Archive of Our Own

Alan wasn’t stupid.

Alan loved his brother.

Alan cared deeply about Sam Emerson.

All of these things were true, and they were actually making the way his brother had been acting kind of hard to figure out.

It was only natural that after they’d finally driven the vampires of Santa Carla, things would get a little dull for the Frog Brothers. Killing the vampires had been their singular focus for so long that when it was all finally over, Alan didn’t know what they’d do with themselves.

Sam helped. He was their first friend. The first person they didn’t scare off. The first person they’d met who was weird enough to be cool. And now that the vampires were gone, he stuck around. He rode bikes with them, tried out dozens of new hobbies, and watched them run their military drills. He didn’t seem like he was going anywhere, even if he had gotten knocked into the surf when they were fishing and gotten his foot stuck between boulders when they were exploring the caves. Alan knew there was a reason Sam didn’t have anyone else before the two of them, and he knew that it was a little bit different than him and Edgar, but as far as Alan was concerned, Sam liked comics, and he put up with their adventures, and he didn’t think the Frogs were all that strange. That was all that mattered.

Alan had assumed Edgar felt the same. They were usually on the same page, after all. And for a while after the whole vampire incident, that seemed to be the case. The three of them squished themselves together on a log to make s’mores in the Emerson backyard, piled on top of each other in Sam’s twin bed for sleepovers, and packed together into one carriage on the ferris wheel down at the pier. Usually, all with Sam in the middle. Alan didn’t see any reason for it to be any other way, but slowly… things started to change. Edgar started ducking his head when Sam laughed, he got fidgety when Sam pressed against his side, and he alternated between insisting that Sam should sit next to him and making up excuses about why Alan should sit in the middle. He acted uncomfortable when they were with Sam, but once he left, he wouldn’t shut up about him, even though Alan had been there the whole time.

Like he’d said, Alan wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t used to his brother not telling him things. Sometimes, after a particularly weird day, Alan would think back to the conversation they’d overheard between Sam and Michael; Sam’s stressful coming out that had been somewhat overshadowed by the threat of vampires. At the time, Alan had said it didn’t matter. He still didn’t think it did, but he worried that at some point, it had started mattering to his brother.

He was biding his time to bring it up. He didn’t expect Edgar to beat him to it.

They’d set up a tent in the yard behind their neglected old house. It was nicer sleeping out there than inside sometimes, and they camped often when they weren’t staying over with Sam. They were so used to it, that they usually fell asleep in an instant, but that night, Edgar tossed and turned, keeping Alan awake in the process.

“Hey, Al,” he said quietly, breaking the constant drone of the cicadas and crickets outside.

“‘Sup?” Alan unburied himself from where he’d been hiding in his sleeping bag, trying to drown out the noise of his brother’s shuffling.

“You know how Sam likes boys?”

“Mmm.” Alan didn’t like where this was going.

“Do you think he could like me?”

Alan had been wrong about where this was going. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Edgar pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling his knees to his chest like he often did when he was planning something, “—he’s funny, right? And really cool. And he likes the same comics I do. And he likes guys, and I’m a guy, so do you think it would be possible for him to like me?”

Alan sat up too. That all seemed entirely reasonable to him. “I don’t see why not.”

Edgar got a stupid grin on his face. “Good. ‘Cause I wanna kiss him.”

Alan scrunched up his nose. The idea of kissing anyone still didn’t really appeal to him. “Why?”

Edgar shrugged. “I dunno. I get this weird feeling in my chest when he’s next to me. It makes it hard to look at him. And I figure, we like the same things, and I guess he’s kinda cute, and he likes spending time with me, so why not?”

Alan thought about his brother turning his head away when Sam laughed. He realized now that he’d been blushing. “That makes sense.” He didn’t want to point out that Sam also liked the same things as Alan, and spent just as much time with him, and Alan had absolutely no desire to kiss Sam at all. He guessed he didn’t really find Sam cute, maybe that was the missing factor. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Edgar shrugged, sighing in a way that Alan could only describe as wistful. “Probably nothing. Just being friends is pretty great too. I don’t wanna mess that up.”

