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Between trying to survive the trials and tribulations of Bayville High, their petty skirmishes with the X-Geeks, and killing the little spaces of time in between, the Brotherhood of Mutants have become something of a pack; eating, sleeping, and hunting for trouble together. And y’know, most of the time, Todd digs that shit. He hasn’t been part of something – really a part of something, not just tolerated or forced to exist in the background – since he was a kid roaming the streets of Brownsville, Brooklyn.
Sure, the others (sans Freddy, whose laughter could fill a whole damn stadium) roll their eyes and groan at his jokes (’specially the ones involving his memorable aroma or dietary habits), but Todd can work with that, ’cause at least they don’t lock him outside at night (‘least not on purpose), or dunk his head in the toilet, or give him the wrong address for parties so he winds up at some gas station in the ass-end of nowhere.
So yeah, all things considered, he’s got a pretty good gig. Wouldn’t trade it for much, ’sides maybe a consistent meal schedule or a room that don’t have a draft – but that’s just him bein’ picky.
As he was saying, even the most social butterflies need to hibernate sometimes – and, alright, maybe he’s a little hungover – ‘cause when Fred lumbers in and jostles him, asking if he wants to join them all at the local arcade, Todd groans and pulls his pillow over his face. He feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and drifts back to sleep to the sound of his best friend’s retreating footsteps and Lance’s truck rumbling to life outside his window.
By the time he finally wakes up for good, the numbers 4:43 pm glower at him from the crappy second-hand clock on his crappy second-hand bedside table and he’s got a sour taste in his mouth. Todd groans pitifully, forcing himself to sit up and burying his face in his hands. Oh, dawg, I feel like ass. As his sixteen-year-old joints creak and he digs the crusty shit outta his eyeballs, the mummy from those recent movies comes to mind. What was his name? Homotep? Yeah, Todd feels like that guy, and he’s starting to understand why he was such a crotchety dick.
With a whine of effort, he hauls himself upward and lets his webbed feet hit the floor, gripping the table for support. (Huh, that’s funny. He doesn’t remember the room being all blurry and lopsided before he passed out. That’s… probably not good.) Resting a sticky hand against the wall, Todd takes one step, then another (yeah, you know it’s bad when he’s not hoppin’) and gradually makes his way down the weathered hall.
He notices a couple of bedroom doors are shut, but given that the house is quieter than an abandoned church, he doesn’t think much of it. Just drags his shambling corpse into the bathroom and does his business while the tap’s running, ’cause it tastes like rust if you try to drink it right away. (Sometimes they’ll even wind up with surprise bugs in their glasses, which is a score for Todd but not so much for the other guys.)
Anyway, he’s guzzlin’ water and splashin’ it in his face when he hears it: a low, guttural groan, the kind you make when you’re in a shit-ton of pain. It makes him jump out of his skin, twisting the squeaky knobs till they’ve shut the sink off. He gawks at his reflection, watching what little colour he has drain from his face.
What the fuck?
And sure enough, there it is, higher than before, trailing off into a whimper. A girl’s voice.
Wanda’s voice.
Todd’s head snaps in its direction, filled with a newfound sense of purpose. Mostly on account of all other kinds of sense leaving the building.
“Babycakes!” he crows. “Hang on, your froggy prince is comin’!”
He doesn’t consider the specifics of what might be wrong with her, nor does it cross his mind that she may need privacy. He's already leapt across the hall, winding his spindly legs up for a kick.
By the time he overhears what Wanda is saying, it’s already… kindaaaa too late. Whoops.
“Wait, Toad!—”
BANG.
The door goes flying off its hinges, collapsing just short of her bed. It’s very impressive and really quite sexy, if he’s honest with himself — but unfortunately, in Todd’s rush of adrenaline, he’d forgotten his hangover and it comes back full swing. The room spins and he lurches forward with a moan, barely catching himself on her bedpost in time. His head jerks up, following the blanket-swaddled shape of Wanda’s body and landing on her face; specifically, her red-rimmed, furious dark eyes.
“Toad.” She speaks through gritted teeth, which is nothing unusual for her, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency he doesn’t like. Up close and personal, he can smell the salt of tears, sweat — and something else that he can’t put his finger on. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off and get out. Now.”
