Chapter Text
“THAT FUCKING JACKASS!”
Patrick stomps his foot. “I am going to kick Pete’s ass!!”
He swears, this kind of shit always happens to him. It was Pete’s time travel fortune telling whatever thing, and it brought future Patrick back to 2005! Which, to be fair, was a problem for future Patrick, but both he and his future self told Pete “hey don’t mess with time travel again you moron!” Then they send him back to the future (sans hoverboards) but then Pete pouted with his stupid fucking face like “but Patrick! I just want to do one more thing to make sure we didn’t kill you in the future! It’s not even the same one this time!”
And now this is Patrick’s problem, and how ended up at- wherever he is. Whenever he is? Fucking hell, this is the kind of stuff he has to deal with now. He turns around to survey his new surroundings. He’s in some swanky looking kitchen? Teetering on the edge of bougie, maybe. What he’s saying is that it looks nice. Marble countertops, honestly futuristic looking appliances, a kitchen island, the works. The futuristic part is the part that scares him a bit.
His fear is realized as he completes a full turn around; he makes eye contact with his older self. Again. He’s got more beard than when he saw him last. Future Patrick is in a plaid set of pajama pants and a gorilla biscuits t-shirt. At least he’s still got good music taste. Is this his house?
His future self blinks a few times in rapid succession.
He rubs his eyes.
He walks out of the kitchen and back in.
“Okay, this was not my fault-“ Patrick tries to defend himself.
His future self lets out an exasperated laugh. “It kind of doesn’t matter?” he sighs. “Listen. just… stay there. Don’t move, I need to, I don’t know, make a few phone calls. Please don’t look at anything too close.”
Patrick feels like he’s in trouble. Maybe he is, in a cosmic sort of sense.
He doesn’t look too close at anything - he’s honestly a little too scared to - as his future self walks into a living room. There’s not much wall between the kitchen and the living room, so Patrick overhears half of the conversation pretty clearly.
“So, do you remember when you found me lying down in the kitchen? The time travel thing? So, the other way around just happened…. I think the definition of present depends on who says it, but yeah… Right now. He’s standing in the kitchen… No, no, it’s me, not you - … That’s better? I mean, if you say so…I know, I was just in the past. See you in a few. L- wait, I can’t really…No, you’re not on speaker. …Really? I’m rolling my eyes. … I know you can. … No, there’s no part of the sequels I want to quote - we’re not arguing about the sequels trilogy again. …” He laughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you in a few…… I know. Bye.”
Future Patrick taps at the screen of his phone as he makes his way back to the kitchen island. “Alright, Pete’s on his way, he’ll be here in a few.”
Patrick tilts his head. “Wentz?”
“I feel like any other Pete needs specifying.”
It’s nice to know that whatever his future self said before wasn’t him lying, he really still knows Pete in the future. And that Pete Wentz is the most prominent Pete in his life still. “That’s fair.”
There’s a few beats of silence before his future self fills it. “So, uh, how’s it been going?”
Patrick shrugs. “Same as last week when we saw you?”
“Last week? It’s been a couple of months for me.”
Huh. “That’s weird. I wonder why I’m here now?”
“There might not be any rhyme or reason to it, - wait a second, it took literally a week until you guys messed with time travel again?”
Patrick groans. “ Pete did it again!”
“And you didn’t stop him?”
“Have you tried to stop Pete from doing shit?”
“Alright, fair point,” Future Patrick laughs.
“…The thing was his idea in the first place, but I also wanted to make sure you didn’t die getting back. So. Yeah.” He admits.
—--
Somehow, via means of something on his fancy future phone, Patrick figures, future Patrick knows when Pete arrives. He stays in his seat at the kitchen island while future Patrick meets future Pete at the door. The future door? What’s the limit for referring to things as “future” things? Are these things just present things and he’s Patrick-from-the-past?
So, Patrick doesn’t see future Pete come in, but he hears him talking to his future self as they walk into the kitchen. He knows his voice.
In his experience, seeing your future self is weird enough, right, but Patrick’s not looking at himself a lot. He tries to avoid it really, he’s almost like an anti-narcissist. Plus his future self isn’t too different. Duh, he’s 20 years older, but he can almost see himself looking in a mirror one day and seeing that version of himself looking back. Also he saw him last week, so.
On the other hand, Pete he’s seen a lot of. Maybe he’s seen too much of him. So seeing a 45 - almost 46 - year old Pete Wentz, when he’s had conversations about Pete being uncertain he’ll make it to 28; honestly, he almost looks like a different person. In a good way. Physically he’s recognizable, obviously just an older version of the Pete he knows, but it’s… hard to describe. He carries himself in a different way. Patrick sees crows feet in the corners of Pete’s eyes and lines in his face, results of another 20 years of life with laughs and smiles. His arms are full of tattoos now, a lot of the blank spaces he knows filled in the years since. His facial hair is more grown than his Pete keeps it now, some salt peppering his beard. There’s also some gray on his head, mostly in the hairs at his temple - his hair undyed, though more toward the ends it’s lighter. Was he bleaching it?
Also, Pete’s got the same shit eating grin on his face. He’s looking between the two Patricks, expression not falling one bit.
“…Your hair is really long.” Patrick observes.
Pete laughs the same.
Patrick notices his outfit. “What are you even dressed for?”
Pete looks down, like he forgot what he was wearing. It’s vaguely athletic looking, Patrick thinks. “I was playing tennis?”
“You play tennis?”
“Yeah, in, like, 2008, I quit music and took a hard career pivot. I'm a world famous tennis star.”
“Don’t lie to him.” Future Patrick says.
“What? It could’ve happened! I played soccer, you know!” Pete smiles in a poor attempt at a lie.
“Do they even make tennis players that short? I would think you need, like, a half decent wingspan for that.” Patrick says, looking Pete up and down.
Pete laughs, more heartily this time. “You were right, Patrick, you were such a little shit! I forgot!”
Patrick rolls his eyes. As far as he’s concerned, Pete’s the “little shit” if they’re comparing the two.
Pete holds his hands up. “You caught me, I’m actually an award winning movie star now-”
“Pete, you suck at acting.” Future Patrick interrupts blankly.
“My dreams, baby, you’re crushing them, why would you do this to me?” Pete says dramatically and unconvincingly. He lays the back of his hand across his forehead and sighs loudly. His acting skills really wouldn’t win him any awards.
Future Patrick steers the conversation back towards the more serious matter at hand. “Alright, as fun as it’s been riffing on you, Pete, we kinda need to figure out how to send young me back.”
Pete removes his hand from his forehead and crosses his arms. “Hm. This is complicated. The first time, you -” he says, pointing to future Patrick “-went back there but past me, who did this thing in the first place, was there, so there was just the matter of him - me? - sending you back. But now, the me who did this is back there, the me who is me now never did this, and little Patrick from the past is kind of stuck up here in the time stream without a paddle.” Patrick decides he’s going to ignore the little adjective for now.
“I wonder if -” future Patrick starts, but is interrupted as he looks down at his watch. Patrick didn’t notice it before, but it looks like it has a small screen on it in place of an actual watch face. “Damn, I gotta take this call, I'll be right back.”
Patrick, watching his future self walk away, was worried about trying to fill the silence with future Pete. Like, the future him and Pete were leading the conversation, but what does he as a 21 year old Patrick have to say to 45 year old Pete? But Pete barely takes a beat before he starts the conversation back.
“So, Patrick - well, you’re Patrick too, but my Patrick - was telling me even though his thing was a few months ago, for you guys it was last week?”
Patrick nods.
“Oh, damn, then you guys are still in early summer 2005? Warped tour?”
Nods again. Yeah.
“Pfft. Interesting time period.” Patrick narrows his eyes. What the hell is up with these guys’ reaction to the time period he’s living through? His future self had a similar reaction.
“I mean, I guess? It’s hot out, and us playing just whenever the organizers feel like that day is throwing us off.”
“Oh yeah, I remember that. I do not miss playing at 8pm one day then noon the next, rough.”
Patrick fiddles with his thumbs. “So… uh, what have you been up to?”
Pete shrugs. “Y’know, same old, same old.”
“You do know the same old shit you get up to for me is less recreational tennis and more, like, pissing in water bottles and making people smell it?”
Pete laughs. “So, how did you get sent here instead of me, or anyone getting pulled back there again?”
Patrick shrugs. “No clue. You were the one with the web page - though, I do remember this one was different. I think the last one was a “fortune telling”” - Patrick mimics air quotes -, “and this last one was titled something like “see the future,” or something like that.” Maybe it was future sight? Future vision? Future something.
“Well, it worked,” Pete says, holding a hand out to their surroundings, “congrats on seeing the future.” Pete turns as he notices the older Patrick walking back into the kitchen. “What was the call about?”
