realize he’s saying all of this out loud. A man hollers in his direction.
“Pick it up, Waits! My grandma can run faster than that!” Lebowski drawls, a fat blunt in hand. He’s playing Creedence on a small handheld speaker. Proud Mary isn’t helping Tom’s case. Next to The Dude, as he likes to be called, is his right hand man: Coach Walter Sobchak. Together, they rule the east and west of FART’s gymnasium. Tom’s distracted, extremely so. He feels a heavy hand pat his back. It’s more of a hit than a pat.
“Mister Waits.” Coach Sobchak growls. “I expect you to be doing more than… daydreaming. Can’t you see your friends are all ahead of you?”
Tom turns around, realizing that he’s behind. Unfortunately, he doesn’t particularly care. “But I’m innocent when I dream, Coach S.”
“That very well may be,” Walter rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t excuse you. Hell, do you think I was ever excused? You think that I could have just… zoned out? In the fucking WAR???” He begins to shriek.
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“Well, I couldn’t! What would all the young men who died out there think of you? A goddamn slacker! Disgrace! Think of all the fellows like yourself who DIED out there. The men at Khe Sanh, at Langdok, at Hill 364. These young men gave their LIVES, Tom. Their LIVES!!!”
“...What???” Tom frowns. “Are you talkin’ about Vietnam?”
Walter looks like he might burst. His face is slightly red. “Look. Just…run. We’ve had it up to here with you, haven’t we, Dude?” He throws out, turning to look at his teaching partner. The Dude is busy blowing out puffs of smoke, changing the song on his speaker. He doesn’t seem to care. Walter simply pushes Tom away. “Run. Catch up to your little …friends, or whatever.”
Tom does as he is told. No use arguing with his PTSD-riddled coach. He doesn’t run, though. It’s just not his style. Waits jogs up to Donald, spooking him from behind.
Donald turns, smiling at the mere sight of his pal. “There ‘ya are, Tom! I thought you had skipped class!”
“How could I skip a day at this blessed establishment?”
“I’m not sure. Where’s Mike? Have you seen him?”
“I’ve not. I saw his backpack in the locker room. Wanna go check, Don?”
“Fa Fa Fa Fa Fa Fa Fa,” says David Byrne.
Donald nods. “Let’s go.”
The pair mosey on over, searching for Michael McDonald. Fuck the mile. After a couple of minutes, Coach Sobchak’s screaming gets quieter. Ceases. The pair have no clue where Mike could be.
“Why, Tom, he seems to have disappeared!” Donald Fagen groans as he pulls out his schedule.
Donald Gertrude Fagen: Junior Schedule:
8:00 - 9:30 - Physical ED (Jeff Lebowski)
9:45 - 11:00 - English IV (Bill Shakespeare)
11:00 - 11:45 - Lunch/Free Period - Location: do the metropolitan glide through my ball sack in honor of William Wood Selective Eatery & Buffet
12:00 - 1:30 - Elective: Drama (Lin Manuel-Miranda)
1:30 - 2:45 - Religious Study (Jordan B. Peterson)
“Now…let’s see. What time is it?”
“It’d be around… Ten? Mike should be in class. Let’s try the top of the hill.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I guess we’d ought to-”
“HELP!!! PLEASE, NO!!!”
Donald turned his head. Somehow, the screams coming from behind the bleachers switched us to past tense. Oh, well. As he ran towards the noises, Donald gasped. His teeth grinded. It was Brendon. Brendon Urie. Mike McDonald was sprawled on the ground, blood gushing out of his nose. Next to Urie was another man. His goon, perhaps? The man emerged from the shadows in which he lurked, cigarette in hand. He leans on Urie’s shoulder, being promptly shoved off. Suddenly, he brings us back to the present tense. It’s Tybalt. He is here for some reason i dont Know.
Donald shudders as the two continue pummeling Mike. “Ouch! That’s gonna leave a mark.” He cries, turning to the camera. The canned laughter cues, filling the air with beautiful, joyous giggles.
Donald shrugs, smirking as he speaks. “I guess it’s yet ANOTHER one of those Steely D-”.
