Figment knew what was coming.

In fact, he'd known for a long time that it would come to this. Half of his life had been building to this moment, but as he stepped out of the Trans Am and wandered toward the curly-haired man in the distance, he saw his future disappearing right before his eyes, as if tomorrow never existed.

The year was 2010, and Figment had already done everything he needed to do. He'd recruited Youngblood, Revenge, Pepper, and Poison. He'd taken them under his wing. He'd told his younger selves what they needed to know. He'd done what he could to save Frank, but now, his chapter of the story was over, or at the very least, it would be as soon as he approached Ray Toro.

He took a deep breath, and he took another step closer.

Now, he was face to face with his bandmate – or a past version of him, anyways – and Figment froze. There was a moment of silence as Figment dreaded what was coming next, but all of a sudden, Ray began to speak.

"Sorry, I'm late. Precision travel's not my forte."

"It-it's okay, Ray. I'm just glad you made it."

Ray gave him a regretful look, his brown eyes full of sorrow as he said, "I didn't get your time machine back. Believe me, I tried, but Mike Pedicone destroyed it as soon as he got it. I...I'm so sorry, Gerard."

Figment nodded, solemnly accepting his fate, but only a moment later, he had an idea. "But you're a time traveler! Couldn't you go back in time and stop him?"

"Don't you think I already tried that?" Ray responded. "There was a whole army of versions of me fighting Mike, and we still couldn't get your machine back. It's simply not possible."

"Couldn't you get me a new one then?" Figment said, a bit distracted by the mental image of a thousand Rays fighting Mike Pedicone with their guitar skills and their glorious fros.

"You're already in trouble with the Watch. There's no way that they would approve something like that."

"But what about Frank? How am I going to save him from the car crash?!"

"I'll do it."

Figment smiled slightly. "You will?"

"Of course. You may be Frank's boyfriend, but you're not the only one who cares about him. He's my bandmate too."

Figment felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, but all of it returned as soon as he remembered what was coming next.

"I'll bring your younger selves to 2016 with me to save Frank, but I...I can't take you. You're the one who Director Armstrong is after, and I'll be fired from the Watch if I take you. You'll have to stay here."

That was when it really hit him. He was never coming home. He had to relive some of the worst years of his life, and he wouldn't see Frank again, not for a long, long time. He was stuck.

"You can't do this to me, Ray! You have to take me with you."

"I'm sorry," Ray whispered, and before Figment could say anything, Ray typed something into his watch, and the entire Trans Am vanished into thin air.

"How did you do that?" Figment asked, but all of a sudden, Ray disappeared too, following the car into the not-so-distant future of 2016.

Figment waited for a few seconds, staring into the harsh desert sun, but soon, he spotted a redheaded man standing in the distance, clad in a blue Dead Pegasus jacket and holding a ray gun. Figment came closer, instantly recognizing his former self. "Poison?" he said as he approached the younger Gerard. "Did it work?"

"Did what work?"

"Did you save Frank?"

"I don't remember, but the pigs are after me, and I haven't been ghosted yet, so I'm sure things haven't gone all Costa Rica quite yet."

Figment sighed, realizing that unless he found a way home, he would have to put up with Poison's antics for years to come, everything from the Killjoy slang to the sass to the ridiculous dancing. He may have been Poison once, years ago, but that didn't mean he had to like him.

"I'm sorry," Figment said as he adjusted his jacket. "That was a dumb question."

"What are you still doing here anyways?" Poison asked. "Don't you need to go home?"

"I can't. My friend in the Watch couldn't get my time machine back."

"What the fuck?! You should tell him to blow an artery and eat plastic surgery!"

"It's not that easy, Poison."

"Why not?" Poison said as he twirled his ray gun in his hand. "If you can dust all of those dracs, you can get your time machine back."

Figment chuckled, too entertained to tell his younger self the truth about 2019. However, his amusement soon gave way to despair, and he turned toward Poison, already wishing that it was Frank standing next to him, armed only with guitars and puppies and all the love he had.

"I'm sorry. I...I think I'm stuck here."

"For how long?"

Figment didn't say anything, because he knew that neither he nor Poison would like the answer.

"Come on, Figment. You don't have to be so secretive all the time."

"You're one to talk." Poison glared at him, and Figment sighed. "Could you just give me a ride? We'll figure this out when we get back to your house."

Poison groaned, and with a dramatic flip of his bright red hair, he got behind the wheel. Before Figment could even buckle his seatbelt, the fabulous killjoy slammed his foot on the gas, and the Trans Am went hurtling down the highway, headed straight for the heart of LA.

When they arrived, Figment instantly recognized his old house. He hadn't lived here in years, but the off-kilter architecture seemed to welcome him. In a way, it felt like he was supposed to be here.

As soon as the elder of the two Gerards stumbled through the door, his stomach growled. "Poison?" he said. "You don't happen to have any food, do you?"

"Food?" Poison said, dancing through the strangely glittery décor.

Figment nodded. "I'm hungry."

"Let me check the fridge."