“With this whole thing that popped up, I completely forgot that Daisy Grenade is supposed to come over today - y’know, for their new stuff? I hate making them reschedule, since they’ve come all the way over here - well, it’s not just for me, they’ve got other stuff going on, but - there’s this pressing issue I feel like needs to be resolved first. ”
“Nah, bring them over. I told them about the time travel stuff the first time,” Pete says, waving his hand.
The older Patrick narrows his eyes. “You did? Why would you do that?”
Pete’s eyes flicker over to Patrick. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”
“I mean, I would’ve thought so! Does anyone else know?”
“Uh,” Pete has to take a second and think about this, “no? Well, Joe and Andy, duh, mmmaybe…? No, no, it’s just Daisy Grenade besides us.”
Older Patrick sighs. “Fine, I guess. Let them come over, then. I’ll be down in the studio getting ready, just let them in. Please warn them about this for me.” He pokes Pete in the center of his chest. “And work on figuring this out while I’m with them.”
Pete blinks. “Me?”
“Yes you! Past you did this, so now present you can fix it.”
“Story of my life. Do you know when the last time I logged into livejournal was? Shit, does that website even work still?”
Future Patrick waves a hand. “Use the, what’s it called, the internet archive for that? Maybe Reddit?”
“Sure, I'll pull up R slash time travel DIY. I’m stealing your Macbook for this, but I'll get started. Maybe I’ll just figure out how to send myself back in time, I’ll slap some sense into my younger self, and get him to switch me and young you.” Pete pokes his Patrick in the shoulder.
“If it works, it works.” The older Patrick looks at his younger self and motions with a thumbs up behind him. “Do you want to come sit with me down in the studio?”
Patrick shrugs. “Sure.” He realizes he’s being babysat, ugh, since he’s in the future and all. He’s throwing on an air of nonchalant and being super cool, but he is kind of excited though, how cool is it that his future self has a whole dedicated home studio?
——-
The home studio is so fucking awesome. He tried to stay cool about it, really, but the second he walked in he felt like a kid in a toy store. A combination candy toy store. Something better than that. He sees his future self poorly hiding a grin at his reaction.
To be honest, when Patrick heard “home studio”, his expectations were that of a step above some instruments in a garage, but this is downright professional stuff. There’s a computer set up that is absolutely insane. It’s advanced looking to him; he thinks about that whole theory about technology getting twice as powerful every year. Patrick’s not sure where on the scale this sits in 2025, but it’s pretty damn cool.
Then just so many instruments. There’s a frankly ridiculous, he’s saying this positively, amount of guitars. He’s browsing through them like he’s a bookworm in a library. A lot of electric, there’s a good handful of acoustics, some bass guitars -
“Oh shit,” Patrick says, pulling one out of its rack, “this is one of the ones I’m playing with now!” It’s the silver Gibson he has in their gear box for Warped Tour.
His future self turns around in the chair from the computer he’s been working at. “Oh yeah, that one! Please - well, you’re me, I know you will - but please be careful.” He turns back to the computer. “I take good care of it, but it is twenty years older now.”
Patrick puts the guitar back, instead grabbing an acoustic one. It’s not one he has yet. He puts it on the couch in the room and keeps looking through the studio. He kind of beelined to the guitars at first, but now he’s noticing everything else. He can see where his future self came in first and took down a few things - there’s spots on the walls where some frames were hung, and he’s wondering what they’re for. If future him wasn't working, he’d probably hit up the drum set in the corner.
One funny thing Patrick notices is an assortment of instruments he does not know how to play. “You know how to play the trumpet?” he says, picking one up.
“Oh, yeah, I dabble.” his future self says, still tapping on the keyboard, “sometimes when you hear a song and go “oh, this needs a trumpet,” you learn how to play a trumpet a little. Some of those instruments, saying I know how to play is maybe generous, but…” his thought trails off. Mental to do list: maybe beat the timeline and learn the trumpet when he gets back? Maybe he’ll get to -
“They all veto any attempt at anything ska, by the way,” his future self adds, crushing his dreams. Not really a life spoiler though, he expected that.
Patrick sits down on the couch and starts working with the guitar. If he’s going to be here, might as well use this free time to straighten out some stuff he’s had in his head. Besides being out of place in a temporal sense, he feels out of place in a normal way. When his future self previously found himself in their tour bus, he really only talked to him one on one that one time. Plus, for his future self getting brought back in time he had the advantage that he had already lived through it! Taking basically a leisurely Sunday stroll down memory lane! But he’s now in the future like a fish out of water. He doesn’t even know where to start a conversation. Like, what do you even say? What can you say?
“Start on the fifth fret, then shift to the fourth,” his older self says, with his back still to Patrick.
Patrick looks down back at the guitar, then back up. He wasn’t even thinking about the riff. “Huh?”
Future Patrick tenses a bit and turns around. “I just - recognized it. You do two measures starting on the fifth fret, then the next two start on the fourth fret, but the second two you take the second note just up to the fifth instead of - actually, I really shouldn’t have said anything about it.”
Patrick does that, plays two measures on the fifth fret then starts on the fourth. “Hm.” It doesn’t sound finished yet, but it does sound better than what he was trying to do.
“You’re almost there. Though it sounds better on the electric,” his older self turns back around to his work, “plus that’s Joe’s part. Ask him for his input.”
Patrick hums in agreement. “Yeah, it's definitely a lead riff. But then that means we do use this in a song? When?”
“I’ve said too much. You’ll know.” Future Patrick shakes his head. “I think Pete still needs to write the lyrics.”
Patrick works on the guitar a bit more, mostly unsuccessfully in his opinion, if he’s being honest. He looks up at the computer screen - his future self is half on a program with some audio lines and timelines, half on a browser and what looks like emails.
“Is this what we do now? Producing?” Patrick asks.
Click-clacks on the keyboard. “It is part of what I do.”
“What else do you do? Did we go back to college?”
The older Patrick clicks on the mouse then turns around again in his chair. “Didn’t I say - just a week ago for you - I wasn’t going to tell you? You being here, in the future for you, is way more than I wanted to reveal, anyways.”
Patrick frowns slightly. “You said stuff about how we’d “figure it out- ,”” making air quotes.
“And you figured it out in a week? Do you see a degree on the wall?” the older one interrupts. He’s asking genuinely, but Patrick feels cornered.
“No, but -”
There’s a knock on the frame of the open door. “Hey, they’re here,” Pete says, leaning into the threshold and motioning into the hallway outside the studio.
“You warned them?” the older Patrick asks.
“Yes, I told them about the fact that,” Pete looks out into the hallway, “there is, in fact, a second Patrick Stump from 20 years ago, sitting on the couch in the studio.”
His future self stands up to go meet Pete and the unseen visitors at the door. Patrick also stands up, he figures he should maybe follow him? He’s thinking too hard about this and he knows it, but perhaps he is the only person in the world to ever deal with this issue. Okay, maybe it’s more like just meeting people who know him and he doesn’t know, and he’s been doing plenty of that since Warped Tour started! Piece of cake. Walk in the park. Maybe.
Future Patrick whispers something to Pete before Patrick makes his way over. Whatever he says, Pete responds with a smile, his crows feet creasing. “I know,” he says. He throws both Patricks a thumbs up before making his way back upstairs.
Two girls walk into the room after Pete leaves. They look older than Patrick. Well, older than him physically at 21, but younger than he actually is in 2025, so they’re actually younger than him, which is weird. Time travel into the future really makes a person think a lot about the passage of time, in Patrick’s experience.
“So, this is Dani -” his older self says, and the first girl waves, “- and this is Keat. As Pete said, and you can see, this is me. From 20 years ago.”
Patrick smiles, he can tell it’s awkward. “Uh, nice to meet you guys. Well, me meeting you, I guess, you already know me, “ he says, and holds his hand out. Keat’s the one who shakes his hand.
Dani looks at the older Patrick. “Oh my gosh, Patrick, look at little you!”
Patrick blinks. Little?
“Wow, and your sideburns? Iconic.” Keat says to him.
Dani nods. “Yeah, and you’re kinda serving the vintage early aughts look.”
His sideburns are iconic? Serving? “V-vintage??” Patrick stutters out.
She grimaces a little. “Oops, sorry. I mean, 20 years is a little bit… at least in the fashion sense? It has circled back around to being popular again. Though, I think 30 years might be the technical vintage level, actually?” Dani shrugs.
“I - uh,” ok, there’s the existential crisis. He needs a strong drink, “it was nice to meet you guys, uh, early, for me, but I think I’ll let you guys work, I’m going to go see if Pete needs help.” He throws an awkward thumbs up before making his way past them and back up the stairs. He hears them close the door behind him.
