#the frog brothers are so unapologetically unhinged and i love it for them

[paperrretro]

friends in strange places.

Pairings: Edgar Frog x Reader; Alan Frog & Reader

Word Count: 1,612 words

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of religion

“Fu –”

“Quiet,” Edgar demands.

You scowl, glancing around at the people sending you the typical weird looks before shouldering your backpack properly. “Stop creeping up on me like that.”

“Stealth is important for people like us,” Edgar tells you, frowning like you’re the one at fault for shrieking when he and Alan suddenly appeared behind your locker door. You’re about to snark out a reply when he continues brusquely, “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Not here,” Alan says lowly. “At the shop. Come on.”

“My place is closer,” you grumble, starting to walk down the hallway towards the back exit. When they don’t follow, you stop and turn around to tug them along with you. The sea of students part for the three of you as if you’re diseased. “Meaning we should talk there. Come on. My grandma’s out and made a shit ton of cookies last night, anyway.”

If Edgar and Alan seem to hurry along just a little more after hearing that last bit, you don’t comment on it.

Your home is just a five-minute walk from Santa Clara High, right at the street corner where the stop sign gets tagged every other weekend. Once you step through the door and toss your backpacks onto the living room couch, Alan heads straight to the kitchen while you keep Edgar back for a moment.

“Where’s Emerson?” you ask.

Edgar raises an eyebrow at you. “How would I know?”

“Well, he’s your new best friend, isn’t he?”

You are careful to keep your tone casual. You’ve hung out with Sam a few times by default, given that he and the brothers were strangely tight by the time you came back from a horribly boring summer vacation in Texas, and you were surprised to find that he was actually kind of normal. Aside from the fact that he believed in vampires too.

Despite living in Santa Carla for less than three months, Sam seemed to have a rapport with Edgar and Alan that it had taken years for you to develop. And although your grandma was delighted that your little trio had finally grown (Edgar and Alan were some kind of pet project for her and she always worried that you’d be influenced by them instead of the other way around), and you liked the Emersons, for some reason, it also irked you a bit.

Anyway.

“We have an alliance against the undead,” Edgar corrects you.

“I think it’s pronounced ‘friendship,’ Ed.”

His usual stony stare doesn’t flinch.

You roll your eyes and shrug. “Well, more food for us. Alan! Did you get the milk from the fridge?”

“Yeah,” he calls out, and it sounds muffled, like he’s already stuffed three cookies into his mouth. “It’s expired.”

Walking into the kitchen with Edgar, you watch Alan pour the so-called expired milk into three glasses.

“What date?” you ask.

“Yesterday. It’s still good. I tasted it.”

“Oh, okay.” Getting a pen, you scrawl a barely legible MILK onto the grocery list that your grandma had stuck onto the fridge with a magnet. Edgar passes you a cookie and a glass of milk. “So, what’s up?”

“We need to talk about what happened this summer while you were on vacation,” Edgar says.

Oh, god. Not this again.

With a sigh, you knock your head back. “Guys, I told you, it must have been some kind of satanic cult. Vampires aren’t real.”

“They are,” Edgar and Alan say in unison.

“Then how come the news hasn’t said anything about it by now?” you press. “Wouldn’t everyone know?”

“Not if the local government is infested with the supernatural. Or if vampires are capable of hypnotizing people.”

“Santa Carla is a haven for the undead,” Edgar insists. “How can you admit that extraterrestrials are real and not see the immediate threat right in front of us?”

Geez. “Because tons of people have seen evidence of aliens,” you say for the millionth time. “Because it’s talked about on the news. The Roswell incident. The disappearance of Frederick Valentich. Hell, Dr. MacGill told me he saw a UFO here five years ago and he’s a college professor. I’ve literally never heard anybody talk about vampires like that.”

“Vampires are not aliens,” Alan replies matter-of-factly.

You groan and take a giant bite of your chocolate chip cookie. This is why your grandma doesn’t like comic books and you have to smuggle them in your school binder.