Poison walked away and came back only a few seconds later, but Figment knew exactly what he was up to. After all, they were the same person. He knew all of Poison's tricks.

"You didn't even go into the kitchen."

"Of course I did. There's only enough food for me in there, so I'll pick up groceries tomorrow. There's a Starbucks just down the road if you want something..."

Figment glared at his younger self and then stormed into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. Much to his chagrin, the only thing in the refrigerator was a pitcher of iced coffee. "Seriously?"

"How else am I supposed to fit into these jeans?"

"I'd rather have you be healthy, Poison."

"I am healthy, and besides, you can't tell me what to do. You're not me."

"Actually, I am."

Figment stormed out of the house and jumped into the Trans Am, and once he was in the driver's seat, Poison asked, "Where are you going?"

Figment rolled down the window. "I'm just going to the store to pick up dinner. For both of us."

Poison sprinted after the Trans Am, shouting and cursing, but Figment simply drove away, ignoring his younger self.

Half an hour later, Figment returned, carrying several grocery bags, which he immediately dropped on the counter and started unloading. As he took out two plates and filled them with pasta, vegetables, coffee, sandwiches, fruit, more coffee, and several large slices of chocolate cake, Poison asked, "So what's life like out in the Zones? How long do you think it's going to be until you defeat BL/ind. I'm sure it's death or victory out there."

Figment took a large gulp of coffee and then said, "Shut up, Poison. I'm not in the mood for this."

"Oh come on. How could you not be in the mood to talk about Danger Days? I still can't believe it's all true..."

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door, and Poison instantly looked toward Figment. "I think that's Frank," he said. "Hide."

Figment's heart beat faster at just the mention of Frank, but nevertheless, he grabbed his coffee cup and searched for the nearest staircase. However, just as he started to sprint downstairs, he spotted Frank out of the corner of his eye. He was wearing a bright yellow jacket, his long, black hair was falling in his face, and his brown eyes sparkled as he gave Poison a devilish grin. He was Frank Iero, as handsome as ever.

But he wasn't his Frank.

Figment continued down the staircase, and while he hid in the basement, he listened to Poison and Frank – their laughter, their conversations, those constant kissing sounds. He smiled as he reminisced about that phase of their relationship: getting back together with Frank, feeling like a teenager whenever he was around, once again remembering what it was like to love him.

Hearing them only made Figment miss his Frank even more.

As his heart ached for the Frank he'd left behind in 2019, Figment looked around the basement, and when he searched in the closet, he found what he was looking for. Amongst all of his old sketchbooks, all of those drawings of comic book characters and costume designs and Frank, he spotted an empty sketchbook, somewhere he could collect his thoughts and come up with a plan.

Figment gingerly placed his fingers on the sketchbook and slid it off of the shelf, but just before he opened it, he realized something important.

He couldn't have memories of the future.

If he stayed here much longer, he would forget what came next.

So Figment opened up the sketchbook, picked up a pen, and wrote down everything he could remember about the future. He wrote down everything from the Danger Days era to the breakup to the reunion. He wrote down all of the comic books and songs he'd written. He drew pictures of everyone he knew, if only to make sure he'd remember their faces. He sketched out everything about his bandmates, his family, and of course, Frank. He couldn't bear to forget a single thing about his favorite guitarist.

After several hours, Figment finally closed the sketchbook, his fingers sore from writing. However, he was still afraid, afraid of forgetting, afraid of reliving his most painful moments, afraid of the fact that this was his life now.

Figment heard Frank's footsteps upstairs, and he knew that he'd never felt so alone.

The days went by, and the days soon turned into weeks, months, and years. Before Figment knew it, nearly two years had gone by since he'd first arrived in 2010, since he'd moved into his younger self's house. He lived like a cryptid, spending his days writing comics, hiding downstairs every time Frank came over, only leaving the basement when he needed coffee. In a way, it was like he was a teenager again, drawing in his sketchbook and listening to the Smashing Pumpkins, occasionally dreaming of that mysterious man named Frank.

In fact, Figment was working on his latest creation - a comic book he was helping his younger self with called The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - when his past self wandered downstairs with a freshly dyed head of bright yellow hair. "Hey Figment," the younger Gerard said, but something seemed off, like he was a hollow shell of himself, like a part of him had suddenly disappeared. "How's the comic coming along?"

"Still working on it," Figment muttered. "I think I might need to rework the plot." He looked toward his younger self. "You need a new nickname."

The younger Gerard nodded. "I haven't felt like Poison in a long time. How about..."

"Lemon! You could be Lemon!"

"Yeah. I guess Lemon works."

There was a long silence, but just before Figment went back to writing, he asked, "Are you okay, Lemon?"

"I'm not okay. I promise."

Of course. Figment shouldn't have expected anything different from his younger self, but nevertheless, he was worried about him. However, he knew just what to do. He turned on his favorite Smashing Pumpkins album, hoping that it might just brighten Lemon's day...

"Turn it off," Lemon said, scowling. "I'm not in the mood."