That simply wouldn’t do. Alan didn’t think he could go on seeing his brother all doe-eyed and soft hearted. He definitely couldn’t stand any more weird days where Edgar couldn’t even look at Sam. It was driving him nuts.

“I think he’d kiss you if you asked,” Alan offered. “He’s done everything else we asked him to.”

“Yeah,” Edgar frowned, “but that’s different.”

Alan really didn’t see how it was, but he went on anyway. “I think we just need a plan.”

“We?”

Alan nodded. “Yeah. We’ve killed vampires, I think we can handle this.”

“I guess you’re right,” Edgar agreed, looking mollified.

“I say we call it Operation: Phoenix.”

Edgar grinned. “Yeah! I like that.”

“Good. Okay. Operation: Phoenix, step one: get him alone with you. I think it would be weird if I was there.”

“Sounds good. How?”

Alan thought for a while. “People are always going roller skating on dates in movies. Take him roller skating with you.”

“What do I say about you?”

“Good point.” Alan bit his bottom lit in thought. “Tell him I have to go to the dentist. That way he won’t think it’s weird.”

“Right. You’re good at this, Al.”

Making tactical plans was important when you wanted to stop the forces of evil from consuming your town. “Duh, of course I am. Step two: kiss him.”

“Yeah!” Edgar nodded, but then looked concerned. “I think we might need a few more steps.”

“Ugh, fine.” Alan blew a puff of air out of his mouth and leaned back on his hands to think. “Step two: figure out if he likes you back.”

“Good idea.” Edgar’s eyebrows were still knit together in concentration. “I don’t know how to do that, though. Fighting vampires was a lot easier.”

Alan didn’t really know how to go about that either, but he was smart. He could figure it out. “Well, you said you feel all gross and weird in your chest when you’re near him.”

“I didn’t say gross, but go on.”

“And I’ve seen you get all mushy and flustered when he’s next to you.”

“So?”

“So,” Alan stressed, “get close to him and see if the same thing happens. Hold his hand or something. Maybe when you’re alone, it’ll be more obvious.”

The tips of Edgar’s ears turned pink just from the implication, and Alan wanted to gag. If Santa Carla was still under threat, Alan would insist on dismissing these notions. They were soldiers, they had to be tough. Unfortunately, the world had calmed down now, and as unsavory as he found the concept, he wanted his brother to be happy.

“Okay,” Edgar said, obviously trying to shake himself out of whatever he’d been thinking of. “Step one: spend time alone with him. Step two: figure out if he likes me back.”

“Step three: get him somewhere romantic and isolated.”

“Step four: kiss him,” Edgar finally concluded. “Yeah. That should work.”

“We should really be writing this down.”

Edgar quickly grabbed the backpack by the foot of his sleeping bag and started rifling through it. Eventually, he pulled out a notebook and a pen and tossed it to Alan. Alan flipped past their old training regimens, shopping lists for garlic and wooden stakes, and lists of people they thought could be the head vampire before he finally found a blank page. At the top, he wrote Operation: Phoenix in all capitals before writing their carefully planned steps underneath. Once he finished, he handed the notebook back to Edgar to check over.

Edgar stared down at the notebook for a long while before finally grabbing the pen and drawing a tiny heart next to the title at the top of the page. He giggled to himself, as though he’d just gotten away with something illicit as he brushed his finger over the heart, smearing the still drying ink.

It may have been sickeningly soft, and Alan still wanted to gag a little bit, but weirdly, he found himself okay with it all. Sam was nice, and cool, and funny. He’d be nice to Edgar, no matter what happened. He thought more about Sam, too. About the conversation they’d overheard between him and Michael. About how Sam had talked about himself like he was worse than vampire scum.

Maybe it would be good for him.

…

Alan had never seen his brother act quite like this. There had been a lot of firsts recently, now that he thought about it. He’d never seen Edgar blush, or trip over his own feet, or laugh too loudly at a joke that really wasn’t that funny. He’d never seen him hesitate, or be anything short of sure of himself, or falter when he had a plan. It was almost disturbing, honestly, and Alan decided he didn’t like the idea of someone ever doing all that to him.