Walking up the stairs, there’s a gallery of picture frames on the walls, but there’s some empty spaces and nails between. He’s even noticed a spot where a fairly large painting should go, removed from its spot completely. When they were originally waiting for Pete, his future self went around and took down some pictures around the house. He did leave some up - there’s a lot of pictures and spaces for pictures - and Patrick glances at a few. There’s some with his family, some pictures he recognizes, some friends he recognizes. There’s more with people and places he doesn’t know yet. There’s quite a few - a lot, even - with Pete, Joe and Andy, though the time period for some of these is hard to place. Throw a dart at a timeline from 2005 to 2025, sure, it could be there.
There’s a few pictures that his older self - he supposes when running out of time - turned around instead of removing. Patrick gets the idea, avoiding messing with seeing futures you aren’t meant to see, but on the other hand… he wants to know what happens. He looks up and down the stairs, and no one’s coming. He flips a few frames around.
There’s one picture that he guesses is closer to the time he came from than the one he’s in now, and he, Pete, Joe and Andy are dressed more formally. It looks like some sort of media event, though the size and quality of the picture doesn’t let him read whatever they’re standing in front of. In another, he’s bleach blond and wearing a suit with a bow tie, arm over the shoulder of someone else. Another one is of him and Pete, he can’t place when it could be, but Pete has short blond hair. They’re both wearing suits, it kind of looks like it could be a wedding. Is it his? Pete’s? He can’t tell. Patrick frowns. These didn’t help him figure out his future - their past - at all. Whatever.
When he finishes heading upstairs, Patrick finds Pete sitting on the living room couch, his long hair now in a bun, Macbook on his lap and his feet on the coffee table. He didn’t really look in the living room when he got here. It’s well decorated - some of the stuff he might’ve picked out, but a lot of it looks like someone else must’ve decided. In one corner is an honest to god baby grand piano. Like, shit, that’s worth a pretty penny. He hopes his future self knows how to play that better than he does. There’s also a flat screen TV that is, honestly, ridiculous. It is cartoonishly large, like it’s longer that he is tall kind of ridiculous. The thing is it really is pretty flat in the back, instead of the flat screens he’s used to that just mean they’re not tube TVs.
“I actually figured out what I need to do,” Pete says, closing the lid of the Macbook, “and I’m going to head out to get the stuff for it. Did you want to come with me?”
“Is that allowed? In the “keeping the space time continuum normal” sense?”
Pete takes a second to search for the answer, “Hmmm…,” he pokes around on the screen of his phone, then puts it in his pocket, “we should be fine where we’re going.” He slaps the top of his thighs before he stands up, motioning his head to his right. “If my Patrick got to go out with you guys back then, I don’t see the harm in this.”
—---
Patrick saw the change of cars from the more boxy ones of the 80s and 90s to the more rounded ones of the 2000s, so the two sleek cars in the garage must be the natural progression to that. He doesn’t recognize the models or makes or anything, besides that it's got four wheels and an equal number of doors, but it’s not like he’s a guy who knows about cars in the first place. One is plugged into some cable in the garage.
Pete unplugs it and hangs it on a hook. “It’s an electric car,” he says in response to Patrick’s confused expression.
“Oh shit, that’s really cool! Are all cars electric now?”
“Hmm, no, most people are still driving gas. it’s kinda more expensive up front for electric, but these and hybrids are still popular." Pete says as he gets into the driver's seat. Still pretty cool, Patrick thinks. Environmental.
When Patrick gets into the passenger seat, he feels like maybe instead of 2025 he was transported into 2045. Honestly, he feels like he’s in a fucking spaceship or something. Pete turns it on - he doesn’t turn a key in the ignition, just presses a button - and the whole thing lights up. There’s basically a whole computer in place of where the radio and CD player should be. The most light Patrick’s used to on his car dashboard is the oil and check engine ones.
Pete alternates between poking at his phone and the huge touchscreen in the car, before starting to back out of the garage. The screen changes from showing the currently playing song to a rear camera view, which is a pretty damn convenient thing to have, Patrick thinks. Something like that would’ve helped trying to park their van, but whatever. He finally gets a view of the outside of the house, and it’s pretty nice. He could tell from the inside it’s nice, though the design of it is interesting. Are there palm trees in this neighborhood? …Wait a second.
“ARE WE IN CALIFORNIA??” Patrick realizes.
Pete barks out one loud laugh, turning out of the street, “Did you not see anything outside the windows?”
“You know, I was more concerned with the time travel thing and being 20 years in the future than my geographical position!! Or - or my future self’s lawn landscaping preferences!”
“I feel like there’s other things to clue you in - like the pool in the backyard set up in this time of year? The license plate on the cars? Anything else?”
“Dude, I don’t even know the date!” Patrick argues.
“Right, right, the time travel thing. Not an exact science; more of an art form. Speaking of that, can you tell me what happened both times this happened?” Pete asks.
Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have the list of stuff you need to do it again? Didn’t future me tell you the first time?”
Pete shrugs. “Well, yeah, and he told me about it, but not some specifics, and I want to make sure we don't miss anything.”
Patrick crosses his arms. “Well, I already mentioned the fortune telling versus the future vision things. Uh, this time you, we, wanted to make sure we didn’t kill future me sending him back to the future. Which we didn’t, thankfully. The first time it was a just for fun thing. We didn’t, like, expect it to do anything! Then bam, there’s a future version of me, and you start messing with me and calling him a hot old version of me -”
Pete laughs, almost cackles. “Oh my god, yeah! We saw that video you and past me recorded on Patrick’s phone. Can’t believe… Anyways, sorry, go on.”
“Not much else happened? We did a show, went to bed, went to get more stuff for the fortune telling thing again, sent future me back, end of story until next week when we did the other thing. And here I am.”
“And here you are. And here we are,” Pete says, pulling into street parking. “Hold on, just so you’re not accidentally recognized.” He reaches over into the car’s glove box and pulls out what looks like a doctor’s surgical mask, though its fabric is black.
Patrick holds it in his hands. “Why do you have one of these, anyways?”
“Uh, well, besides the being recognized thing, it’s nice to not get sick?”
Patrick shrugs and puts it on. They both get out of the car and head into the store.
This store that they walk into is basically the same as the other ones that he’s been into the last week. Crowded, too much stuff on the shelves, but maybe less of an active fire hazard. There might, somehow, be more oils and herbs, touted for their supposed health benefits. It would smell more without the mask, so he’s thankful for it. He previously would’ve thought everything in here was 100% bullshit, but based on the past week or so he knows it’s not. He’s still convinced that the rock magic is bullshit at least. Maybe a solid 90-95% bullshit level in here. He browses a bit, but nothing new catches his eye.
“Wait, are you serious?,” Patrick hears Pete say, as he wanders over to the checkout counter.
“Unfortunately,” the cashier says, “I’m all sold out. I should get some in next week?” She looks over to Patrick and looks him up and down.
Next week? Patrick’s eyes go wide. He can’t do a week in the future! Shit, how does going back work? How much time is he missing back there?
Pete looks at the selection he has in a bag on the counter. “I’ll take the rest of it, and I’ll figure it out.”
Figure it out? Figure it out?? Pete’s so nonchalant about it, shit, where else are there stores like this? Are they also sold out?? Is Patrick just stuck in the future forever, causing a time paradox that leads to the collapse of the space time continuum -
Pete walks past him, out the door. When Patrick follows, he’s tapping at his phone.
“Alright,” Pete says, “I found it online, I can pay extra and get it tomorrow. How are you feeling? Good being here until then? ”
Patrick sighs in relief. Tomorrow’s better than a week or forever or never. “That’s…fine.”
Pete gives him a thumbs up. “Cool. While we’re here, want to get some coffee? I like this place and it’s locally owned. I didn’t even know this store was next to it.”
Patrick shrugs in neutral agreement and they walk the half block to the mentioned coffee shop. At first glance, it’s mostly the same as any one he’d walk into normally. A bell chimes as they walk in, there’s a couple of people sitting at tables, baristas busy, the smell of coffee even if it’s partially obfuscated. Although, the people at the tables have their ultra thin laptops, phones that look identical to his future self and Pete’s, and the menus have been replaced with TV screens with the menu on it for some reason. Patrick sees the prices and doesn’t know if things are just expensive or if it’s just a fancy coffee shop. Some pop song he doesn’t recognize is on the radio, probably playing the hits of the future. Something about a pony club. The barista that greets them is also wearing a mask, so at least he doesn’t feel out of place and he knows Pete wasn’t just fucking with him.
While he was observing the sameness and newness of this future coffee shop (or him as a person-from-the-past observing the present day coffee shop? Maybe it’s just perspective and he’s valid in thinking this is all future stuff?), Pete placed his order with the barista.
“Oh, who are you with today? Your husband busy?” Patrick hears the barista casually ask.
Patrick looks at Pete, a bit less casually.
Pete takes half a beat to respond. “Oh, haha, he’s at home. I’m with, uh, … Martin. He… works for me.” …Really? Patrick supposes they didn’t discuss an emergency secret identity, so whatever, middle name it is. Maybe when he gets back he’ll discuss secret identity names with the guys. Time travel and/or spy potential contingency plan.
