Chapter Text
When Frank was 12 and Ray Toro was freshly his cool older best friend, he had been introduced to Dawn of the Dead. The movie was gorey and gross and beautiful and everything Frank could ever want and he was utterly obsessed as of five minutes in. As he watched four practical strangers find a new life in Monroeville Mall, he felt almost as if he was seeing something religious. Something important.
As Peter uttered “when there’s no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the earth” Frank felt like had been electrocuted, like the words had gone straight through him. After the movie ended and his mom had called the Toro residence reminding Frank of his curfew, he had begun the bike ride home. The night was dark and late summer damp.
He fell asleep with one thought ricocheting around his brain.
What would happen if there's no more room in Heaven?
The first time Frank Iero saw the stranger with the pool of dark hair was when he was 14. He had taken his moms car with the hopes of getting to a show across town and made it halfway there before he was white knuckling the wheel, praying to a God he thought he had abandoned.
“If you’re there. Please. This was so stupid of me. I'm sorry just let me get there, let me live.”
It was at that moment that something would happen to change the course of Frank’s life forever. Though he did not realize it at the time, though he didn’t even think twice about anything that has yet to happen, he would eventually come to realize the importance of this particular series of events, of this particular car ride.
A black haired stranger stepped into the road.
Frank slammed the car's brakes, launching himself forward, seatbelt straining against his chest. He breathed heavily, gathering his bearings before looking up again. The stranger was gone, however, two cars were slammed together at the intersection he was about to cross. He signaled to make a u-turn, sliding the car into the furthest left lane going straight home.
The next day, he called Ray.
“Oh yeah, my mom was talking about that,” his friend commented. Frank heard the distinctive crunch of Count Chocula through the receiver, “Apparently someone died.”
Ray’s mom had a constant flow of news both from the six inch screen she had set up in her kitchen and also her vast network of Jersey housewives. If Ray’s mom had said something, it was as good as fact.
“Huh,” Frank had said.
“Yeah. Anyways, are you free Saturday? My mom bought me my own copy of ‘Interview with the Vampire’ since it keeps getting rented out.”
The next time was two years later.
He was a young, angry, punkass kid who had somehow gotten himself into a shitty venue with a bar even though he didn't look his age, let alone 21. The venue was hazy with cigarette smoke and full of hot, sweaty bodies, pressed together, all lurching in unison to the music blaring through the speakers. There had been a man clearly old enough to be there who had been buying him a steady stream of beer, and Frank had become giggly after the second. He didn’t notice the man sliding his foot up and down his own shin, or the way that he leaned in closer everytime Frank attempted to share a thought without laughing. He turned towards the bar, only to become quickly engulfed in the sudden appearance of a man in front of him, taller than he was but not tall, dark hair like an oil spill curled around his ears and inwards towards his face. Frank’s first thought was that he must have snuck his way in too, if the baby fat clinging to his jaw still was any indicator. He opened his mouth to ask some iteration of ‘Don’t I know you?’ but before the words could leave his lips, the man was reaching out and promptly spilling Frank’s beer all down his lap.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, darting up. “Hey man what’s your-” he looked to behind the bar, finding it empty, “-damage.”
“Hey!” He heard someone yell. The band’s music immediately cut. “Get that guy out of here. I said I didn’t want to see his face again.” As Frank looked up, he realized it was the singer interrupting her own set. A burly guy in all black came over and all but dragged the frail man Frank had been talking with out of the venue.
He heard the murmur of “Guy’s a creep anyways” as he turned back to the bar.
“Huh,” Frank had said, once again.
He was now 20 and pretty fucking down on his luck.
His apartment was gross and he didn't like his school. Rutgers was stuffy and had kicked him out after two years of on campus housing, forcing him to move in with two other guys he didn't know besides their legal names for their lease and arguably shittier nicknames for regular use. He had a band that was going nowhere and he was on his way towards a boring job with as decent a pay as a psychology degree and a hatred of personal interaction could get him.
He still dreamed of black hair and cold eyes sometimes, as he drifted off into restless sleep.
The apartment door needed to be jiggled to lock properly and Frank sighed in relief when he heard the eventual click. The walk to the bus stop was relatively short and he covered the ground quickly, headphones firmly over his ears. The screeching of tires startled him out of his trance.
He looked up and saw a pileup. Abnormally large for a narrow city street and just tragic in destruction. He turned as he watched a girl pull what could be her father from the wreckage. He turned his music louder as he heard yelling. He turned and walked home trying to ignore the lump in his throat and decided he could skip one day of classes.
Two weeks passed in a flurry of classes and a band breakup he knew was coming.
And then his dad died.
Frank hadn’t seen his own father for more than 24 hour visits since he was probably 13, yet his mother still called him, weepy and snot nosed.
“I'm sorry, Frankie. I didn’t want some coroner to be the one to tell you.” He curled the phone line in his fingers as she spoke.
“No, Ma. This is good. I uh- I appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to find out that way.” The lump in his throat was more like a boulder. “I'll see you at the service. Uh huh. Love you.”
Frank stared out into an apartment he hated. He thought about God and Dawn of the Dead and his dad, pale as in the movie.
“Fuck.” He said to the empty room.
Two days later he was in funeral blacks.
The cathedral was large, not the one he had been dragged to as a kid but one seemingly specifically for events of this grandeur. Frank’s dad was, against his knowledge, a popular man. The funeral itself was relatively quick, most of the attendants seemingly work friends and eager to get back to their jobs or at least their non-severely depressing lives. Frank’s smile thinned at every apology he received. He thought about when he was 10 and his mom had brought him to mass, the priest warning against damnation, demanding the congregation be as close to Jesus’s level of holy as they could. He thought about death. When there's no more room in hell…
As the mourners had left, he found himself at the front pew, bent to his knees. He prayed for the first time since he was 14 and thought he was about to die.
God, if you're there. I want you to stay the fuck away from me for a while. Aren’t there supposed to be guardian angels or shit? Seriously man. I’m already trying my best here. If this is a sign to start believing, trust that I am taking it.
Frank started going to church after that.
Accidents were seemingly on the rise in every field. His mother broke her ankle tripping over a cracked sidewalk and he thought he was going to burst a blood vessel as she told him.
“I don't even know how it happened, Frankie. It seemed so silly. Shouldn’t I have just stepped over it?” Frank thought about angels and he thought about God and he thought about his dead dad.
He prayed, in that same pew every single time. He would lurk after mass or come in when it was empty, Tuesday afternoons and Thursday mornings. He would sink down and he would shut his eyes and he would beg.
God, I really am not sure what you could want from me. I’m trying. I’m doing all that I can.
When he opened his eyes it was to the sight of a long black coat and buckled boots. He raised his gaze. Black hair. Stone eyes.
“I need your help.” The stranger said.
Frank blacked out after that.