She’s en-un-ci-a-ting, which she only does when she’s mega-pissed, so he probably should consider what’s good for him and tuck tail — especially considering the smoky scent of ozone he’s picking up, which only tends to happen before or after Wanda uses her powers. But goddamn, something’s not right. She’s all curled in on herself and shivering, body radiating way more heat than what’s normal and face twisted up in obvious agony.
Looking at how her hand presses to her abdomen, Todd wonders with a jolt of panic if it’s her appendix. Shit shit shit. He still remembers when his ruptured and almost fucking killed him. Still has the scar. They can hardly afford groceries. There’s no way in hell they can pay for an ambulance, let alone a fucking hospital visit—
Her growl is what snaps him out of it, but it’s not a growl of anger. It’s the growl you hear from a dog that’s been chained up too long and is about to gnaw its own leg off; lips peeled back, teeth bared and whites of the eyes showing. Coming from a powerhouse like Wanda, that’s terrifying on multiple levels — and yet Todd finds himself rooted to the spot. He blinks. Shakes his poor, throbbing head and finds his voice, no matter how much it wavers.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna leave you like this, yo. C’mon, sweetums, just tell me what’s—”
“For the last time, bug-brain, don’t call me fucking sweetums!” Wanda explodes. Like, literally explodes. Shatters a nearby compact and everything.
Todd recoils. Yeah, alright. He can take a hint. He’s on the verge of turning and slinking back to his room when she suddenly goes rigid again. Clenches her jaw real tight, groaning and tucking her knees up to her chest. Abandoning all thought of leaving — and regard for his own safety, apparently — Todd scrambles onto the bed, pressing a hand to her shoulder. She flinches, scoffs, rolls so her back faces him. It puts a real sick pit in his guts, let him tell ya. But Todd won’t — can’t — leave her.
“Something’s wrong with you, ain’t it?” He wrings his hands, which are suddenly full of pins and needles. Tries to talk around the lump in his throat. (Why why why why did the others have to go out today? ) “Somethin’ on the inside.”
She stills for one long, terrifying moment, then starts shaking again. Todd’s on the verge of saying fuck it and carrying her to the ER when he realizes she’s laughing. It’s a quiet, bitter laugh, like ones he’s heard from Mystique in the far too recent past.
“Holy goddamn shit.” Wanda peers at him over her shoulder, lips pulling into a humourless smirk. Todd doesn’t know what to make of it, but her eyes are puffy and exhausted and it hurts to look at her. “You’re actually being serious right now, aren’t you?”
That cuts deep. Todd shrinks in on himself. Shit, dawg, is it wrong to care about people now, too? he wants to ask. Or can I not even do that right?
But the words don’t come, or maybe he just doesn’t trust them to ’cause if he opens his fat mouth again he knows he'll start snivelling like a little bitch. So he shrugs, plucking at her fuzzy black comforter and trying to swallow the panic that’s buzzing inside of him like a plague of locusts.
Wanda sighs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Tolansky.” She maneuvers herself onto her back, wincing, palms folded over her stomach. Her fingers twitch, muscles as tense as ever. She still won’t look at him, talking to the ceiling. “And here I thought frogs were able to sense this kind of stuff.”
Todd clears his throat. Figuring he’s made enough of a fucking dumbass of himself, he fumbles for what’s left of his bravado and pushes it back into place. “Whatever you’re puttin’ down, sugarplum, I ain’t pickin’ it up.”
She shoots him a look that can curl paint and it’s all he can do not to wince. “That’s obvious.”
Todd takes a deep breath and suddenly that weird smell from earlier makes a comeback. It’s strong enough to identify, now — metallic, like when you hold a penny in your hands for too long. Hang on. Something clicks in his brain and he opens his mouth, curling his upper lip when he inhales a second time —
And now Wanda’s springin’ up like the Undertaker, grabbing his scrawny shoulders and shaking him so hard he swears his brain’s gonna fly out his ears. “Ugh, I didn’t mean that literally, you slimy little perv!”
She’s red-faced.
Oh.
Oh.