The barista either: option A, does not realize how bad of an actor Pete is, or option B, really doesn't care, before answering, “Ah, gotta show the new kid how to do the coffee run! Well, I gotcha, I’ll get those out to you in a minute.”
The barista turns away from them, but Patrick keeps looking at Pete as they walk away. “You’re-?”
They exchange a wordless conversation; Pete holds up a hand. It’s his left hand - damn, Patrick didn’t notice the ring before - not right now, Pete’s saying, Patrick glares back. Pete mostly doesn’t see it as he’s tapping at his phone in the few minutes it takes for them to get their order. Patrick tries to sneak a look over at Pete’s phone, but all he gets is a glimpse at his set wallpaper (which is a bizarre looking frame of Bugs Bunny, for some reason).
“Dude, what?!! Your HUSBAND?!?” Patrick says once they’re back in Pete’s car, ripping the mask off his face.
Pete drives away from their parking spot. “Uh…yeah. It’s legal now.”
“That’s not the - I would hope so by now - but the. You’re gay?”
“When a man marries another man, that is usually the case.”
“Haven’t you, like, had girlfriends?” Patrick questions.
“People can be bisexual, you know. And it’s not always a 50/50 kind of thing.”
Sure, that makes sense. “Hm… Is it, like, Mikey Way?”
“Huh? Nah, between us, that just lasted the summer.”
Patrick, in an action he did not think he’d ever do, makes a mental list of people he knows on a scale of “most to least likely to actually be gay, if not already, and get with Pete Wentz.” He pulls from the half of the list that he doesn't think is in the realm of impossibility. “It wouldn’t be someone like… William Beckett, maybe?”
“Nah. Though I’ll say he’s still cute. Also, you might not even know my husband! What if I met him sometime in the last 20 years?”
Patrick looks at him. “Did you?”
Pete keeps his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, and responds without looking back. “I could have.” Pete’s not great at lying to him. Or maybe he knows his tells now and is an incredible liar? Though his acting has proved to be lacking, so probably not. Patrick probably knows the guy. He sits in silence for a bit thinking about this bomb that’s been dropped; he picks up the drink that’s been designated as his and takes a sip.
“What’s in this? It’s really good.” Patrick asks.
“Oh, I got you just what you - now you - normally get. It has oat milk in it, I think. ”
Hm. Never had oat milk before. “Is it Chris?”
Pete, who has taken a red light as an opportunity to take a sip of his own cup, spits a bit out and coughs. “ Heychris Chris??? Guitierrez??”
“I guess not???”
“Wh- what makes you guess him?”
“Dude, I don’t know!! You two have those, honestly pretty gay, matching ass to dick tattoos! Maybe it’s foreshadowing, or something!” Patrick throws up his hands.
Pete lets out a scoff. “You think when Chris and I did anything I was always topping?”
Patrick stutters. He can tell he’s probably gone a new, yet undiscovered shade of red. “I WAS NOT THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING ABOUT THAT, ACTUALLY.”
… Hold on.
“You guys did stuff? Actually?” Pete usually denies ever doing anything not above the waist.
Pete grimaces for a second. “Oops. That’s also a secret,” he admits, “Back then we always called no homo or something, but in retrospect, still pretty gay.”
—--
When they get back, the two meet the older Patrick in his living room, Daisy Grenade having left in the time they were gone. They clue him into what’s been going on; in that Patrick will be there until tomorrow, whenever that delivery is made.
“I placed the order in time to have it for next day delivery, so hopefully it’s actually here tomorrow and I didn’t pay extra for nothing,” Pete says.
Patrick worries a bit about that. He thinks about not getting back in time, or messing with their schedule, or not being in the bus, getting transported back to 2005 in the middle of nowhere -
“I can see you thinking,” his future self says, “if it makes you feel better, when I got back even though it had been a day and a half in the past, I was back here in the same spot I left, like maybe 30 minutes later.”
That does help. “Why didn’t you mention Pete’s gay?”
Future Patrick blinks a few times, then stares at Pete, expecting an explanation.
Pete looks back, holds his hands up. “I texted you!”
Future Patrick pulls his phone out and looks at it, face falling in annoyance at himself.
Pete continues. “The nice barista at the coffee shop asked me how my husband was.”
“I see. And how is your husband, by the way?” Future Patrick says, putting the phone back in his pocket.
Pete shrugs. “I don’t know, I’d have to ask him.”
Future Patrick rolls his eyes. “Anyways, I didn’t tell you because it didn’t come up and it’s not my secret to give out.”
Patrick groans and collapses, laying across part of the length of the couch, studying the ceiling and ignoring the other two’s continued conversation. (“Well, it’s not a secret, Patrick,” - “To us , but to him-” “- I think the second google result after Pete Wentz is pete wentz gay question mark-” )
“By the way, Patrick - both… Patricks…” Pete hesitates, “remember - or news - we’re meeting up with Andy and Joe tomorrow.”
Patrick, not sitting up, raises an eyebrow. “For… me reasons, or…?”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Future Patrick says, “not for you specifically, we’ve got practice. Though it works out for you reasons.”
Huh. very casually dropping that they four all still play shows together. “We’re still doing Fall Out Boy? All together?” Patrick asks.
Pete has his shit eating grin on his face. Ah, and that’s why Pete’s still here, Patrick realizes, for the rehearsal tomorrow, instead of going to wherever he lives. And maybe for time travel self support system. Perhaps a third reason, even.
—--
There’s a lull at a point in the night - they order out dinner (his future self informs him there are more options for delivery than pizza and Chinese, which is pretty cool), but while waiting for it Patrick finds himself… well, bored. He left his phone back in the tour bus, so no games, he can’t really watch TV - he’s been banned from channel surfing, he gets it, from news or whatever, but lame - and honestly, it’s been an eventful day. He needs some time to himself.
He wanders out to the backyard, which is mostly comprised of a fenced in area with a small area of grass and a sizable pool. Early May weather in Southern California is kinder to him than the proper summer in the more humid areas of the country, but it’s still warm as the last of the sunset fades away over the horizon. Patrick sits down, rolls his jeans up, and sits on the edge of the pool and dips his feet in.
Patrick honestly tries to spend this time like… like it’s just a really, really nice day off tour. Yeah, he and the guys spent some money on a nice hotel room, and he’s spending some time off at the pool while they clown around elsewhere. He leans back to lay down, feet still in the water. He’s gotta prepare for the show tomorrow, make sure he’s warmed up vocally and with his guitar, maybe think about some of the words Pete’s given him recently with some older ones. They just put out Cork Tree, but might as well start on number three. Or maybe first an extended version of number two, Snitches and Talkers wasn’t even released officially beyond Sugar’s B-side. Plus they’re sitting on that demo for Music or the Misery, that’s a good one. Maybe he’ll grab a guitar again to work on that one riff from earlier.
Patrick notices that nighttime has overtaken the sky. The light pollution clouds out anything in the sky besides the moon, Polaris, and what he thinks is probably either Venus or Mars. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything at all. But that doesn’t work, as soon as he blanks out, the next thought comes in if he likes it or not. The time travel - nope, not thinking about that - but now he’s thinking about not thinking about it, son of a bitch. He tries to think about the trumpet again.
Patrick hears the padding of bare feet across the outdoor tile, but doesn’t look to see who it is.
“Taking some chill time?” Pete asks.
Patrick hums in response. “Had a busy day.”
Pete chuckles. “I think that’s an understatement.”
Patrick opens his eyes and looks at Pete. He’s not standing directly over him, but he’s fairly close. From this angle, Patrick can see Pete’s bartskull tattoo peaking over his shorts and under his shirt.
“You’re different,” Patrick says, making eye contact, “than the Pete I know.”
Pete smiles, a little surprised. “I’d hope so. I’m 20 years older.”
Patrick turns back to look at the sky. There’s some clouds blocking the few denizens of the night sky. “Well, duh. But… I don’t know. I thought about it when you came in earlier. Something’s… off.” He corrects himself, “but, in a good way.”
“Well, if it helps, you’re the same.”
Patrick scoffs.
“I’m kidding. Mostly. Well - you’re still you, but with everything else since then piled on. And I am too, I think, but…” Pete pauses. “I’ll make a long story short; lots of mistakes, a lot of therapy sessions, some medication at times.” He smiles. “A husband that loves me despite everything else about me. And then I came out the other end better for the journey.”
“That’s kinda mean to yourself. I’m sure he likes you for you.” Patrick frowns.
Pete laughs. “Y’know, he says the same kind of thing to me.”
“Glad I could help.”
Pete takes a step over to him and nudges Patrick with his foot. “Anyways, I came out here to get you, food’s here,” he says, then walks back into the house.