“Well, ain’t we gonna help the feller?” Tom scoffs. Mike’s being beaten, and beat badly. Donald grimaces. “I…suppose.”
Tom’s running before Don can finish his statement, already tackling Brendon’s goon. The man’s a bit stronger than he looks, but by the time Waits reaches him, he’s already reaching for his rapier. He throws off his jacket, the thing landing on David Byrne’s face.
“Fa Fa Fa Fa F-AAAGH!!” He screams in agony, writhing in pain.
“How diggity-dog™ DARE you?!?!” Tom yells, shaking his fist in the air.
Donald sighs. “Why are we always getting into predicaments?”
Brendon turns to the two, grinning evilly. “Well, it’s quite simple, really. Your pal here refused to hand over his lunch money.” While Brendon speaks, Tom finds himself busy beating Tybalt half to death. By now, Mike is already on his feet again.
“We can’t give you our lunch money, but I know what good ‘ol Tommy here can give ‘ya!”
Tom nods, cracking his neck. “A good old fashioned knuckle sandwich!™”
Tom moves as if to strike, his fist nearly grazing the other man’s face. Suddenly, he stiffens up, his hips starting to shake. A big smirk paints his face as he speaks. “DANCE BATTLE!”
They fight. They beat. They jump. Jump up. They lost their blues. They cut. Cut footloose. By the time they had completed cutting footloose, the whole group was tired. They danced for what felt like days. As a matter of fact, they would have danced for longer, had a familiar face not interrupted.
Donald knew who it was before he turned around. Not like he could, anyway. Brendon had him in a headlock.
Will Wood stood before them, his voice loud and angry. “BOYS! How could you? I’ve got to say, I’m sincerely disappointed. I’m really considering cutting your scholarships!”
Unbeknownst to the group, Kenny Loggins himself had spread the word of their brawl throughout the halls, whispering it to any passerby. Will Wood had woken up from his restless slumber, crawled out of his coffin, and gone to the fighting boys.
“Sir, we’re terribly sorry!” Donald pleads, finally being released from Brendon’s icy clutches.
Wood can only look down at him with disdain. “You, Donald, will have to come talk to me at the end of the week.”
Tom frowns. “There’s no need, sir! It was a joint effort.” He grins sheepishly as he drops the man to the ground.
“Stop it. I’d punish you here and now if it was up to me. The only reason I’m here is to inform you students that we are having a pep rally concerning the return of our town hero: Benson Boone.” Will says, voice still stern.
Michael McDonald raises a quizzical eyebrow. “You’re saying we’re gonna celebrate him home?”
The moment that Mike says the words “celebrate him home,” the group is teleported to the inside of FART’s gymnasium. The entire place is decorated with bright blue banners, ribbons, and a tall circular center stage. It’s jam packed.
Hanging from the ceiling is Kenny Loggins himself, dressed from head to toe in angel getup that looks like it’s from Walmart. His halo is slightly crooked, but you can’t tell from a distance. He swings above everyone's heads as if flying. K. Logg yells down at his friends, the group separated. Brendon is near the bottom of the large bleachers, Michael is lost in the sea of heads, Donald is in a heated argument with the principal, and Tybalt is in the smack-dab middle of the crowd.
People are holding signs saying “WELCOME HOME, BENSON!” Donald wants to run back to find his pals. Before he can walk away from Wood, the lights dim.
Will Wood grabs Donald by the hand, forcing him to sit down. He speaks again. “Calm down, will ‘ya? The show’s about to start.”
Blue tinted lights flicker on, illuminating the face of a man onstage. It’s Tom Waits. Funny. How’d he get up there? Tom seems to be surprised as well but covers it up with a grin.
“Roll out the carpet! Strike up the band! Please celebrate him home, Benson Boone!!!” Tom hollers, now in a conductor’s outfit. He taps on his music stand and gestures for the orchestra to rise. The room fills with smoke as the first few notes of “Celebrate Me Home” fade in, K. Logg preparing the mic to sing. The room is quiet save for Kenny’s mouth breathing and the band playing his intro. Suddenly, a figure appears in the very middle of the stage, surrounded by several cheerleaders. For a second, everyone holds their breaths.