What was happening now was… something else entirely. After much bickering, Alan had finally made Edgar invite Sam roller skating, watching him intently as he spun the lie about Alan needing to get a cavity filled. Sam seemed to buy it, the plans were set, and Alan considered step one of Operation: Phoenix a resounding success.

Edgar seemed to be a little more unsure, considering he had to leave in five minutes and he’d changed clothes no less than five times. Alan really didn’t get what the big deal was. They saw Sam practically every day, and Edgar didn’t have a wide array of clothes to begin with. Everything he changed into was just another variation of camo pants and a t-shirt.

The sixth time he said, “You know, I think I’ll just go try something else on,” and tried to walk back into their room, Alan caught his shoulders and forced him to stay rooted in place.

“Edgar, what’s going on?”

Edgar shrugged helplessly, staring at the floorboards. “I just wanna look nice. Sam… he cares about this stuff, y’know.”

Alan firmly grasped his shoulders and shook him violently back and forth. “Get a grip!” he yelled. “Sam cares about how he dresses. He sees you every day, he’s not suddenly going to start caring now!”

“But what if—”

“I will slap you if you keep talking.”

“That might help, actually.”

Alan reared back and slapped his brother across the face.

Edgar looked stunned for a second, then shook himself out of it and started bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was pumping himself up. “Right. Okay. I can do this.”

“You sure can.” Alan grabbed Edgar’s shoulders again, whirled him around, and started pushing him towards the door. Once Edgar was outside, Alan grabbed his roller skates and shoved them into his arms, then slammed the door shut. Alan could only hope that Edgar didn’t decide for the first time in his life to be a coward and run away.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

…

Santa Carla, Alan realized, was a bit boring without Edgar and Sam. He popped Rambo in the VHS player and laid on the floor for a while, then spent some time sharpening his knives and wooden stakes (you could never be too careful), then finally, he climbed into the tent in the back yard and flipped open the notebook that contained the steps for Operation: Phoenix, just to make sure there was no flaw in their planning.

Alan would never claim to be an expert on romance, but he would definitely consider himself to be an expert on tactical planning, and it all looked pretty solid to him. He saw no reason why Sam wouldn't want to kiss Edgar if given the chance. Sam had never even come close to hinting about having ‘a type’ — in fact, he seemed to avoid the topic of romance altogether — but Alan saw no reason why his brother would make a worse candidate than anyone else. Yes, Alan decided, Operation: Phoenix was absolutely foolproof.

…

He was sitting outside the tent, watching the first fireflies light up as the sun started to set, when Edgar finally came home. He dropped his roller skates on the rickety back porch and ran towards Alan, who had just enough time to brace before his brother tackled him sideways into the grass.

Edgar rolled off Alan, stretching out on his back while he laughed and kicked his feet, seeming unable to contain his excitement. “Oh, Al, it went perfectly!”

Alan sat up and spit grass out of his mouth. “Did he say anything about your clothes?”

“Nope! We talked about the newest Batman issue, and he told me about this wicked sounding comic shop back in Phoenix, and he didn’t even complain when we had to stop roller skating to get ice for my face.”

Alan was about to congratulate him on a successful operation when he processed the end of that sentence. He finally actually looked over at his brother’s face and it was… swollen and red on one side, and his lip was split.

“Edgar!” Alan cried. “Did someone punch you?”

“What?” Edgar’s dopey smile didn’t even falter. “Oh, this? No. There just might have been one tiny flaw in our plan.”

“Which was?”

“I don’t know how to roller skate.” Edgar shrugged, poking at his split lip and wincing. “But it was okay! ‘Cause Sam knows how to roller skate, and he helped me stay on my feet. Sure, the moment he let me go, I fell face first onto the floor, but he helped me clean up all the blood! He even held the bag of ice on my face for a little bit.” Edgar smiled like that was the most romantic thing he could think of, and honestly, Alan couldn’t argue. That did sound pretty good.

“And, you know,” Edgar continued, “he did get kinda flustered when he was helping me wipe the blood off my face, so step two of Operation: Phoenix is underway!”

He sat up and held out his hand for a high five, which Alan gladly returned.

