#the way I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub is cutting off my circulation

[bread-of-death]

Man these dudes really do just find their one position and chill like that

[fontainebleau22]

Box of Frogs (Part 4)

From @tramstrams‘ not-at-all-serious prompt, ‘an AU with magic, but something has gone terribly awry and people are being turned into frogs. Only Sam Chisolm can stop this madness’. 

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here.

———

‘New hobby?’ asked Teddy, peering into the habitat on the bookshelf with sunny interest.

‘Not as such,’ said Goodnight gloomily.

Teddy watched as the frog scratched at his head with a hind foot. ‘Cute little thing.’

‘That’s Faraday.’

As though he heard his name, FrogJosh croaked loud and clear, and Teddy jumped back, turning to Goodnight suspiciously. ‘You having me on?’

‘Wish I were,’ said Goodnight. ‘That’s Billy in the big tank, and Jack’s in the bathtub.’

Teddy regarded FrogBilly, perched at the edge of his pool, with a mixture of awe and horror. ‘What happened?’ He turned, eyes wide. ‘Not catching, is it?’

Goodnight sank onto the corner of the sofa. ‘There’s this woman… Faraday got on the wrong side of her, no surprise there, but she turned him into a frog, just waved her hand.’

‘And it didn’t wear off?’

‘No. Vas took Billy and went to reason with her, but she turned Billy too; then Jack thought he could persuade her, and …’ He gestured in the direction of the bathroom, then put a hand to the glass of Billy’s vivarium. ‘I’m trying to do my best by them, but it can’t go on like this.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Sam,’ said Goodnight firmly. ‘I’m counting on him. He said he’d be back Saturday.’

He focused on Teddy. ‘Come to ask a favour?’ Teddy cast another anxious glance at the tanks, but held out his hand to show a cut across the palm, shallow but ragged, and Goodnight tsked. ‘Gotta take more care with those tools.’ 

He beckoned to him to sit, then took his hand and massaged over the injury with his thumb, lightly at first as Teddy winced slightly at the pain, then more firmly, and Teddy relaxed as the warmth spread from Goodnight’s fingers.

‘How come they’re all here with you?’ he asked curiously. ‘Why aren’t Vas and Red looking after them?’

‘Good question,’ muttered Goodnight fervently. ‘Vas took off somewhere yesterday, and Red… well, he’s not himself.’

Vas had left, stormy-faced and preoccupied, abandoning FrogJosh to his care, and Goodnight hadn’t heard from him since; his phone was ringing unanswered, and when Goodnight had tried the café he’d got such a tirade from Mary, furious at being left short-staffed, that he’d felt the phone start to melt in his hand, and had to hang up hurriedly before it began to drip through his fingers.

Fortunately FrogJosh had proved easy to care for, eating with a healthy appetite and dozing in the sun, and though the idea of sharing his bathroom with a bullfrog had fazed him initially, Jack had been positively obliging, allowing himself to be transferred to the washbasin while Goodnight showered and punctuating his off-key singing with rhythmic brorps. 

Red was the one who seemed to be taking the situation hardest: distress and agitation had driven him permanently into his avian shape, wheeling in the sky over Goodnight’s house, letting out shrill distant cries.

Goodnight rubbed until the skin of Teddy’s palm was smooth again and let go. ‘There.’

Teddy worked his fingers, satisfied. ‘Appreciate it.’

‘Quid pro quo,’ said Goodnight, and Teddy smiled shyly. ‘I’ll have a word with your azaleas before I go.’

Neither Goodnight nor Billy had ever exactly understood Teddy’s way with plants – humming to them, stroking their leaves or communing with them in some indefinable way – but a single session of apparently aimless wandering in a neglected yard left it lush and flourishing, and over a month of intensive pep talks he’d even managed to persuade their little lemon tree to produce some actual lemons.

Teddy opened the door, then froze, one foot in the air. ‘You know there’s another frog on your doorstep?’

‘What?’ Goodnight hurried over and sure enough, a plump green frog was sitting under the sill.

Teddy had turned as green as the frog. ‘It is catching.’

‘It could just be an ordinary frog,’ said Goodnight, though his heart was sinking. ‘Lost its way, got dropped by a bird, or, I don’t know, just rained down from the sky. Maybe someone went by whose ability is making it rain frogs, and every house on the street has one.’ 

They looked down together at the frog which was making a valiant effort to climb over his doorstep. ‘I – I have an – have to be…’ Teddy bolted for the gate.

‘But the azaleas…’ called Goodnight pointlessly after him, then sighed in defeat. He bent down to scrutinise the frog. Amphibian expert as he was by now, he had to admit that it didn’t look like a common or garden frog: it was bright green, round and shiny, and still scrabbling at the doorsill. Sinking feeling complete, he scooped it up and took it indoors to examine.

Who was it? And what kind of frog? He deposited it on the windowsill where the light was best and picked up Amphibians of the Southern US, flipping through the pages to compare pictures. The vivid shade of green said tree frog: white throat, white spots on its back … did it have stippled thighs? He reached out a hand to pick it up for closer examination, but the frog leapt nimbly out of his reach. Maybe best not to look too closely. He turned another page, and there it was: Mexican dumpy tree frog. So.

Goodnight pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deliberately. OK. OK. I can cope with this. Billy is a frog, Josh is a frog, Jack is a frog and now Vasquez is a frog.