It’s not that you think the Frog brothers are nuts – well, maybe a little, but no more than anybody else in Santa Carla. You like them a lot, and you look out for each other. But their stocks of holy water and garlic and wooden stakes take up a lot of space in their shared bedroom and it is hard to understand their adamance about spending their limited funds on vampire hunting instead of decent food.

“Look.” Edgar narrows his eyes and leans in toward you, his tone quiet and firm. “Whether you believe in them or not doesn’t make them any less real. Ever since we killed one tribe, we’ve become a target for the others. And you’re now a target by association. So either get with the program and let us train you, or get used to being under our protection.”

“Your protection,” you deadpan. “No way.”

“We’re serious,” Alan says. “Who else in this town’s going to protect you from vampires?”

“For free, no less,” Edgar adds.

Silently, you pull your crucifix out from under your shirt.

The brothers stare at it.

“… Jesus,” Edgar eventually mutters. “I mean, I guess.”

“If ‘being under your protection’ means hanging out more with you guys, I’m cool with it,” you state honestly, letting go of your necklace to let it hang out in the open. “And I’ll give you more holy water if you need it. But I’m not gonna walk around town with you two carrying stakes and breathing down my neck the whole time. That’s insane.”

Edgar exhales slowly through his nose. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, okay?” You feel bad for brushing off their ideas and you feel even worse for smiling when their expressions are so grave, but part of why you’ve stuck together for so long is because none of you have ever lied to each other, and you’re not about to start now. “So thanks for worrying, but you don’t need to –”

Edgar suddenly slams his hands on the kitchen table and stands up. You startle at the sound.

“We’re not crazy, [Y/n].” His eyes are blazing as he jabs a finger at your face. “It wasn’t just a damn cult. We killed five actual bloodsucking vampires this past summer, and I know you would’ve died or been turned if you were there, because you’d still be calling bullshit until a vampire tore out your fucking throat.”

You simply sit there with wide eyes.

For a few more tortuous seconds, you hear nothing but the sound of Edgar’s furious breathing before he tears his gaze away and stomps off, swearing underneath his breath. The front door swings open and then slams shut.

Without a word, Alan stands up and follows suit.

You are left with three unfinished glasses of milk, a Tupperware still full of cookies, and an uncomfortable squeezing feeling in your chest.

—

You putter around the house for what feels like hours. Despite your initial thought that the brothers were going to go home, you find that they simply remain on your porch to talk. Eavesdropping proves to be a fruitless endeavor.

You’re lying on the living room carpet, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube, when the two boys come back inside.

Edgar mutters your name.

“I don’t think you guys are crazy,” you state without moving from your spot or looking at them.

“We know,” replies Edgar.

“You’re my friends.” You say this more quietly.

Neither of them say anything, but when you glance to the side, you see Edgar nod tersely and Alan shove his hands into his pockets. That relaxes you a little bit. Good. Not too much damage was done.

They join you on the floor, backs against the couch. And you wait for them to speak.

“We’re not going to let you get killed,” Edgar tells you straightforwardly. “I’m not going to have that on my conscience.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“We compromise,” Alan says. “We won’t keep tabs on you all the time.”

“But you should carry some holy water with you. And if you really have to go out at night, call us or go with your grandma.”

“Okay, fine,” you acquiesce. “I’ll be careful.”

Edgar rests his elbows on his knees. “It’d be better if you knew how to stake someone through the heart.”

“Being Catholic and not going out at night is enough for now, isn’t it?”

He fixes you with a withering look. You snort.

“It is,” he agrees reluctantly. A beat, then, “You’re not stupid. Or weak. You would’ve helped us and Sam if you were here last summer.”

At the uncharacteristic softness of his words, you stop playing with your Rubik’s cube and grin at him. “I know,” you respond, accepting the apology. “And I would have.”

Edgar’s eyes flick away from yours. He reaches up to scratch his cheek, and when you stare a little longer, you’re stunned to see a faint redness crawling across it.

“We’re good?” Alan asks you.

“Yeah, of course.” Pushing yourself into a sitting position with a grunt, you look back towards the kitchen. “So, are we finishing the cookies or what?”

Your friends nod. Everything continues on as it was.