Figment sighed and went back to writing, but once he'd written a few lines, he put his pencil down and reached for another sketchbook, one he'd filled with writing and doodles two years earlier. As soon as he opened it, his eyes filled with wonder. He flipped through the pages, hardly able to believe that he had come here from the year 2019, that at that very moment, he was seeing the future. He wasn't quite nostalgic - how could he miss something that hadn't happened yet? - but there was something beautiful about 2019. He wished he could go back home, write more comics, play with My Chemical Romance one more time, fall in love with Frank Iero once again.

Figment turned the page, and that was when he saw it. He saw what was coming next.

That dreadful realization. The mixed-up emotions that came with it. Denial. Depression. Suffering. Despair. Falling back into old habits. And, finally, once he'd done enough damage to himself, the end of My Chemical Romance.

Something stirred in Figment. It wasn't a memory, more like a memory of a memory, but he felt just an echo of the despair he'd felt before the breakup, and it was almost more than he could take.

He couldn't watch Lemon go through that.

All of a sudden, Figment picked up his pencil and his sketchbook, gathered up his things, and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Lemon asked.

"I'm going to live in the woods for about five years."

To Lemon, it sounded absurd, but to Figment, it was the only hope he had left.

The years passed, and for the longest time, the two Gerards never saw each other. In fact, the sketchbook was the only way Figment knew how his younger self was doing. Sometimes, when he was wandering through the forest or gathering food or staring pensively into a nearby pond, he wondered if the younger Gerard ever thought of him, if he even cared what became of him. Most of the time, though, he thought about Frank. It had been years since they had last spoken to each other, but he missed his rebellious spirit, his love for art, the way every word he said was like poetry. Without him, he felt like he was incomplete, like he could never be whole again.

And then, one morning, while Figment was making breakfast in his haphazardly constructed hut in the midst of the forest, there was a knock on the door.

Figment nervously opened the door, stringy gray hair falling in his face as he glanced toward the doorway, but when he saw who had come to see him, he smiled. The visitor looked much like Figment had only a few years earlier - shoulder length brown hair, a faint mustache, a very well-loved green jacket - but it was the face that tipped him off. It was like looking into a mirror.

"L-Lemon?" Figment said.

The younger Gerard laughed. "I don't think I've been Lemon for years. If anything, I'm Figment now."

"Then who am I?"

"Whoever you want to be." The younger Gerard smiled slightly and then gestured toward his coffee cup, which he quickly transformed into a sleek chrome watch, shiny and brand new. "I just got my time machine, so I could take you to 2019. Only if you want to though. I know you've been here for a long time, so maybe you..."

The elder Gerard smiled - he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time. "No, please," he said. "Take me back."

The younger Gerard strapped the watch to his wrist and typed in "California 2019," and in an instant, the two of them vanished into thin air.

When Gerard opened his eyes, he found himself in a strange place, somewhere he was sure he'd never been, but between the barking dogs, the shelves of comic books, and the soft sounds of Frank's acoustic guitar, it felt familiar somehow. He wandered around, and as he took in the artwork, the stacks of sketchbooks, the smells of smoke and coffee, he felt at home.

All of a sudden, he glanced into the office, and he found a younger version of himself, trying to calibrate his time machine. "Come on, you piece of junk!" he shouted. "Calibrate already!"

The younger Gerard tried to collect his thoughts, and finally, it worked. The time machine calibrated, and he quickly typed "New Jersey 2002" into his watch. In an instant, he was gone, and Gerard's heart ached for his younger self, knowing exactly what was ahead of him, all of those years wasted trying to get home.

After a moment, Gerard took a deep breath and followed the guitar sounds into the living room and sure enough, there he was. Frank Iero, just as beautiful as he remembered him. Gerard stood in the doorway for a while, listening to Frank's melodies, remembering the past, wishing he could have spent the last seven years with him...

All of a sudden, Frank looked up, put his guitar down, and threw his arms around his boyfriend. Gerard collapsed into Frank's arms, crying tears of joy as he snuggled closer to the man he loved, now and always.

Frank suddenly opened his eyes, and when he saw Gerard's graying hair, he said, "You look...different."

"I took the slow path."

That was when Frank held Gerard even closer, and he started to cry too, mourning the years they'd lost, all of that time they'd never get back. However, a few moments later, Frank pressed his lips to Gerard's, and he whispered, "I'm glad you're here now, Gee."

"Me too," Gerard said as he wiped away his tears. He kissed Frank one more time, slowly and passionately, like he was making up for lost time, but as he pulled away, as he was about to do the only thing he could think of to regain composure, he looked toward Frank, and he realized that they both had the exact same idea.

"Come on," Frank said. "I'll make you coffee."

The two of them walked to the kitchen, hand in hand, and as Frank turned on the coffee maker, Gerard looked around, amazed that he was here, alive, with his favorite person in the world. Now that Frank was here, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged. Despite all of those years he had been gone, living in the past, it was like nothing had changed at all.

All of a sudden, Frank kissed Gerard's cheek and then handed him a hot, steaming mug of coffee.

"Welcome home, Gee."