Patrick takes what’s probably another minute on the cooling tile, focusing on his breathing and the sky above. He slaps the tile a few times before he finally pushes himself up, pulling his feet out of the water and standing up.
Then something hits him in the face. He stumbles a bit - mostly just at the surprise - and pulls what turns out to be a towel off him.
Pete chuckles at him from the threshold of the house. “Wipe your feet off before you come in,” he says before turning around and disappearing.
Asshole. Maybe Patrick was being too nice.
—---
The rest of their time before the end of the night is mostly uneventful. They do hang out and watch stuff on the huge fucking TV. Nothing new for any of them, no spoilers. (Pete did offer to rent some soon-to-come-out-in-2005 movie for him, but he didn’t really think of anything he wanted to watch early.)
“Alright, it’s getting late, I’ve got a guest room I can get set up for you.” the older Patrick yawns.
“Oh, uh, I’m fine, Pete can keep the guest room, the couch is nice anyways. I’ll let the old man have the bed,” Patrick teases.
Pete scoffs. “And I was just about to say that was nice of you!” He walks upstairs, leaving both Patricks in the living room.
Future Patrick takes off some of the cushions, to make the couch more suitable to sleep on. Patrick’s thankful for this - shit, it’s nicer than the tour bus he’s in. Which, don’t get it twisted, he’s thankful for that, it’s nicer than the van… honestly this couch might be nicer than his bed at home.
“...Listen, I'm sorry for getting short with you down in the studio earlier today.” Patrick didn’t expect that to be brought up again. He had accepted he and his older self almost had an argument and he’d have to just live with that.
“It's just that…I like how my life is right now. It’s going well. And I can see with the hindsight that I have that everything I’ve done has led me to this point.”
“Would you not… change some of the things that you did?” Patrick asks.
His future self pauses.
“I think that if you had asked me 10 years ago, shit, maybe even 5 years ago, that question might have had a different answer? Like I said though, hindsight helps.
“Are there small mistakes? Definitely. There’s things that right after the fact I would’ve gone “Oh, if I could go back in time an hour and not say this thing, or not wear this shirt, or this hat,” or whatever, but obviously most of that wasn’t of any long lasting consequence.”
Future Patrick shrugs. “Plus, it’s not like I've done something that led to someone dying or anything.”
“Oh jeez, that’s a relief.” Patrick exhales. He crosses his arms. “It’s just, I don’t know, we’ve done two albums, and we’re getting more popular, but I still keep thinking of this as a side project to what Pete and Andy had going on before, you know? Well, you do know.”
The older Patrick nods.
“And it’s not just a hypothetical situation to, again, a second time, see me from the future, who has all the answers! Sure, being in the future I’ve learned some things but you won’t tell me shit!”
His older self has the audacity to laugh. “Hm. You know what, I think I’ve got one piece of advice.”
He walks over to Patrick and flicks the brim of his hat up.
“Everyone in the audience would like to see you on occasion. And, sometimes, it’s nice to see them, too. Try it some time.”
Patrick has been holding the cap of the hat, prepared to push it back down. He keeps it up. For now.
“PATRICK!” Pete yells from the top of the stairs.
They both yell - “What?”
“Uh, old Patrick!”
“Rude, you’re older than me!” The older Patrick says, walking to the bottom of the staircase.
“We’re both old now! Catch!”
“Wha - don’t throw them -” future Patrick catches a bundle of blankets. “Whatever,” he says, muffled. He places the bundle on the end of the couch. “Alright, Here you go, bathroom’s over there, if you need me I’m upstairs, if you somehow get teleported back overnight then goodbye, otherwise good night,” he says, flicking the lights off as he walks up the stairs.
Then Patrick is alone.
He lays down - just strips down to his underwear, throws his hat aside, - too many thoughts swarming in his head to consider falling asleep. He’s reminded of the nights he and the guys would have camping out in someone’s living room, but there’s no sounds of the others breathing to distract him. (Or, if he drew the metaphorical short straw, Pete kicking him in the side.) It’s not like there’s any new thoughts to trouble him - the future, getting back, stuff that bothered him before the time travel - but now he has time to ruminate on it. He does for a while. He’s not sure how long it is before he finally starts to drift off.
—-
Patrick wakes up, slowly regaining some semblance of consciousness, but stays in bed longer. He’s trying to remember the dream he had last night - but he gets distracted by Pete talking to someone. The other person responds -
Patrick’s eyes fly open. Not in his tour bus - Right. Not a dream. He closes his eyes again and groans.
“Ah, sounds like he’s up,” Future Pete says.
He groans again.
“Saying he’s up might be generous,” his older self says.
“I think saying you’re completely up is also generous,” Pete responds.
His future self silently responds. (If it’s anything like how he does, it’s glaring at Pete, who responds with a wide grin. If he’s particularly pissed at Pete he’ll throw a halfhearted fist or two, but he doesn’t hear anything like that.)
Honestly, once he gets up, the morning’s mostly uneventful. They eat breakfast (“it’s vegetarian,” Pete says), he gets herded into taking a shower (“honestly,” his future self says, “you know you won’t get a half decent shower during Warped -”, he uses some nice shampoo that’s in the bathroom), he gets ready and follows Pete and his future self back into the garage. They get in the second car, which he guesses is his future car as his older self gets into the driver’s seat. Pete manages to beat him to the shotgun spot.
Patrick tugs on the passenger door, then flips Pete off. He climbs into the back. “You suck,” he says to Pete.
Pete sticks out his tongue and just laughs. Asshole. Patrick responds by punching the back of the seat repeatedly.
Future Patrick laughs and starts the car - no key, just a button, like Pete’s car - “Alright, c’mon, buckle up, and let’s get going. I’m trying to beat traffic, hopefully.”
Patrick settles into the middle seat as Pete says, “I think you might be too hopeful on that.”
“Staying positive,” he says, tapping at his phone before backing up. (His car also has a screen and back up camera similar to Pete’s, maybe it’s standard?) He put on a song he doesn’t recognize, but it’s something ska flavored.
Pete reaches for the screen but Future Patrick swats it away. “Ack, my car, my playlist. I think we out vote you for music anyways.”
“C’mon, I think the count’s for one vote between the two of you.”
Patrick glares at Pete. He sweats, and looks between them. “Sheesh, alright, I’m not trying to incur the wrath of two Patricks,” and holds his hands up.
For most of the drive, Patrick mostly leans back and watches the world go on past them. It’s like when he was at the coffee shop - a lot of it would be the same back in 2005, but a lot is different. Most of the cars look newer than 2005, even the beat up ones. Billboards - most of them are now ones that are electronic, huge screens that flip between different advertisements - for local lawyers, or movies with people he doesn’t recognize - wait, hold on, a new Karate Kid movie, Jackie Chan and Ralph Macchio, that’s cool - some multi million dollar lottery.
He wonders if his destiny really is predetermined. Like, is it inevitable that one day he’ll live here? In that house his future self has? With this car he’s currently in? Pose for pictures he’s already seen? Marry whoever his spouse is? What if he goes back in time and purposefully does none of this, or is there even a point in trying? It’s mostly rhetorical questions, infuriatingly, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking them.
Eventually he gets out of his own head and back into the car. His older self and Pete are having a conversation, but mostly about nothing important. It sounds mostly like logistics of their rehearsal, some business and producing stuff, and a little bit about sending him back later. (“My package is actually out for delivery, thank god,” Pete says.)
“Can I at least sit shotgun on the way back?” Patrick interjects into the conversation.
“Nope.” Pete says, popping the p.
“Ugh,” Patrick complains, leaning back, “sitting in the back with you two in the front is awful. The world’s worst taxi. Or - I’m in the car with my two lame ass gay dads.”
The two in the front exchange a quick look before bursting out into laughter. He was mostly bullshitting, but Patrick’s pissed that he’s missing out on a joke they’re sharing.
“Wait, wait, is that our cover story?” Pete says, between his attempts at holding back his laughs, “me and my - my husband Patrick, and our moody kid? Also named Patrick. It would explain the resemblance.”
“Ugh, I take it back, don’t say it like that. I’d rather still be your intern,” he tries to back pedal, to no avail. Talk about putting your foot in your mouth, ugh.
“Nope, no take-backs. My beautiful son with my very handsome husband.” Pete teases. He pretends to blow a kiss to the Patrick driving. “Love you.”
The older Patrick glances over to him and rolls his eyes in fake annoyance, smiling. “Love you too.”
“Ugh,” Patrick groans from the back seat.
“You play the moody kid role very well, Patrick.”
He flips Pete off.
—----
Eventually, despite the traffic working against them, the three of them make it to the practice studio. They are also, surprisingly, the first to arrive.
“Traffic,” Pete says. Sure.
Patrick makes himself useful and helps with setting up the practice space. At least this kind of thing is mostly the same. Well, different, newer stuff, but a cable’s a cable. An amp’s an amp, he gets it. Even without another 20 years of experience he could do this shit blindfolded.