…

So, it went on like that for a while, with Operation: Phoenix stuck on step two for far longer than Alan would have liked. Their days still mostly progressed like normal, hanging out with Sam until his curfew hit, eating dinner at the Emerson house, building campfires in the backyard. It felt to Alan like balance had returned, spare the few times Sam and Edgar would get too close and flinch away from each other, or when Alan had to elbow Edgar hard in the ribs because he was staring.

Of course, every now and again, Edgar would look at Alan with pleading eyes and Alan would hurry to make up some excuse on why he couldn’t be around. Alan thought it would feel worse, like he was being excluded, but honestly, he didn’t want to be a part of all of that. Besides, Sam still made plenty of time for him.

All this to say, Alan was pretty content with the order of things, and he was pretty proud of himself for all the scheming going undetected by Sam. That is, until one day when they were climbing the sand dunes, Edgar raced to the top of one, then slipped over the other side and disappeared out of sight. Rather than running after him like Alan started to, Sam stopped and grabbed Alan’s arm, looking suddenly concerned.

“What’s up, Phoenix?” Alan asked, glancing back over the dune to make sure his brother wasn’t yelling for help.

“Are you mad at me? Or did I do something to upset you?” Sam scratched at the back of his neck, looking genuinely concerned.

Alan could have laughed. “What? Of course not. Why do you ask?”

Sam bit his lip, his eyes flitting around nervously. “It’s just… you keep making up excuses not to be around me. I asked Edgar, but the response he gave wasn’t exactly… coherent.”

Alan could only imagine what mess his brother had devolved into when confronted about that particular subject. The mental image was almost enough for Alan to feel sorry for him. Almost.

Instead, he found himself snorting, nearly doubling over from laughing at the absurdity of it all. “No, Phoenix, I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh. Then, why have you—”

“Look, I’m not the one making these decisions.” Alan nodded his head towards where Edgar had disappeared. “And I’m not trying to get away from you, that’s a Frog Brother promise.”

Sam just looked more confused and Alan had the distinct thought that these two would be the death of him.

“My god,” Alan groaned. “You’re dense. Do you not like spending time with my brother? Is that it?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a gaping fish. His cheeks and the tips of his ears went distinctly pink. “No! It’s not that at all. I like… I really— I really like— I mean, it’s nice to spend time with— but I don’t want you to think— but really it’s—”

Alan just rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam around the wrist, starting up the sand dune after his brother. Mentally, he officially checked step two of Operation: Phoenix off the list. Edgar would have to be an idiot to think that Sam didn’t like him back.

…

‘Step three: get him somewhere romantic and isolated’ was proving somewhat harder than expected. The Frog household was usually empty, but there was no telling when their parents would actually be around, and besides, it didn’t check off the ‘romantic’ aspect. The Emerson household was out for similar reasons, not to mention the fact that Sam shared a room with his older brother, and anywhere along the boardwalk was far too public. Alan had tried suggesting the woods, but Edgar pointed out that with the ‘isolated’ phrasing of their plan, it was starting to sound like they were trying to murder him. So, Operation: Phoenix unfortunately remained in limbo.

Until one night, when the three of them were out fairly late playing carnival games along the boardwalk. It was getting close to Sam’s curfew, and Alan was actually about to tell him he should start heading home, but the Frogs had completely lost track of him in the crowds.

Edgar had just suggested they should get to higher ground to search for him, when Sam rounded a corner, running at full speed. He stopped right in front of the Frogs and said, “Hey, Edgar, catch!” and tossed something at him.

Alan looked over at what Edgar had caught and saw it was a small, cheap, camo print teddy bear that looked like a prize from one of the booths.

“...What’s this?” Edgar asked slowly, turning it around carefully in his hands as if it would break.

Sam shrugged like it was no big deal, but Alan could see him blushing, even in the fading sunlight. “I got lucky playing ring toss. It reminded me of you.”

And Alan took that as his cue to leave. He certainly didn’t want to be around for whatever this was, and he assumed it would probably go better if he made himself scarce. “Well, I should, uh, probably head home to bed,” he said, starting to back away.

Sam’s eyebrows raised and he cocked his head questioningly to the side. “I was gonna ask you to come to my house tonight. Do you not want to?”

“See, I would but… I’ve got that thing. Tomorrow. Yeah.”

“Right,” Edgar said, thankfully catching on. “That thing. You should get some rest.”

