18th Floor Balcony (Frerard)

Chapter One: The Past Isn't Through With You

"Promise me, son. Promise me that you will never give up. Promise me that you will never stop caring about the things, the people that matter in your life," Mr. Anthony Iero spoke to Frank, lying weakly in his hospital bed with his one and only son at his bedside, holding his hand.

"But Pop...I-I...," Frank's voice trailed off, left weak and nearly speechless at the sight of his dying father, who's succumbed to stage four lung cancer, and is now left only inches away from death. Frank couldn't believe this was really happening to him. He had tried to hold back his tears, but to no avail. His father was gonna really die, and there was no stopping it. He was really fading away right in front of his eyes.

"No buts, and no regrets," Anthony rebutted. "Although I wished my life was longer, I do not regret how I lived it, least of all do I regret that I had a wonderful son like you. It was hard raising you by myself without your mother, but you were a good kid and kept your nose pretty clean, and now look at you. You're a CNA...a certified nursing assistant!"

"Yeah," Frank scoffed in discontent, shuddering at the thought of being a CNA at his dreadful job at an understaffed nursing home full of overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated CNAs, as well as rude and ungrateful residents. "One that hates his job. You know the kind of hell I go through on a daily basis at Alpine Terrace,"

"That is something you are going to have to come to terms with, son. You know that--"

Anthony falls into yet another violent coughing fit, his lungs weak and inches away from giving in for good. Frank comes closer to his side, comforting him and doing what he can to bring him down, but he couldn't help but notice the blood tinging the cloth that he holds over his father's mouth. He also cannot ignore how frail Anthony is, as well as his excessive hair loss and sunken eyes. He looks much older than his fifty years, clearly.

"I'm alright," Anthony said, despite looking far from it. "I just want to know when I leave this world that you will be alright, and that you will do what you need to in order to find your happiness,"

"Oh, Pop...," Frank sighed deeply, unsure how in the hell he'll ever achieve that. He's so close to losing the one man that's raised him and loved him for eighteen years. What in the world could possibly bring him happiness when it was his father that's brought so much of it into his life?

"I need to sleep now," Anthony said, his ill eyes growing tired. He kissed Frank's forehead, just like he always used to do to his baby son. His lips felt like they were made of tissue paper. They were so dry and fragile...

"I love you, Pop," Frank whispered.

"I love you too, Frankie...,"

"Frankie? Frankie?" A familiar woman called out, snapping nineteen year old Frank Iero back into reality. It was a concerned little old lady named Rosalie, Frank's grandmother. "You alright?"

"What? Oh, sorry grandma. Didn't hear you," Frank responded, still unable to shake the image of his late father from his daydreaming head.

"Lost in your head again, just like your father!" Rosalie sang playfully, making Frank chuckle a bit.

"Yeah, I was thinking about him, and the last time I had a full conversation with him before...he...," Frank stopped, unable to get that dreaded four lettered word out of his mouth. He still couldn't believe his dad was gone. It was all like it happened yesterday, even though in reality, Frank knew his father's death was more than a year ago.

"I know, bambino," Rosalie sighed, placing a comforting hand on her grandson's shoulder. "You know he is in a better place and no longer in pain, though,"