Joe arrives not too long after them. Patrick thinks, so far, Joe probably looks the most the same. Obviously wrinkles on his face, but that’s true for all of them, gray in his hair. He’s also got a lot more tattoos, a couple on his neck, arms filled in with tattoos, extended down to his hands.
“Holy shit, two Patricks.” Joe’s face is one of surprise as he looks back and forth between the two of them. “I'll be damned, you weren’t just hallucinating. Or maybe there’s a city wide gas leak and some random kid snuck in here with you guys? I think that’s a more likely explanation for this early aughts you wannabe, Patrick.”
“Haha. Funny.” Patrick says dryly, for comedic effect. “I didn’t know they’d let Grandpa Trohman out of the nursing home for rehearsal?”
“Ooh, he’s funny,” Joe says to Future Patrick, “Forgot how spicy you were, Patrick. You’ve really mellowed out.”
Patrick throws up his hands. He can’t win with these guys.
Andy walks in last, and honestly, he’s the one who looks the most different to Patrick. At least on a surface level, but maybe he and Pete are tied for that. His hair is short now, all in shades of gray, and he’s taken out his facial piercing. He’s wearing shorts, so Patrick can see he’s also gotten more tattoos besides some more on his hands - oh, there’s also one that comes out from the neck of his shirt. Patrick wonders if he’s wearing contacts since he’s without his glasses.
“What’s with the mustache?” he asks.
“My wife likes my mustache.” Andy says, putting down a backpack. “What’s with the sideburns?”
“You know what’s up with the sideburns.”
“Yeah, kid can’t grow a beard yet, that’s why,” Joe teases.
“Fuck you Trohman, I can grow a beard,” Patrick says.
“If you insist.”
Pete pats down his pockets. “Damn, I think I left my phone in your car, Patrick.”
“Oh, weird. I’ll walk out with you,” Future Patrick says, grabbing his car keys. Wait, is it still a set of car keys if it isn’t actually a key? Patrick might have to ask about that. The two walk out of the practice room. Joe and Andy exchange a look, then look at Patrick.
Patrick’s kind of in a similar situation like it was at first with Pete. How do you start a conversation with your future bandmates? Besides being teased for his facial hair, apparently. He starts it easy. “So, what’s up with you guys?”
Andy, now sitting behind the drum set, hesitates. “… I don’t know what to say without giving away anything.”
“We could start talking about fake things and then real things and he won't know the difference.” Joe suggests.
“What, does one of you lie, the other one tells the truth?” Patrick asks.
“Maybe both of us are lying. Or telling the truth. You don’t know.”
Andy does a small drum fill. “Like that time you guys made me drum upside down.”
“That was Tommy Lee actually. And, like, Travis Barker a few times?” Joe refutes.
“I could do it, though,” he says, tightening a bolt on his snare with a drum key.
“I'll put it on the rider list - drummer… rotisserie… comma vegan, underlined.” Joe says, writing it down with an imaginary pen. “What about that time we got banned from Saturday Night Live?”
Patrick plays along. “How do you even get banned from SNL?”
“Shenanigans.” Andy states. “Like that time a wizard turned you into a raccoon.”
“At least I could still play guitar with my raccoon hands,” Joe says, playing a mini air guitar, despite having a real one. “Remember that time Patrick killed us all with his hook hand, but then we were fine later?”
“He didn’t kill me, just you and Pete. Someone else killed me.”
“Oh yeah, right. I was busy being dead. In hell. With Tommy Lee! What about those times when Pete, Patrick and I were shot out of cannons?”
“Cannon feels like an exaggeration.” Andy says.
“Not when you’re being shot out of the cannon.”
“What about when we tie balloons to Pete and float him above the stage?”
Joe nods. “He has fun with that.”
What the fuck. “What the fuck?”
Joe waves his hand in dismissal. “You know. Typical goings on for us.”
“I do, as a matter of fact, not know what you have going on. What are you even rehearing for? The fucking circus?” Patrick asks, as his future self and future Pete walk back in.
Joe finishes tuning his guitar and puts it down. “Festival we’re playing soon.”
“Is that Fall Out Boy now? You guys get together for a few festival shows and go on with your lives?” Patrick asks.
They all exchange looks to each other, mostly deferring to his future self. Patrick is fucking tired of this bullshit he’s not keen to.
“I mean, if that’s what you want to think,” Pete says, like an asshole.
“There’s no point in thinking or fucking guessing or asking anything! I thought before maybe it was just future me who was lame, but nope! It’s all of you!”
“Maybe we made a pact of silence.” Andy says.
“A time travel pact?” Joe asks.
Future Patrick nods. “It’s good to have a time travel plan. Especially since discovering it is a real thing that can happen.”
Andy pulls his phone from his pocket. “Sorry, I’m getting a call from Me-me… me wife. My wife, yep,” and walks off.
Joe, for some reason, repeats the last thing that Andy said in (what Patrick assumes is) a vaguely and poorly done eastern European-ish sounding accent.
“What the fuck is that?” Patrick asks.
“Oh shit,” Joe says, “when did that movie come out?”
“Uhh… 2006.” the older Patrick says, after tapping at his phone.
“Ah, well, sorry for forgetting what references are 20 years old and which ones are 19 years old. My bad.”
“Spoiler alert!” Pete says.
“I didnt even think about that! On a completely unrelated note, let’s discuss how The Sopranos ended in extreme detail.”
Patrick holds his hands to his ears. “I’m not listening to you-”
“It’s crazy that Tony-” Joe interrupts.
“LALALA,” Patrick says louder, “I CAN'T HEAR YOU-”
“-And the scene in the salami factory -”
“SHUT UP-” Patrick punches Joe a few times on his upper arm in succession - lightly though, he’s not trying to be a complete jackass, just be kind of an annoying prick.
Joe laughs as he pushes Patrick away, “ha, ow, my fragile old man bones-“
“Please stop,” future Patrick pleads.
Andy, who has walked back into conversation range at some point in this altercation, says, “Maybe it’s… don’t stop ?”
“Boo.” Pete gives him a thumbs down.
Patrick’s mostly just confused. “Is that even a spoiler?”
Andy shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Oh, if we’re in spoiler territory, maybe we can have that discussion on the Star Wars sequels.” Pete says, poking future Patrick.
“Do not start on that again.” Future Patrick says.
“Says the guy who defends the prequels,” Joe points out.
“They’re solidly the middle ranked trilogy. Revenge was pretty good.” Andy says.
“And The - Episode 7 was good!” Pete says.
“And then they dropped the ball, the next two sucked complete and utter ass! Never mind that,” Future Patrick sighs. “I think maybe for ease we just keep any references 20 years or older.”
“Nah,” Joe dismisses, “I’m gonna start quoting stuff the kids say nowadays that I don’t even get. The tick tocks and such. I’ve got the - the skibidi rizz. I’m totally eating. Or serving. So they tell me.”
Patrick doesn’t know how to respond to that. “What the fuck are you on about?”
Andy looks almost equally as confused. “I don't even think he knows what he’s on about.”
“That aside, sorry we couldn’t actually do the whole rehearsal.” the older Patrick says. “Well, we could, but we’d have to banish past me somewhere for a majority of the time.”
“We could do that, he leaves after we practice Cork Tree, come back for Saturday,” Joe says.
“Patrick has been voted off the island,” Andy says.
“Are they still doing Survivor?” Patrick asks.
Pete nods. “Yeah. It’s like, nearly 50 seasons. I played tennis with Jeff Probst semi-recently, actually.”
“Actually?”
“…Maybe,” Pete says, like he’s backtracking after realizing he shouldn’t say stuff about the future. What kind of wacky ass scenarios does Pete even find himself in? At least some things don’t change.
Joe shrugs. “It's fine if it’s a short practice. It’s mostly just routine, we’ve played the standard ones for these festival sets how many times now? We mostly just need to practice the extra stuff, put our ducks in a row. Plus, even if we weren’t already here I would come out here just to see a time traveling Patrick.”
Patrick rolls his eyes, “Well, old future me here also-”
“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Joe interrupts, “This is 2025, Patrick’s 41, he’s present normal age Patrick. You, on the other hand…”
“Oh, he’s baby Patrick!” Andy says.
Pete pretends to pinch Patrick’s cheeks. “Little baby Patrick!”
Patrick swats them all away from him. “Get, ack - get away from me, fucker - actually when I get back I'm quitting. Fall Out Boy is over. This timeline never exists. Fuck you guys.”
Pete moves the conversation on while Patrick cools off. “So what’s the…,” he motions his hands together, like he’s shaking something he’s holding, “extra surprise song for the set this time?”
Future Patrick mindlessly scratches his beard. “Hm. Maybe something from Cork Tree? For obvious reasons.”