“Mmm hmm. The thing.” Alan nodded, walking backwards until he crashed directly into a clothing rack outside of a store. Righting himself, he took off running in the direction of his house before Sam could ask any more questions.

Not to pat himself on the back, but he thought that went pretty smoothly.

…

It was around midnight when Alan started to actually get worried. His rational mind told him that Edgar had probably just gone home with Sam. His paranoid mind — the far stronger one — reminded him that Edgar usually called. He tried to calm himself down by reminding himself that if Edgar had successfully completed steps three and four of Operation: Phoenix, then he was probably just distracted. Then, Alan grossed himself out by briefly thinking about what he could have gotten distracted doing.

Alan was used to staying up late though, so, as he often did, he set up camp in the backyard and waited. Either Edgar would come home, or he’d get to watch the sunrise. Either sounded pretty good to Alan.

He actually almost fell asleep while standing watch wrapped up in his sleeping bag, until, at around two in the morning (by Alan’s best guess), he heard the zipper on the tent and suddenly felt his shoulder being aggressively shaken.

“Alan, wake up,” Edgar whispered.

“I’m awake,” Alan groaned, wiping the tiredness out of his eyes and pushing Edgar’s hand away. “Why were you out so late?”

“Operation: Phoenix is officially a success.”

That got Alan to sit up a lot quicker, but when he came face to face with his brother, he was startled to find that Edgar didn’t have that dopey smile on his face, and wasn’t giddy like he had been after roller skating. In fact, he looked a bit… somber.

“What happened?” Alan asked, mentally sorting through everything that could have possibly gone wrong. “Was it not good?”

“No, no, it was…” A hint of that stupid grin broke through Edgar’s concerning demeanor. “It was amazing. He’s… gosh, he’s warm, and it felt just right, and Al, I think I get what people in those romance movies are always talking about now.”

“So… what happened?”

“It was good — great, even — and he looked so happy. So I kissed him again. And again. And then he just… started crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone cry that hard.” Edgar scrunched up his nose, eyebrows knit together in deep thought. “He kept telling me that it wasn’t my fault, and that he was sorry I got pulled into this. But, then he’d laugh through all the tears and tell me that it was a great first kiss, and he hugged me, but then he flinched and… pulled himself away. He mumbled something about his dad that I was too scared to ask about.”

Alan remembered the conversation they’d overheard all those weeks ago. The way that even admitting he liked boys had reduced Sam to tears. He realized there might have been a bigger flaw in Operation: Phoenix than just Edgar not knowing how to roller skate. “What did you do?”

Edgar shrugged, pulling his knees up to his chest for comfort. “I walked him home. He said he wanted Michael. I told him we should go roller skating again. He said maybe.”

The two brothers sat for a moment in silence, then Alan did the only thing he could think of; he leaned forwards and wrapped his arms around Edgar, who in turn settled with his face pressed against Alan’s shoulder.

“You know,” Edgar said quietly after a few minutes, “it was still a pretty good first kiss.”

…

The Frogs didn’t see Sam for nearly three days, which was concerning in itself. They basically hadn’t spent more than twenty four hours apart since they’d met. They’d considered staking out his house, or finding a way to corner Michael, but it turned out that a good old waiting game was all they needed. They were sitting inside the comic shop, trying to beat the Santa Clara heat when Sam rolled up on his bike. Edgar nearly fell out of his chair and Alan had to haul him back upright so he didn’t make even more of a fool of himself.

All things considered, Sam looked… alright. He bounded up to them with the same enthusiasm he always did, if a bit more jumpy than usual. His eyes wouldn’t focus anywhere, especially not on Edgar, but he grinned at them all the same.

“Hey,” he greeted, breathless from the bike ride. “Wanna ride up to the bluff?”

Alan looked over at Edgar, who was already nodding rapidly.

“Sounds good, Phoenix,” Alan agreed. As they got their bikes, Alan understood the deal being struck. They didn’t talk about the three days Sam went MIA, and things got to continue as normal. Alan could live with that, but he wasn’t sure Edgar could.

Alan deliberately pedaled in front of the other two, leaving them a few feet in the dust. Through the wind whistling in Alan’s ears, he could just barely hear them talking.