As the lights brighten, a large spotlight falls on Benson. He smiles charmingly, a cue for Kenny to begin singing. He obliges, fixing his halo.
“Home for the holidays,
I believe I've missed each and every face,
Come on and play my mew-sak!
Let's turn on the love light in the place…”
Practically everyone in the crowd is singing along, even Brendon! As Benson looks towards the crowd, backflipping like there’s no tomorrow, his eye catches on someone. Tybalt is rather bored, only there since he’s forced to be. He can’t help but notice how gorgeous Benson is, though. How the light reflects off of his pastel blue jumpsuit. How he backflips.
Their eyes lock. For a second, it almost seems like the world freezes. His heart skips a beat. Benson smiles. It’s a genuine, warm smile. And then, the moment is over. Kenny continues to sing, flying above their heads. Benson looks troubled. In the heat of the moment, he screams. “STOP THE MUSIC!!!”
The crowd goes silent. A baby starts to cry. Brendon coughs loudly. Kenny frowns at the abrupt band stopping. All Benson can do is point into the crowd at Tybalt. “You. Come sing a duet with me.” He says into the microphone, almost sounding nervous. His palms are sweating. Tybalt’s eyes widen, his finger pointing at himself as to say: ‘Who, me?’
Benson nods, calling Tom to stop conducting and escort the man. Tom grabs him hard by the hand and whispers something into his ear.
“If you break his heart…” Tom mutters, cracking his knuckles and leaving the threat hanging in the air. He pushes Tybalt towards Benson, the two almost crashing into each other. Tybalt looks up at Benson shyly, smiling. A fair maiden blush paints his cheek.
Tom begins to strike up the band again, keeping an eye on the couple. By now, the spectators are on the edge of their seats. Kenny opens his mouth to sing, adjusting his halo and wings. He swings from the ceiling, clutching his microphone and pulling a cupid’s bow and arrow out of his pocket.
Well I'm finally here,
But I'm bound to roam,
Come on, celebrate me home…
Play me one more song, YEAH!!!
Kenny begins to scream his song, hitting a high note well over fifteen seconds. “OoOoOoUouOuOooUoUoUouOooOOOuOuOoUoou!!!” He belts. “OUHH OUOUOOUOUUOUUOUUOU!!”
The sweet melodies encapture both Tybalt and Benson’s hearts, and they grin, singing along. By now, the entire gymnasium is standing, swaying their hands and throwing their heads back in pure joy. It’s nearly what happened in the prologue. Obama is there again. He likes to make guest appearances.
Just as Kenny’s about to hit his high note climax, the music softens. A piano begins to play. Patrick Stump appears. “We have a surprise for you guys.” Patrick says. All of a sudden P!ATD come out and start singing “this is gospel.” When Brendon gets to the chorus, someone else starts singing…
“When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band.”
Lights flash everywhere, and you see FOB singing “this is gospel” along with P!ATD, while MCR is singing “Black Parade.” Everyone in the crowd is going wild and crying. Then, if things couldn’t get any better, Dan and Phil walk onstage and kiss, holding the gay flag.
As they kiss, Benson smiles again. Kenny continues singing, finally hitting his notes correctly.
Please, celebrate me home!
K. Logg grabs his bow and aims it at the couples singing onstage, drawing back and…
The crowd erupts in applause. The arrow hits Tybalt in the head and knocks him unconscious, making him fall into Benson’s arms. Benson carries him bridal style, everyone tearing up at the mere beauty of the sight. Even Will Wood gets a little emotional.
As the curtain falls, Walter lurks in the shadows. That could have been him and Donald.
Why, oh why, Don? Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this… Walter feels a sinking feeling in his chest. The world will go on without them together. It isn’t going to stop spinning. Even if Walt did feel guilty now, Will’s plan was already halfway through. Donald would have to die. He was sure of it. As a matter of fact, he’d bet his life on it.
As he walks out, he turns to look at his love, muttering as he does. “Oh, Don….”
Donald is busy talking to Wood. He can hear the door opening behind him, and glances towards it. Poor fellow. He must’ve not enjoyed the show.
Act 1, Scene 3. All Exit.