He could guess how Vasquez had contrived to get himself transformed, but it answered some of their questions that he’d then managed to navigate his way here, back to safety. It also demonstrated that being transformed into a frog negated people’s abilities: FrogVasquez was pudgy and short-necked, hardly handsome, and – he looked down – not there any more.

Goodnight scanned the windowsill in consternation. No, there he was, scaling the side of the bookcase, heading for the shelf where Frog-Josh’s tank was stationed. No room for doubt: as FrogVas reached his destination he plastered himself against the glass of the tank, clinging with lobed fingers and toes. Goodnight carefully peeled him off, opened the lid and plopped him in, and FrogJosh let out a series of joyous ribbits.

Goodnight stood for a while trying to come to terms with it all, but it didn’t get any better. Eventually, Come on, he told himself, pull yourself together. Everyone is depending on you. What did a dumpy tree frog need? 

He sat down next to Billy’s habitat, and after ten minutes with his manuals he reached for the list he’d already drawn up – brown crickets, curly-winged flies, vitamin powder, spare circulation pump – and at the bottom added lighting timer, large ferns and mealworms? He considered the list for a while, then slowly bowed his head until his forehead was resting on the paper. How had it come to this?

A movement in the big vivarium attracted his attention, and there Billy was, jewel-bright, gazing at him seriously: Goodnight knew he wasn’t imagining the sympathy in his round dark eyes. He put his fingers to the glass. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said sadly, ‘I wish I could be in there with you.’ At least Vasquez and Faraday were together again, he thought sentimentally; he cast a glance up at their tank, then quickly averted his gaze at what was going on in there.

Billy blinked and hopped closer. Did he look hopeful? Or was he just hungry? Goodnight picked up the list. I can do this. Only two more days.

** 

The clerk behind the desk broke into a welcoming grin as Goodnight pushed open the door of the pet store. ‘Mr Robicheaux! Pleasure to see you back so soon.’ 

Goodnight grimaced, but the clerk burbled on cheerfully. ‘We’ve restocked the amphibian mineral supplement you were asking about.’ He reached up, his arm stretching and thinning as it went, to pluck a package from the topmost shelf.

‘I’ll take two,’ said Goodnight resignedly, unfolding his list, ‘and all of these.’

‘Flies are just in,’ said the clerk, scanning the paper, ‘take me five minutes to sort them out,’ and while he went out back to fill the order Goodnight wandered the aisles at random, on the lookout for ideas to enrich Billy’s habitat. Would any of the fishtank ornaments be appropriate – a castle, maybe? Or a very tiny mirror? But maybe that would be too disturbing…

Absorbed in thought, he took a step backward and bumped elbows with someone else; a plastic bucket went skittering across the floor. His collidee proved to be a small, angry-looking woman, her red hair drawn back unflatteringly tight from her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, retrieving the bucket and offering it back to her; she frowned, but said stiffly, ‘My fault. I was trying to reach…’ She gestured to where a tangle of leather dog harnesses hung from a hook.  

Goodnight looked back to the counter in case the elastic-armed clerk was available, but no one was in sight. ‘Allow me,’ he said, and turned over the bucket to balance on while he reached up at full stretch to bring down the harnesses all together in a tangled clump, handing them down with a smile.

‘Thank you,’ said the woman, grudgingly, turning away as she began to work the thickest strap free from the tangle.

‘Big dog, huh?’ asked Goodnight conversationally.

That brought a spark of interest to her face. ‘He’s a Bernese. Sweet as anything, but he’s in a new house and he tries to run back home…’ The dawning smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

‘Just moved here?’ asked Goodnight sympathetically.

‘Yes. After my husband-‘ She bit her lip in an attempt to maintain her composure, and Goodnight thought he understood her red-rimmed eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s a hard thing. My husband’s – away right now, and that’s difficult enough.’

‘Mr Robicheaux?’ interrupted the clerk from behind the counter, ‘We can get you mealworms freeze-dried, but not live.’

‘Frogs,’ explained Goodnight, seeing her expression, then, with a shudder of relief, ‘Freeze-dried is fine.’ The woman seemed to be looking at him oddly, so he added, ‘I – inherited them unexpectedly. Not something I would have chosen. But I need to make sure they’re properly cared for.’

Two spots of colour stood out on her cheeks as she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, twisting the harness in her hands. ‘How did you-‘ 

She was staring at him so intently that Goodnight was unnerved; ‘I-‘ he began, but the words stuck in his throat. They stood frozen for an awkward moment, then suddenly the woman turned heel and fled.  

The clerk frowned as the door slammed behind her. ‘She pay for that?’

‘Stick it on my total,’ said Goodnight, with a pang of sympathy. At least he still had Billy to go home to, blue and stripy though he currently was; he couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to lose him.

‘Sure you don’t need any mice?’ asked the clerk optimistically as he handed Goodnight his bag. ‘Could do you a reduced rate.’

‘No,’ said Goodnight, preoccupied by his strange encounter. ‘If Jack wants mice then Red can human up and get them himself instead of hunching about miserably on my roof.’ He picked up his package, gave a brisk nod to the startled man and squared his shoulders as he headed to the exit. Sam. When Sam comes back it will all be OK again. Sam can fix this, I know he can.