“We could do something from Take This to Your Grave?” Pete suggests.
Andy says, “I'm putting my vote in for Honorable Mention.” Patrick assumes it’s as a joke.
Joe chimes in. “Let’s eliminate the usual setlist suspects… we could do…wait, we should practice the one we didn’t play during the Cork Tree section last time. What’s that one, it’s got the really long title?”
Pete looks at him. “You do realize how little that narrows it down?”
“And whose fault is that?,” Joe retorts, “It’s the one you and Patrick switch off on-“
Andy starts off a drum beat, mostly a snare roll, an eighth, two sixteenths, 3 times, then four sixteenths, kicking the bass drum on the 1,2,3,4 - ba, baba-ba, baba-ba, baba babababa -
“Get Busy Living?” Patrick realizes, or get busy dying, parenthesis whatever the rest of the title is?
Joe snaps and points at Patrick. “That’s the one.”
Patrick’s taken aback a little. They haven’t played that one before. Yet? It’s kind off a deep cut off the album to play at some festival, if he’s remembering the album track listing right it’s like second to last, and the idea of going back and forth with Pete live like that?
Future Patrick gives a thumbs up. “Yeah, we’ll have to get the lyrics up for that part. We still should figure out the eight - uh, extra song, though.”
Maybe they’ve gone crazy in their 40s. Whatever.
Patrick’s an audience of one to their rehearsal, sitting on a couch facing them. They don’t even practice most of the songs the whole way, since they each quickly get into the rhythm of their position. He notices that, even during rehearsal, Pete and Joe move much less than he knows them to. Pete does wander over a bit towards center stage and Patrick and Andy. Joe’s pretty cemented in his spot. In comparison, he can see his future self wanders a bit more, dancing a bit more than he does. (He also doesn’t sing a lot during the rehearsal - if it’s because of him or another reason - but the little he does he’s improved leagues beyond him.)
Compared to these guys’ well oiled machine, Patrick feels like a mess. They piss him off. Most of all, he realizes, Future Patrick pisses Patrick off. Like, when he saw his future self back in 2005, he was obviously different from him, 20 years older, maybe a bit more confident, but when he’s in the zone? Playing music? With his band, his friends, in his time? Patrick looks at him and sees glimpses all the things he’s still insecure about, his singing, his presence, his body, and he’s just - confident! And he doesn’t give a shit!
Eventually, it seems like the future band has trailed off into what they determine to have been a sufficient practice. Future Patrick, Andy, and Pete start off onto a conversation of their own while Joe puts his guitar down and walks over to Patrick.
“I can feel you seething from over there.”
“I’m fine.”
Joe sits down on the other side of the couch. “Listen, Patrick, I’m gonna be straightforward with you. I can tell you’ve got something you’re thinking about. It’s written all over you. All but displayed in neon lights. But if you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
Patrick narrows his eyes. “... Getting very to the point.”
“I’m old and decrepit now, Patrick. I don’t have time to beat around the bush like that.”
“Sheesh, maybe you really are 40.”
“What can I say, my emotional wisdom has had exponential growth. Though maybe that’s thanks to my wife and daughters, so I can’t take all the credit.”
“You have kids? And a woman who tolerates you?” Patrick teases.
Joe glares at him, but he’s smiling.
“Can you tell me about my future wife?,” Patrick says, totally not trying to divert the conversation from his feelings.
Joe blinks. “Your whuh?”
“Well, I know I'm married at this point, but he hasn't brought up anybody. Maybe you’ll tell me….?”
“Nope! We’re not talking about him, we’re talking about you. Well - whatever, I’m not getting into the semantics of what you versus him means. That aside, I might not be the resident Patrick expert or whatever,” Patrick rolls his eyes, “but I’ve known him,” Joe says, motioning over to Future Patrick, “longer than you,” pointing at Patrick, “have been alive.” Joe’s face scrunches up for a second. “Eugh, I'm old enough to be your dad.”
The guys can say abstracts of “I am forty five years old,” or “oh From Under the Cork Tree came out 20 years ago”, and he’s seen all this future shit, you can say its the year two thousand and twenty five, but that really brings the whole perspective of how damn far Patrick really is in the future.
“Oh my god. You really are old.”
Joe barks out a laugh.
Patrick looks over to Andy, Pete, and his future self, who are in the middle of a conversation. They go between Andy’s drums and Pete’s bass, but Patrick can’t hear the particulars. He looks back at Joe.
He exhales. “It’s stupid. Like, I know it’s stupid, but….”
Joe half shrugs a shoulder and holds a hand out. “You can have stupid feelings, doesn't make them less real.”
“Hm.” Patrick hums. “Well, it is stupid. Whatever. Future me pisses me off.”
Patrick’s not sure what Joe expected, but by the look on his face it wasn’t exactly that. “... In what way?”
“I mean, look at him and look at me. You know what I’m like - he just, ugh, already has it figured out. I would rather not be me. What if I never…it’s dumb, I don’t know. Never figure it out?” He folds his arms. “Stupid timeline bullshit aside.”
Joe considers this before speaking. “I think the issue is… you’re missing the time in between. 20 years is a long time. You’re missing the entirety of the 2010s! You missed Vine!”
“I missed what?”
“Exactly! That’s my point! Patrick got from being you to him, but it took 20 years! And that doesn’t just happen overnight; it takes work. For me, for him, and for you. They didn’t build Rome in a day.”
Joe shrugs. “I know I said I’ve known you this long, but you’re the only one who knows what goes on in your head. You might just need to take it a day at a time. Figure yourself out. Don’t get too caught up with being 41 when you need to worry about being 21 first.”
Patrick groans and sinks further into the couch. Ugh, it’s actually half decent advice. Motherfucker.
He sees Pete elbows the older Patrick with the news his package was delivered, so they’re ready to send Patrick back, and that basically signals the end of practice for the day. They get cables wrapped up, instruments back in cases. Joe and Andy give their temporary goodbyes to the other two - they decided they’re probably going to practice for real again tomorrow.
Patrick gets a crushing hug from Andy. “Ack-” Patrick attempts to say.
“Oops, sorry,” Andy says. “It was nice seeing you.” He furrows his brows. “...Again. Kind of.”
Patrick gets a normal, but nice, hug from Joe. He gets an extra pat on the shoulder and a thumbs up from him. “Nice seeing you. Good luck with everything.”
They walk out together, and turn around once to wave goodbye. Patrick waves back. It’s weird, Patrick thinks, the dynamic of time travel. At least to the future. They’ll never see this version of him again (barring any further incidents disrupting the space time continuum), but Patrick will see them in 20 years. He wonders how his future self felt about that, seeing younger versions of his bandmates again. Hm.
----–
The drive back to his future house mostly goes without much to note. The same billboards, the traffic, the fact he still had to sit in the back. Well, besides one thing.
They’re, Patrick guesses, he wasn’t paying much attention, most of the way back. The two in the front are talking about lunch.
“We could just get something while we’re out,” Pete suggests.
“Hm, maybe? It’s a little late and I’ve got stuff for dinner in the fridge…” future Patrick says, “but we’re hopefully sending past me back before that, so…”
Patrick leans forward over the middle console to join the conversation. “I can just get Taco Bell or something. As long as it still exists.”
“It does still exist.” Pete assures him.
And it does, Patrick discovers, and they pull into the drive through. The design of the whole place has been updated to what he assumes is the mid 2020s style. The menu is futuristic, on screens instead of a marquee. There’s even moving advertisements for whatever weird new thing they’re doing (what the fuck is Taco Bell doing having fries? Talk about thinking beside the bun, jeez.), and the order as his future self is saying it is updating on the screen. Kinda convenient. The cashier tells his future self the total -
“WHAT THE FUCK??” He exclaims from the back seat as they pull around.
“What, what, are you okay?” Pete turns around, slightly frantic.
“Why the actual fuck is a single soft taco from Taco Bell TWO WHOLE DOLLARS?? And - the Mexican pizza is SIX?? You’re still using the same American fucking currency in the future, right??? That should be like two fifty!!”
They reach the window and his future self pays similarly to how Pete did yesterday, motioning his watch to the credit card reader. “Well, inflation rates, you know? It …happens.”
Pete sighs. “The - the economy’s in shambles.”
Patrick gets his two tacos and a pop, but at what cost? Discovering the financial straits of the future are dire? Was it really worth it? (The cost was just about 8 dollars, according to the receipt.)
—--
When they get back, they get to getting Patrick back fairly quickly. Pete grabs the package he got delivered before he runs upstairs to get everything he needs to send Patrick back.
While they’re waiting for Pete, he’s back to where he started in the future, in the kitchen with his future self.
“You know,” future Patrick says, “you asked a lot less questions about the future this time, compared to when I was the one time traveling.”
