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Dallon had joined after two of the original members left. He was trying to fill a gap that Ryan had left. It was no secret that Brendon and Ryan had made a habit of being sexual on stage and fans responded well to that. Fans didn’t respond well to them leaving.
Dallon was the first news they heard of Panic since Ryan left. The big news of ‘Hey guys, we have a new touring member. Please welcome our dear friend Dallon Weekes!’ What they didn’t know was that Dallon had actually been made a permanent member but with his recommendation, he asked not to tell them.
“I’m just worried about how they’d take it,” Dallon had said and Brendon and Spencer both agreed that an adjustment period might be best.
“Next album, man,” Brendon kept promising, “It’ll be better then, we won’t have to worry about it.”
For a little while, things had been fine. But, even Brendon was feeling the loss of Ryan. He had nobody on stage to be sexual with and since that had become just as much a part of Panic, he also turned to Dallon. Brendon just didn’t know how bad it was for Dallon.
It was after the first live concert on their new tour when he got the letter. It was hand delivered by a sweet girl who smiled and said he did a good performance. He held the letter in his hand with a big grin and couldn’t actually believe that people were taking onto him so well.
“I’ll read it tonight when I get the chance,” Dallon said and the girl just smiled.
He lived up to his promise, curling up in his bunk and opening the letter. The handwriting was nice but the words weren’t so pleasant. It was just one line but even that seemed to crush Dallon.
we hope you die
But the letters kept coming and it seemed the longer they went on touring, the worse it got. When they met fans he overheard them talking to Brendon, asking when Ryan would come back, when the old Panic would come back. He knew Dallon could hear since the man was next to him but he tried to laugh it off, tried to pretend. He even asked Dallon later that night how it was going.
“Does it bother you? To hear what they say?” Brendon asked, sitting down next to him. Dallon just shrugged, laughing it off.
“No, I knew they were gonna be upset but it’s just wild hopes and dreams. They’ll deal with it and they’ll learn to accept it, you know?” He said and Brendon seemed to accept that. Dallon didn’t mention the few letters he’d been receiving.
They kept coming, more and more, some hitting home more than he expected them to.
You’re an egotistical narcissist who ignores children, the fans, and has no love for the fanbase in general. Everyone would be better off without you. Even your wife. You skip your loving wife’s home-cooked meals to feed your ego by staring at yourself and talking about yourself. Do you even care about Brendon? Nobody wants you. Do everyone a favor and just cut yourself with a knife. Things would be nicer that way.
Dallon kept every single letter. He shoved them in the bottom of his suitcase, the worst of them he kept under his pillow. He knew better than to keep them, knew it would only hurt him more but Dallon couldn’t help it. He reread them almost every single night. Dallon spent most nights crying.
His letters all had one thing in common, though. They wanted him out of the band and Dallon figured that the only way to get it to stop was to tell Brendon or to quit.
He stood up one night, walking into the front of the bus where the rest of the band was still talking. He had the letter folded up in his pocket, burning him like it was on fire. He opened his mouth and Brendon turned his attention to Dallon. Then everyone turned to look.
“Something the matter?” Brendon asked and Dallon so badly wanted to pull the letter out and explain what had happened, explain the harassment and how badly he wanted to make being in Panic work. At the same time though, this was Brendon’s life, his job. They were his fans and Dallon didn’t want to make him resent them.
“Sorry, I was just getting water. I fell asleep and forgot for a second what I was doing,” he explained. Brendon smiled and nodded.
After that, it left Dallon with one other option.
He packed his things that night, putting all of his letters at the bottom of his suitcase. He’d burn them when Panic was finally over, when he could go back to just being Dallon Weekes, unknown and failing as a musician.
Dallon stalled for a long time, waiting until a time where it would be more appropriate. The tour was coming to a close and Brendon thought that things with the fans had calmed down, they didn’t ask about Ryan anymore, things must be okay. Dallon’s stack of letters was growing, quiet, out of Brendon’s sight. What better time to leave than when the tour was over.
It was the final concert and they were riding a high. They blasted music on the bus, talking and laughing and everyone had a good time. Dallon read his book in the corner but the rest of the band had come to accept that as Dallon’s idea of a good time. They stopped trying to coax him into their little parties.