Todd’s eyes widen. He sputters, going hot up to his ears and turning a shade of sage green to match her – well, heh, scarlet. Lightly, he grips her forearms in an attempt to guide her away from him lest she decide to go for the throat. (Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried, after all.)
“Well, uh,” he laughs nervously, trying to study her expression for any signs of further outrage, “gee, that explains a lot!”
But Wanda doesn’t glare at him, or choke him out, or even shove him away like she normally would. Instead, her expression falls and her body deflates, letting him go. She hugs her knees to her chest and pointedly looks away, but not fast enough that Todd can’t see her eyes glistening.
Ah, crap.
“Look, I was gonna get myself some painkillers anyway,” he rambles, wringing the bottom of his ratty, oversized Biggie Smalls shirt. Please, girl, do not start cryin’. Todd begins to scoot off her bed, frankly very eager to get away now that he knows what her problem is. “But clearly you need ’em more than I do, so I’ll just–”
“The shit we have here doesn’t work.” Wanda’s tired, defeated voice makes him halt on the spot. She’s dragging a hand over her head, tussling black-and-red locks. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I was on a prescription before and it’s not something you can just buy at the store.”
Todd’s first instinct is to suggest holding up the nearest pharmacy till Wanda gets what she needs, but somehow, he doesn’t think she’d be down for that… not to mention Lance tearing him a new one for drawing too much attention to himself. He releases a gust of air through his lips, scratching his head.
“Well shit, yo, there’s gotta be somethin’ if Tylenol ain’t cuttin’ it.” They go through bottles of that stuff fast anyway, between all the headaches that float around between them and them constantly eating shit, either at the hands of the X-Geeks or ’cause of their own (alright, fine, mostly his) lack of coordination.
He makes up his mind. Rests his hands on his thighs and rises purposefully from the mattress, groaning as he enjoys a much-needed stretch. “And y’know what, sweet-cheeks?” Todd rolls his neck from side to side, peering over his shoulder with hooded eyes. “I’m gonna find it for ya.”
Wanda stares at him for one precious moment, her expression unreadable. Then she harrumphs and pulls the covers over her head.
She’s crazy about me, Todd thinks fondly, and sets off on his way.
The local CVS has never felt more imposing. Maybe ’cause this is his first time in the sexual health aisle, which would’ve made him feel self-conscious enough even without other customers giving him dirty looks. But rather than shrinking into his sweatshirt like he has in the past, Todd leers at suburban moms and little old ladies, taking deep satisfaction in sending them fleeing with one flash of his mottled green tongue.
Unfortunately, his mutations don’t fix the other problems at hand — like not knowing where to even begin looking for what Wanda needs. As he pours over the seemingly endless selection, something labelled Male Enhancement Pills catches his eye. Todd sucks his teeth, acid-yellow eyes darting around as he considers it.
I mean, since I’m already here …
His fingers have barely even grazed the label when a smooth, velvety voice cuts in. “I wouldn’t bother with that, Junior. If those pills actually worked, they’d be charging a lot more for ’em than three bucks per bottle. Trust me.”
Biting back a yelp, Todd spins around to meet Tabitha Smith’s smirking face. It’d been weeks since he’d last seen her, but she looks every bit as smug and full of herself as she did when she did when she lived with the Brotherhood. Given that he’s now able to shower and take a dump without fear of gettin’ timebombed, he can’t say he misses the gal.
“Jeez, Tabby! Way to sneak up on a guy!” he hisses, glancing conspiratorially around as if he’d be embarrassed to get caught with her and not the other way around. “One of these days I’m gonna slime ya, I swear. What the hell are you doin’ here?”
That infuriatingly catlike smile widens, her elbow resting on the shelf above his head. (Does everyone around him have to be so damn tall? ) “Haven’t you heard?” She leans downward into his space, flicking a peachy pink nail over his nose. Todd wrinkles it. “I got a job, so it looks like you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around after all.” Tabitha winks, tilting her head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. Sure enough, now that she’s mentioned it, he can see a name tag pinned to her boob.
“Y’know, I could ask you the same question, shorty,” Tabitha continues wryly. “I didn’t realize your love life was heating up, or that you even had one.”