Patrick shrugs. “I think Pete, Joe, and Andy asked most of the questions last time. I had other questions answered.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“I don’t know, I think it’s reassuring that all of us are still doing stuff together. That we’re fairly successful in whatever we’re doing.”
“..Hm.” Future Patrick looks like he’s thinking about saying something, but doesn't.
“...What?”
“... I know I said I like how my life is now, but like…don’t…” he pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. “Don’t feel like if you make different choices they’re the wrong ones. This version of my life isn’t necessarily the only right one. So please don’t go back and only make choices to get to what you think gets you to this. As long as we end up happy, you know?”
Patrick tries to keep his face neutral, but man, that’s heavy. That’s a lot to consider. He just nods.
Pete comes back downstairs, bag of whatever-the-fuck and laptop in hand. Before getting to work, he gets an embrace from Pete.
“Ah, it was nice seeing you baby Patrick,” he says patting his back.
Patrick glares at him but just ends up rolling his eyes. “You too, old-ass Pete.”
Pete gets to work, going between the laptop and the medley of items he has. Patrick stands generally about where he was in relation to Pete the first time, a few steps back. They also make sure to do it in the kitchen, in case that’s important. No telling if it was or wasn’t the last time, no point in testing that variable out now. To Patrick, what Pete’s doing looks pretty similar to what Pete was doing back in the tour bus.
Pete lights a candle, then they sit for about 30 seconds.
“So, uh,” Pete breaks the silence, “how do we know when it works? Or if it worked.”
Future Patrick leans against the kitchen island. “Well, when it happened to me, I got a headache and I was basically blinded by a flash of light.”
Patrick, to be honest, can’t entirely recall his symptoms.
“Like that meme of the baby getting turned to ash…” Pete says, nonsensically.
“What?” Future Patrick asks.
"Maybe it’s more like that one of the guy at some awards show getting flashed by a bright ass light?”
Future Patrick’s mouth thins. “I don’t know either of those.”
“I swear I would’ve shown you these in some context at some point.” Pete waves his hand. “Later, I guess.”
“Top of your to do list?” Future Patrick teases.
“Top three, maybe.”
Patrick winces. He’s not sure if the headache is from probable imminent time travel, or whatever their banter is about. Or if the nausea he’s feeling is that or the Taco Bell from earlier. The headache forces him to close his eyes tightly, but the nausea gives him the spins. He feels like he’s falling backwards, and - oh, there’s the flash of light.
—---
“-rick, Patrick!”
Patrick has his eyes squeezed shut. Ugh, he still has the spins. Laying on his back does not help it at all.
“Patrick, c’mon,” a different voice says. He’s being shaken. He groans. Did he drink too much, or…
“Well, at least he’s alive?”
“Cool, but did I send him to the future or did I just make him drunk or something?”
OH, YEAH, SHIT.
Patrick’s eyes fly open, and he flails a bit as he sits up.
His eyes meet Pete’s first, who jumps a bit at Patrick’s sudden movement. It’s his Pete - well, his correct time period’s Pete. Black hair dyed, eyeliner wearing, mid 20s Pete. The Pete who’s been messing with time travel.
Andy scoots into his vision on his right. “Are you okay?,” he asks.
Patrick rubs his neck. “Uh… yeah. I think so.”
Joe comes in from the left. “So, did you get time traveled?”
Patrick blinks. He kind of remembers being in the future. It’s fuzzy. If the guys weren’t asking him about it, or if he didn’t clearly remember seeing his future self here before, he would’ve chalked the last day and a half up to a bizarre dream.
He relays. “Yeah? It’s kinda hard to remember.” The more that he’s up, though, the more he’s remembering, but honestly he wants a layer of plausible deniability. There was a lot going on, things he was told, he discovered… Hm.
Patrick pushes his hat up and continues. “Pete was there too, uh… oh, you guys were there too -”
Joe interrupts with his best Judy Garland impression (which isn’t very good) “- and you were there, and you were there! And you clicked your little red sneakers together threeee times to get back home!”
Patrick glares at him. “And you were there, and despite the trajectory of your life predicting otherwise, you were less of a jackass.”
Joe fake gasps. “What! No way, I’m an asshole for life.” He beats his chest once.
“Damn, what else do you remember?” Pete asks.
“Like I said, it’s fuzzy! It’s, I don’t know, like everything that happened is on the tip of my tongue.”
“I wonder if it’s because it’s the future? It hasn’t happened yet?” Andy questions.
Patrick shrugs. “Maybe? That’s annoying.”
“Sooo, did you see future you again or did we kill him?” Pete asks.
“Uh, he’s fine.” Patrick tries to think about specific events. “It was the same me that was here, so it was 2025. I think future Joe threatened to spoil the Sopranos for me. There might’ve been something about Star Wars sequels.”
“Damn, are you sure I’m not an asshole anymore?”
“Star Wars sequels ?” Andy asks.
“I remember mixed reviews.” (“Damn…” Andy says to himself.)
Pete pokes Patrick in his sides. "If was really 2025, how are we certain they didn't just send back a robot clone of Patrick? That's just a few years from the Terminator times."
Patrick smacks Pete's hand away. "Dickwad. There weren't any robots in the future. Just, like, uh." He thinks about what he saw. "Computers in electric cars. I had a coffee with oat milk in it."
"Oat milk? Like, from oats grains oat? " Andy asks.
"Right! It was good as hell! Can we get that now or is that a future thing?" Patrick says.
Pete groans. “Damn, you’re the worst person we could’ve sent to the future! Did you even steal anything?!”
Patrick sits up and pats down his pockets, but he didn't…
“The fuck?” Patrick pulls a folded up piece of paper from his back pocket. He unfolds it and reads it.
Written in a familiar scribbly handwriting, the letter reads:
Dear Past Self,
schedule an email to send to your email address (yes, I will have access to the same one) with whatever the hell you did to send your Patrick here on XX/XX/2025, at 2pm. If this works you will get this letter with Patrick. if it doesn’t then i figured something else out and you’re welcome.
stop messing with time travel. we’re doing fine. you’ll know what happens when you make it here.
you will be okay.
- PW
Patrick reads it twice over, Andy and Joe reading it over his shoulder, before he hands it over to Pete. He figures it belongs to him. He can see Pete’s eyes studying the page. His facial expression is less easy to read. It falls as he sighs, and folds up the paper and puts it in his back pocket.
“Guess my future self gave me homework.” Pete rolls his eyes. “At least we didn’t kill future you.”
Patrick nods. “Yeah, that would’ve sucked.”
—--
In the original timeline current day, or the alternate future one 20 years in the future, depending on where you’re coming from
05/XX/2025
Our publication recently interviewed Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy, on their band’s future, their past, and 20 years of From Under The Cork Tree.
Interviewer: Thanks again for taking the time to talk with us!
Stump: Thanks for having us.
Interviewer : So, let’s get right into it, 20 years since your sophomore album From Under The Cork Tree came out!
Wentz: Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.
Interviewer: There was a nice Instagram post from y’all about the anniversary, can I ask about that? I believe I was told that you wrote it, Patrick.
Stump : I did. I was surprised that Take This To Your Grave blew up like it did - as a debut album like that - and then Cork Tree ended up being multitudes more successful - though it did take me a while to really take that in. I kept thinking about it, and us as Fall Out Boy, as a side project to what I thought were more serious hardcore bands that Pete and Andy were previously in.
Interviewer: You mention “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” on MTV’s TRL specifically. You guys also were on the Vans Warped Tour around that time as well, did that have any impact on your success?
Wentz: Oh, for sure. I was just talking about that time recently. They kept trying to put us on early sets but eventually had to put us on later, the crowds were so crazy.
Interviewer: If you could go back in time to that time and tell yourselves anything, what would you say?
Stump and Wentz look at each other and laugh.
Interviewer: Sorry, is that a funny question?
Wentz: No, no, sorry, it’s just…
Stump: We had a conversation about this recently.
Wentz: My answer was to invest in Bitcoin. Make sure to buy enough hand sanitizer in 2019. Cut the eyeliner budget by half and it’ll still be enough. And marry Patrick quicker.
Stump: Hahaha.
Stump: I don’t think I had as clear an answer. Theoreticals are easy, but I end up thinking too much about the after effects of - well, I guess the butterfly effect.
Interviewer: I think that’s a valid concern.
Stump: Haha. I think it might be my ADHD thought process. Though, I might say maybe push my hats up a bit more - there’s so many pictures from that time where you can’t see my face. I think I felt like the audience was going to get me or something.
Interviewer: And what’s next for you guys and Fall Out Boy?
Wentz : We have some anniversary stuff coming up for Cork Tree .
Stump: And a few festivals we’re headlining this year. Boston, Minnesota, Brazil for a couple days, and Maryland? I think I’ve got them all.
Interviewer: And beyond that?
Wentz smiles and looks at Stump.
Wentz: Well, that’s a surprise for the future.