Dallon waited until the others headed to bed, leaving Brendon and Dallon alone to clean up their mess of empty chip bags and empty cans. Dallon stopped midway, an armful of trash when he decided that it was time.
“Brendon,” he said, getting up the nerve to finally do what he needed to. Brendon had a mouthful of leftover food when he turned to look.
“I really appreciate what you’ve done, letting me join the band and stuff but I need to quit. This isn’t for me and, you know, I miss my family,” he explained, shrugging and looking down. He was afraid that if he made eye contact, somehow, Brendon would know.
“What? I thought you said you wanted this. I know you’re upset over The Brobecks ending but come on, they loved you out there,” Brendon said, earning a snort from Dallon.
“It’s not that, it’s just not what I want to do anymore,” Dallon said and maybe it was the wrong way to say things because Brendon knew better.
“Don’t lie to me, Dallon, I know you better than this. What the hell is going on?” Brendon asked and his voice was firm. He dropped his things and moved closer, making sure Dallon had no place to run to and hide.
That was when he broke down. His things dropped to the floor and a can rolled under the sofa.
Dallon leaned into Brendon’s embrace, body shaking as he sobbed. He didn’t want to tell Brendon but the longer he stood there and cried, the more it seemed like it wasn’t much of an option. Dallon didn’t typically show emotion in this way and Brendon was very aware that something was very wrong.
“Please, Dallon, what’s going on?” He asked, leading the two over the couch so that Dallon wouldn’t crumple to the floor. It took a long time before Dallon was able to quiet down enough to talk and explain.
“It’s in the bottom of my suitcase,” he said, not bothering to get up and get it himself. He didn’t want to have to see them anymore, remember why he felt so bad, why he wanted to quit music altogether. Dallon planned on burning them the moment he was home. Drop them on his driveway and take a match to them, let the end of his music career burn away along with the words fans had wrote.
Brendon was gone for a few minutes, coming back with a handful of papers that had creases in them. It was obvious Dallon had read them multiple times, opening and closing them.
“You’ve read these? All of them?” Brendon asked, his voice sounding so small and so broken. Dallon didn’t want Brendon to ever read what the people he was so proud to call his fans had said.
Dallon just nodded, sitting up and trying to wipe away his tears and whatever he called his behavior.
“It’s no big deal,” Dallon whispered, shrugging, pretending like things didn’t affect him but Brendon saw through that. Anyone would have seen right through him.
“Dallon, this isn’t ‘no big deal.’ People are sending you fucking death threats. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Brendon asked and Dallon sat there for a long time, trying to figure out why.
“I don’t want you to hate your fans because of me. You’re better off without me,” he said and Brendon shook his head immediately.
“No, look, you were the best thing that happened to the band and if we’re being honest here, you are the best thing that’s happened to me. I need you in my life and in my band, dude. Fuck every one of them who doesn’t appreciate you. I don’t want to continue this if you leave. Please don’t leave,” Brendon said, sounding so soft. It was a contradiction to what he’d been on stage, what he’d been thirty minutes ago when he was surrounded by the rest of the band.
“Get rid of those, please, and if you get anymore, you tell me right away, understand?” Brendon said and Dallon just sat there and nodded.
“But you want me to stay?” Dallon asked finally. He only asked after Brendon had pulled every letter from Dallon’s suitcase and taken the one from under his pillow. Brendon put them in the sink and ran water over them until the ink bled and they were no longer readable. It wasn’t what Dallon had in mind of getting rid of but it did the trick.
Dallon sat on the couch while it all happened. He wasn’t angry at the letters, more resigned. He believed the words. It was Brendon who felt betrayed, who felt like he’d put his trust in the wrong people.
It was the very next day when Brendon got on the band’s facebook page, wrote the message introducing Dallon as a permanent member officially. Without knowing what had happened, the message seemed sweet, kind, and caring but Dallon knew better. He knew that it was written from a place of anger. He turned to Dallon and sighed.
“You’re staying though, for real?” He asked and Dallon couldn’t help his small smile before nodding.
“Yeah, Bren, I’m gonna stay with you.”
That wasn’t the question that was asked but it was the answer that felt relevant.