“Man, I wi—” Then the thinly-veiled insult registers. Todd bristles, jabbing a finger. “Hey! You don’t know what I get up to!” Dammit, he really doesn’t wanna come clean about this, but the more he drags it out, the longer Wanda suffers. Todd growls, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and dragging his hands down his face till the pinks of his eyes show.
“Look. I’m gonna be real wit’chu. I am real fuckin’ hungover and I got a girl back home who’s havin’ lady problems real bad, so pleeeeease tell me what I’m supposed to buy to help her feel better. Please, Tabby.” He gives her his biggest, saddest frog eyes, bottom lip quivering, grasping the front of her red shirt with both fists. “I’m beggin’ you. I can’t take it anymore.”
Tabitha’s lips curl like she’s smelling something bad — which, to his (dis)credit, she definitely is. “Okay, first of all, personal space, Leapfrog,” she spits, planting a hand on his chest and shoving him back. (Todd lands on his ass with a light oof.) Tabby grimaces, wiping her hands over the front of her shirt. “Second of all, you can just say Wanda. It’s not exactly a secret you have the hots for Miss Dark and Brooding.”
“Huh?” Todd pulls himself into his trademark squat, blinking. “How would you know that if you don’t even live with us anymore?”
Tabitha shrugs, examining her manicure. “Word has a way of gettin’ around,” she replies dismissively. “And even if I didn’t catch the way you were staring at her from day one, it’s not hard to put two and two together. I mean, she’s mega hot, in a Fairuza Balk kinda way. Good for you.”
Todd’s so touched by her playful shoulder punch that he doesn’t have the heart to correct her about his relationship status. He offers her a lopsided half grin, and before he can ask, she’s already crooking her finger and beckoning for him to follow her.
“C’mon, lover-boy. I’ll show you where we keep the Midol.”
As Todd hops along after her, he makes the mistake of glancing at the condoms. Stares at all the different sizes a little too long before wrenching his gaze away, shuddering.
Perhaps some things in life are best left a mystery for now.
By the time Todd wanders through the front door, plastic bag in his arms, he discovers the other guys have all gathered around on their hand-me-down (and by that he means, rescued from the local dump) couch. He barely has to look at their TV — secondhand, the kind with a dial and antenna — to know what they’re watching.
“ Friends again?” Todd regards the TV with barely disguised contempt. “I will never understand how you guys watch this crap all the time. It’s like a bad soap opera with a laugh track.”
“Dude, can it!” hisses Lance, who’s gripping the ledge of the sofa so tightly his knuckles are turning white.
“Chandler’s about to propose to Monica!” Fred agrees, cuddling an oversized stuffed bunny that Todd hasn’t seen before. He figures his best pal probably got it from that rigged crane machine. Or smashed the glass. Whatever; a win’s a win.
“These names mean nothin’ to me, dawg,” Todd deadpans. He’s about to head up the stairs when Pietro suddenly turns around, resting a delicate elbow on top of the couch and narrowing his eyes.
“Hey Kermit, my sister was asking for you.” Judging by the way his snide vulpine face twists up, he seems as repulsed by the concept as he is perplexed. Todd, meanwhile, feels as if a sunflower just burst to life in his chest.
“She was?” He rocks back and forth on his heels, face breaking out into a huge, toothy grin. “What she say?”
Pietro regards him witheringly. “Dude, don’t look so happy about it. All she said was that if you didn’t hurry the hell up, she was gonna send me out to find you.” He raises one perfect blonde brow. “What was that about?”
Aw, crap. Todd laughs nervously, feeling sweat beginning to pool beneath his arms. “Well, y’see—”
The confrontation was cut short by a light rumbling; if you could call any sorta earthquake ‘light.’ Todd yelps, gripping the banister with one hand while his other arm clutches precious cargo to his chest.
“I’m telling you guys, knock it off or take a hike!” Lance warns. He’s twisted his body around to glare daggers at both of them, fists clenched. “I didn’t wait all week to see this just for you clowns to ruin it!”
“Aw, Lance, look what ya did!” Fred shouts, stamping his foot. “The signal’s busted!”