“So… you said something about roller skating, right?” Sam was obviously trying to sound casual and failing.

“Yeah,” Edgar replied far too quickly. “I’ll try not to bust my face open this time.”

Sam laughed. “How’s tomorrow sound?”

“Sounds great.”

Alan started pedaling faster. He didn’t need to hear the rest of that. He’d heard enough to think Edgar was going to be just fine.

…

Things went back to normal on the surface, but a new problem emerged. Alan was used to 100% authenticity from his brother 100% of the time. It’s how they functioned. Therefore, as much as Alan loathed the idea of being subjected to any mushy gushy feelings, he also didn’t like the idea that his brother was acting differently behind closed doors.

When the Frogs and Sam were all together, Edgar wouldn’t touch Sam, look at Sam too long, or even get particularly close to Sam. Alan thought this was distinctly stupid considering, once again, on multiple occasions they had all slept together on a twin sized mattress. But Alan could get past all of that. The horrible mushy feelings were bound to cause some awkwardness, and that was easy enough to excuse.

The thing Alan couldn’t get past was that he knew that they weren’t like that when Alan wasn’t around. He caught the lingering glances, and he’d seen them quickly drop hands when he entered a room. The secrecy didn’t sit right with him, and not even because stuff was being hidden from him. He didn’t like the idea that they felt the need to hide.

It didn’t help that Edgar had stopped filling him in on all the details. He was pretty sure that they’d kissed again after they’d gone roller skating. Maybe a few times. He was pretty sure it was all going well, even. But Edgar seemed hesitant to share.

“You know,” Alan muttered one day, as they watched Sam bike off towards home, “you can be with him around me. I might gag, but it’s not like I’ll suddenly decide to punch your lights out.”

Edgar grimaced slightly, staring down at his feet. “I know it’s just… all new, ya know? And I’m still a little worried I’m going to scare him off.”

That was among the stupidest things his brother had ever said. “He’ll come back if you do,” Alan said simply. “He’d be stupid not to. Besides, maybe being with him when I’m around… I dunno, maybe it’ll make him more comfortable.”

Edgar looked thoughtful. Alan didn’t know what there was to think about. He knew he was right.

…

The next evening, when they were making s’mores by the firepit in the Frogs’ backyard, Edgar leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek.

Sam, without saying anything, stood up, and walked into the woods.

…

He came back after about twenty minutes, right before Edgar and Alan were going to go look for him. He sat stiffly down next to Edgar, grabbed his hand, and kissed his cheek.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, staring at the fire with wide eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Alan couldn’t help but laugh. “Obviously. You good now, Phoenix?”

Sam looked bashful, a raging blush crawling up his face in the firelight, but a small smile flickered on his face. “Yeah. I think so.”

Edgar held out his arm, inviting Sam to lean against his side. Sam hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer, seeming to relax, if only slightly.

Alan chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all. He knew for a fact that right now, he could walk over and lay himself across Sam’s lap, and he’d have no reaction whatsoever, but he was shaking at the idea of being close to Edgar. Romance, Alan decided, was stupid.

…

Alan didn’t know if Sam had told anyone in his family about his… new relationship, he guessed you’d call it. Actually, Alan was operating under the general assumption that he was the only person that knew. He took pride in that, if only a little bit.

That all changed when, while cleaning up the Emerson backyard after a water balloon fight one day, Edgar looked like he’d seen a ghost. Alan was used to the staring at this point, but he was staring wide-eyed in the middle distance instead of at Sam, which was unusual.

“Ed, what’s goin’ on?” Alan elbowed him hard in the side, causing him to flinch and snap back to reality.

“Sam, your brother’s gonna kill me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “I keep telling you guys, he’s definitely not a vampire anymore.”

“No, he doesn’t want to kill me for vampire reasons, he wants to kill me for kissing you reasons,” Edgar hissed, lowering his voice to a whisper at the end.

Sam still visibly flinched and looked around to make sure no one was listening. Then, he sighed and clamped a hand on Edgar’s shoulder. “I won’t let him kill you. I promise.”

Edgar rapidly shook his head. “I don’t think you can stop him. I wish he was still a vampire, then I’d know how to defend myself!”

