Chapter Text
Whatever happened that fateful night, whether it was for a reason or a pure coincidence — if you even believe the existence of such things, that is — happened. That fact will never change, no matter how much Frank Iero himself denies it; no matter how many times the news reporters come to his doorstep and beg for answers and more intel. Will it ever end? It was a question he often found himself dwelling on.
Every inch of his apartment was forever doused in the memory of his strange friend. Not to mention the god awful library cologne that still faintly lingered on some of his shirts. He never used those ones anymore, he didn’t want to risk losing that scent, even if it was fading away regardless. He found himself taking a whiff of it ever so often, and doing some other things with it, in which he’d absolutely never confess to.
Some nights he couldn’t even remember if any of it was real, or if he himself was real. The reporters provided some kind of solace to his brain in a way, with their constant speculation and investigating. It meant that it WAS real. It meant that what he experienced on that strangely fateful night on the 12th of August, 2004, really did happen.
.
[11th August, 2004]
“Are you fucking joking?” Frank mutters under his breath, groaning as he roughly shuts the cabinet door. A packet of crappy two minute noodles situated in his right hand. It was all he really had in his apartment right now in terms of food.
With an underlying sense of passive aggressiveness, he tore open the packet and put the stuck-together noodles in a bowl. The little packet of beef powder was set aside, as he put the jug under the sink’s tap and turned it on. Nothing. Not even a flick of water dripped out. This is what he got for living in a cheap, dirty apartment with water that didn’t work half the time.
In a moment of frustration, he just dropped the jug in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, not even bothering to pack the noodles away. He couldn’t have one good day where everything would go okay. Something always had to kick him down repeatedly until he was left in a puddle of crimson regret once again. If God really was out there, then he sure as hell hated Frank.
He grabbed his jacket from the floor, shaking off any dust or maggots, which he had been getting increasingly this past month. The jacket itself was worn out and had holes and rips in it, left right and centre. He didn’t seem to care, if it kept him warm, then what was the problem? He slipped the rugged fabric on and headed out the door, locking it behind him and shoving his keys into his pocket.
Walking down those same stairs as always, he found himself listening to the commotion coming from some of the other tenants’ rooms. The crying of a woman’s baby and her trying to calm the thing down; the obnoxious new tenant who was playing music too loudly; the two guys who were ‘just friends’ laughing together drunkenly. Frank was sure the two of them were butt buddies.
All the noises brought him to this realisation that he was alive. He was a walking, talking human being who was going to die someday. He couldn’t help but wish this was just some kind of show he was watching, and not his real life. Then again, if this was a show, who would even watch it besides himself? A show about a helpless wreck of a human who, no matter how hard he tries, always hurts everyone? People didn’t need a recasted live-action of Bojack Horseman.
Once Frank found himself on the ground floor of the apartment, he caught the eyes of one of the only tolerable people here. His only friend, somewhat.
“Hey Ray,” Frank greets, shoving his hands into his pockets as the man quickly went over to him.
“Sup. Where’re you heading? It’s late out,” Ray remarked, curiosity and maybe a hint of worry lacing his tone.
The guy had every right to be worried, Frank thought. Ray had been the one he called right before attempting to take the easy way out of this lifetime. He saved his life, and helped him pay the hospital bills afterwards.
“Just trying to get some fresh air,” Frank said, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly. The silence that hung over them for a few seconds told him he needed to ease the man’s worries. “I’m not gonna throw myself off a bridge.”
Ray held up his pinky finger, and Frank let out a load groan in his mind. He’d never verbally groan at the poor soul. So, he conceded and intertwined his pinky with Ray’s, silently promising the guy of his statement.
Ray patted his shoulder after taking his hand away. “Stay safe,” he said before heading upstairs to his own room to call it a night.
Frank exited the apartment complex and let himself enjoy the fresh smelling air. The apartment was always stuffy, with the aircon rarely working. Not like he used it anyway, he couldn’t afford to get his electricity bill up. He could barely even afford to live there.
He started walking, not even really caring where he was heading. As long as it was far away from that dreaded apartment complex, then it’d be good for him. He couldn’t stand living there, it was a constant reminder of how poorly he lived. He knew Mikey would’ve had something uplifting to say about his situation. Probably something cheesy like, “if this is your rock bottom, then it looks like the only way you can go from here is up!”
But Mikey wasn’t here anymore. He couldn’t give him advice or help him out with his financial and mental situations anymore. He was on his own in this confusing world of negativity, where every time he hit rock bottom, he seemed to only go deeper and hit a new, lower rock bottom.
“Thanks for the false hope,” Frank muttered with a scoff, looking around at his new surroundings. How far had he walked? How long had he been walking for?
Who cares?
There was this grassy field in front of him, one that clearly hadn’t been taken care of and looked more dead than Mikey Way himself, but I digress. There were a few lively flowers with a few bees gently flying around. He could barely see the things in the dark. How late was it? He checked his phone quickly since it was only on about 15% by this point.
12:06. Great. Good morning August 12th.
Frank stood in confusion for a few seconds, unable to tell if the night was getting lighter, or if he was tweaking. Looking upwards, his eyebrows furrow at the sight of what looked like a huge, moving star.
“The fuck?” He whispered to himself, watching as it flew around without direction, as if it was out of control. It was so near, it was like he could reach out and touch the thing.
A louder curse slipped from his mouth as the damn light source crashed into the field up ahead with a loud BOOM! Frank instinctively braced himself and couched down for a few moments. Once the realisation set in that some kind of flying saucer had crashed with living people in it, he stood back up.
Despite everything the horror movies had taught him, he ran towards the smoke-emitting site. “Hello? Is anyone there? Are you okay?” Frank called out, reaching the clearing where the flying transportation lay. The grass and flowers around it were destroyed.
“Hello? Anybody?” Frank called again, getting up close to it and checking around. The fuck was this thing? He’d never seen anything like it before. In the midst of his searching, he heard a faint, weak cough.
He scrambled to find the front window of the strange thing, surprised to find that it hadn’t shattered in the crash. Surely that must’ve been impossible, right? Even the outside of the aircraft wasn’t too scratched up or damaged.
He wiped away some of the accumulated dust from the window and put his face right up against the glass, peering in. There, right in the cockpit with an airbag trapping them between the seat and control panel, sat a man. The guy looked humanoid, with orangey red hair and a blue suit.
The man inside was stirring awake and coughing weakly. Despite bleeding a little bit from some places, and probably having a concussion, he looked relatively… alright. How could someone look so alive after having their craft go head-first into dirt? The man’s eyelids fluttered slightly open, turning his head over to Frank, his eyes a beautiful hazel that seemed to say, “hi.” Frank’s eyes, on the other hand, said, “what the fuck are you?”