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I'm Not a Bad Boy

Summary:

He didn’t know where he was going. There was nowhere else he could go. Where could he go?

New York!

He was already thirty minutes there and nearly on the highway. It was raining and the roads were a bit slippery, so he was being careful. But the car behind him was not.

Notes:

I struggled with the rating on this, so to be safe, it's teen and up.

Chapter Text

When Froggy woke up from his nap, his brothers were still asleep. He heard his Papa’s song playing downstairs and his Daddies singing along. That meant they were cleaning! Froggy loved cleaning days, because he got to help his Daddies and get everything organized and be a good boy! And the house smelled so clean afterward and they’d always watch a movie together after and cuddle and Froggy loved cleaning days. He climbed out of his bed and left the Nursery, heading downstairs. He found his Daddies in the kitchen.

“Hi, baby. How was your nap?” Daddy greeted, dusting the top of the cabinets.

“Good, Daddy. Fwoggy hewp cwean?”

“Of course, angel. Do you wanna organize the toys in the Playroom? It’s gotten pretty messy,” Daddy suggested, knowing he loved organizing.

Froggy nodded and rushed over to the Playroom. He started with the stuffies, arranging them along the back wall by animal, then color. He put the doll playsets along the wall next to the stuffies, organized by sets also in rainbow order. The accessories were in color-coded tubs in front of them. In the corner near the door, he organized the Legos by color and size in color-coded tubs. He put miscellaneous ones into another tub, Legos like doors, people, ice cream, etc..

He finished all that in just over two hours and moved on to the biggest problem: the blocks. His brothers had been working on a tower for about a week now, so he left those blocks alone and worked on organizing the loose ones that weren’t part of the tower. He arranged them by shape, putting them in different tubs for ease of access. If his brothers needed a triangle block, they’d be in the yellow tub, a square one in the red tub, rectangle ones in the green tub, and so on and so forth. He was sure they’d be so happy with him that they wouldn’t have to sift through blocks to find the right one. He was being careful around his brothers’ tower, making sure not to bump it or take any blocks that were actively in the building.

“NO! Fwoggy, stop!” Mushroom yelled.

Froggy startled and turned. He didn’t understand why Mushroom was mad at him. He was just cleaning up. He was helping. He was being good.

“I’m jus’ cweanin’ up, bubba,” he tried.

Mushroom fumed. “NO! No cwean! We stiww wowkin’ on dat!” he screamed. “Bad Fwoggy! Bad! Bad! BAD!”

Froggy recoiled. He hadn’t even touched their tower. How was he bad? He didn’t think he was bad. He was just trying to help. He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t .

But Mushroom kept screaming at him, eyes teary as he yelled the same word over and over and over. Froggy felt nauseous and he jumped up and ran. He barely even registered grabbing his keys and getting into his car until he was stopped at the intersection outside their neighborhood, wiping at his teary eyes. He didn’t know where he was going. All of his comfort people lived in the house he’d just left. The only other person nearby was Sean, but he was vacationing in Florida with friends for spring break. There was nowhere else he could go. Where could he go?

New York!

He’d go back home. No one would yell at him for cleaning at home. And he could see his parents and his old friends. But New York was over 8 hours away and he hadn’t prepared to leave. But he was already thirty minutes there and nearly on the highway. It was raining and the roads were a bit slippery, so he was being careful. But the car behind him was not.

It slid on the wet pavement, swerving back and forth until it hit his car, making him slide forward into traffic. The sound of crunching metal grated his eardrums and he spun. Around and around and around, making him dizzy and nauseous. His car had barely stopped turning before another one hit his and flipped him. He felt pain splinter through his head and his arms and his legs. The car flipped and turned for what felt like hours before it finally stopped. He wanted out, wanted out, wanted out of the death trap , but he was trapped inside; couldn’t get out, couldn’t get out, couldn’t orient himself. Sirens filled his ears and blood dripped into his eyes.

The last thing he saw were sparks before he lost consciousness.