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” Sam laughed, rubbing Edgar’s shoulder. “I’m sure he was just trying to scare you.”

“It worked!”

…

Once school started, everything genuinely seemed okay. Edgar and Sam were still gross, of course, but Sam seemed a lot less jumpy. Of course, high school brought its own lot of challenges, but it was nothing the Frogs hadn’t dealt with before.

Alan and Edgar were the type of kids that, by all means, should've gotten bullied. And they certainly got called plenty of names, but they also had a reputation for biting people. They'd crossed the line from freaks to absolutely unstable hard enough that most people left them alone.

Sam had no such reputation, and as much as they told him he needed to build one, he kept claiming something about "basic human decency".

Well, Alan thought that the people who shoved Sam into lockers lacked basic human decency, but it was far easier to just keep an eye on him than to pick that fight. Which is saying something, because Alan was a person that usually took every fight.

At least the older kids mostly left him alone. Alan assumed that had something to do with him sharing a last name with Michael, who was, quite frankly, a little terrifying, even without the fangs.

It wasn’t too bad. From what Sam said, it was nowhere near as bad as it had been in Phoenix, but he still got roughed up when Alan and Edgar weren’t around to play guard dog. Alan got that Sam was weird — it was why he liked him — and he’d even clocked the whole ‘liking boys’ thing pretty early, but he still didn’t get what made Sam such an on-sight target, when even Alan, who had been boldly telling everyone he was a boy since age eight, and Edgar, who evidently also liked boys, didn’t get half as much shit.

Alan really thought Sam needed to start biting people.

…

For once, Alan did actually have homework to do when he split from Edgar and Sam in the evening. Sure, he definitely could have done the math packet at Sam’s house, but they had started getting all gross and mushy, and Alan did not want to be a part of that. So, he pedaled home by himself, enjoying the noise of the wind whipping past his ears and the crickets starting their nightly song.

He expected to do what he usually did when Edgar and Sam were busy; finish his homework, pop in a movie, fall asleep on the floor, and meet up with the two of them the next morning. He’d reached step four of that plan before being violently shaken awake by a frantic Edgar.

“Wha’s goin’ on,” Alan muttered, still half asleep.

“The Emersons are going to kill me,” Edgar hissed, yanking Alan upright.

Alan yawned, batting Edgar’s hands away. “Sam already said he’d keep Michael away from you.”

“No, not him, his mom threw a shoe at me.”

Well, that certainly woke Alan up. He thought of Ms. Emerson and her oversized cardigans, and pleasant smile, and how she always made extra food for Edgar and Alan to take home. “What do you mean she threw a shoe—”

“I mean she caught me making out with her son and she threw a shoe at me!”

Alan inwardly winced that the transition had been made from just ‘kissing’ to ‘making out’. “Was it like, an angry shoe throwing, or…”

Edgar looked unamused. “What do you think? Al, she’s gonna kill me. Then, she’ll get Michael to kill me again!”

Alan grabbed his brother’s shoulders, trying to ground him. “I’m sure it’ll all blow over. Until then, I’ve got your back, okay? Like always.”

Edgar took a deep breath, slowly nodding. “Yeah… yeah. Alright.”

They sat for a few moments, the silence of their dark, empty house started to creep in. Finally, in nearly a whisper, Alan asked, “Is Sam gonna be alright?”

Edgar just pressed his face against Alan’s shoulder and sighed like all of the weight of the world was pressing down on him. Alan just wrapped his arms around him and squeezed.

…

Edgar was invited back to the Emersons’ for an ‘apology dinner’. Alan decided he was coming too. Both for backup and for cookies.

When they knocked on the front door (they had mutually decided that their usual methods of ‘just walk in’ or ‘sneak through Sam’s window’ weren’t appropriate), Ms. Emerson opened the door with a carefully rehearsed smile plastered on her face, which — to her credit — only faltered slightly when she saw Alan standing there with his arms crossed.

“Edgar and Alan, how nice of you to join us,” she said, stiffly but politely, as she opened the door further to let them inside. She then called into the house, “Michael, can you add another place setting to the table?”, which was answered with a vague noise of affirmation from deeper inside.