As voices rise and the house continues to shake on its foundations, Todd takes that as his cue to scurry back to his lady-in-waiting. She must’ve used her powers to prop up the door for privacy, even if the hinges are still busted to hell. This toad’s no handyman, but he makes a mental note to do his best for her anyway. He hugs the bag to his side and knocks.
“Hey, sugar. It’s me.” He hesitates, remembering Tabby's remark about personal space before adding, “Can I come in?”
The red, shimmering glow enveloping the door and moving it out of the way is all the answer he needs. Todd hops inside, barely even extending the CVS bag before she levitates that over, too. Even from where he’s squatting, he’s relieved to see she looks a little better than before. Her tear stains are gone and her hair is damp, slender form wrapped up in a grey tracksuit a couple sizes too big for her. Must’ve taken a shower.
“Hi,” she says, which surprises him. Todd’s learned not to set his expectations too high — with, y’know, life — and had gone into this anticipating little more than the supplies being ripped from his hands.
He doesn’t know what to do with ‘hi.’
“’Sup, buttercup,” is what comes out eventually. Todd wrings his hands. “How ya feelin’?”
“Still not great. I ended up taking a shower because I thought the steam might make me feel better.” She shrugs, rummaging through the supplies. Starts laying them out one at a time on the bed. “Better than laying there in your own mess, right?” A pause. “Um… no offence.”
“Eh, none taken.”
Together, they pour over his purchases, though he hesitates to refer to them as such given that Tabby conveniently ‘forgot’ to scan the items at checkout. There’s the box of Midol, which might as well be the Holy fuckin’ Grail with the way Wanda cradles and fawns over it. A hot water bottle, complete with instructions. A regular water bottle. A Hershey’s chocolate bar, and…
“Oh, that’s mine.” Todd holds up the half-empty bottle of Gatorade, giving it a shake and setting it aside on her nightstand. “The electrolytes are supposed t’help with hangovers.” Tabby’d told him that, too.
Wanda’s brows knit together, fingers keeping busy prying her little box of medicine open. “Wait, since when did you have a hangover?”
Had he not told her? Damn. “Mmm, since I woke up. I thought I’d play tough guy last night, do a buncha shots with Pietro.” Todd smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. She’s staring at him like he just grew spots or somethin’, so he elaborates, “Y’know, Pietro. Fastest guy on the planet? Crazy metabolism? … It was a pretty fuckin’ dumb thing to do.”
Wanda’s still staring. Todd’s beginning to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have told her that — that maybe she’s got a problem with booze, or disappointed in him for not being able to handle his liquor — when suddenly she speaks, all quiet and soft. The way she never speaks, ’specially not to the lowly likes of him.
“You were dehydrated today and you walked all the way to the pharmacy and back… to help me?”
Ah, shit. Her pretty blue eyes have softened and it transforms his brain into a useless pile of goo, unable to comprehend anything being fed into it. The locusts from earlier have turned into butterflies. Todd feels like he may combust if he looks at her any longer. Folds his spindly, webbed hands behind his back and looks at his dirty sneakers, scuffing them against the floor. His ears are burning again.
“Yeah, so?” Forcing a laugh. “It ain’t no big thing.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Her words are harsh, but her touch is gentle, palm warm against his cheek. It’s a shock to his nervous system, lighting every last cell in his pathetic body on fire. Makes him jolt, gasp, and of course that’s what fucks it up and ends it too soon. Wanda flinches, withdrawing like she’s touched a hot stove.
Or a slimy amphibian.
“Sorry.” She curls her hand against her chest. It’s curt, awkward, and more of an apology than he gets from anyone aside from Freddy. Todd’s head buzzes. His skin tingles. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater and he shakes his head as if to dislodge liquid from his ears.
“S’cool.” He bunches up a loose fist and shoves it into his pocket, a downright odd feeling in his stomach. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh, cry, or throw up. “Well, uh.” He shoots her one last wobbly grin, rolling his shoulders. No need to burden her with any of that. “Yeah. I’ll see ya around, Red.”
But she’s already dropped her gaze, eyes narrowed in concentration as she unscrews the cap of her meds. She says nothing. He can’t be sure she even heard him.
He presses his fingers to his lips and lifts them in farewell anyway.