Alan stepped into the house easily, then reached back out to grab Edgar’s arm and yank him inside. He was 95% convinced that Sam’s mother actually was just trying to smooth things over, but Edgar wouldn’t be so easily calmed.

Usually at the table, Ms. Emerson and Michael would sit at either end and Edgar would sit next to Sam on one side while Alan sat across from Sam on the other. Tonight, Edgar looked pointedly at Alan, who took the spot next to Sam, while Edgar himself sat across from Alan, which did leave him right next to Michael at the head of the table, which Alan wasn’t sure was ideal. Then again, it was probably better than him sitting next to Ms. Emerson.

To say diner was… tense… would be an understatement. Michael was the only person actually eating anything, seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. Meanwhile, Sam sat staring at his hands, Edgar was making a point to look anywhere but Sam, Alan sat with his arms crossed (daring the Emersons to say anything mean to his brother), and Ms. Emerson was trying to disguise the fact that she was looking back and forth between her younger son and Edgar.

Alan almost had to respect Ms. Emerson for daring to be the first one to speak. “So… how long have you two…” she started, but it was clear she either didn’t know how to finish the sentence, or she simply didn’t want to.

Sam looked like he was seconds away from actually hiding under the table, and Edgar was eyeing up the back window like it would make a great escape route.

“Mom, can we just… not.” Sam winced, the tips of his ears going dark red as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

“What? I want to know what’s happening in my sons’ lives.” She finally picked up a bite of casserole on her fork and plopped it in her mouth. “Is that a crime?” She tried to say it casually, but didn’t quite hit the mark. Alan kind of respected the effort, honestly.

“Very good casserole, Ms. Emerson,” Edgar said in a strained voice, about the casserole that he had not eaten yet.

If Ms. Emerson noticed the discrepancy, she didn’t comment on it. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s always nice to have you two here for dinner.”

Michael snorted and tried to cover it up by shoving more food in his mouth. He was obviously finding all of this hilarious.

Crushing silence returned to the dinner table, broken only by the sound of Michael’s silverware on his plate. Eventually, Ms. Emerson put down the fork she’d been pretending to eat with, pushed her chair away from the table, and cleared her throat.

“I will not have us be the type of family that doesn’t talk about things anymore.” She looked over at Edgar. “Edgar, I am sorry I yelled, and I’m sorry I threw a shoe at you. That was not my proudest moment as a mother. Alan, I’m sorry I threatened your brother. Sam, we’ve already talked about the endless reasons I’m sorry to you, and Michael, would you stop laughing!”

From the other end of the table, Michael doubled over laughing so hard he almost smashed his face directly into his dinner. “Sorry… sorry, I’m—” he wiped a tear away from his eye “—I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m still imagining the shoe thing.”

Ms. Emerson stared tensely across the table at Michael for a few moments until, ever so quietly, Sam started laughing too.

“It was kind of funny, Mom,” Sam chuckled. The absolutely humiliated blush on Sam’s face didn’t disappear, but it did lessen slightly as he sat up straighter. “You caught him square between the eyes.”

Ms. Emerson buried her face in her hands, but Alan saw her shoulders start to shake with laughter. “I’ve never had aim that good in my life!” she cried miserably, running her hands back from her face through her hair.

“I was impressed,” Edgar agreed tentatively. “I guess we know where Sam gets his crossbow aim.”

Sam actually smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “I don’t think I could fire that thing again if I tried.”

“I don’t think I could hit someone in the head with a shoe again if I tried!” Ms. Emerson exclaimed.

“Someone who was actively climbing out a window,” Sam added. “You knocked him clear out the other side. He landed in the bushes.”

Now Alan was laughing too. He had to agree with Michael, it was a pretty funny thing to imagine, and honestly, Alan wanted to hit his brother in the head with a shoe half the time anyway, so he couldn’t be too mad about it.

“Oh God,” Ms. Emerson was breathless with laughter now, “I am so sorry, Edgar, really.”

“It’s okay, Ms. E,” Edgar giggled. “It’s nowhere near as bad as what happened when Sam and I went roller skating. Busted my whole face right open on the roller rink floor. Sure set Operation: Phoenix off to a rough start.”

A hush fell over the table, and Edgar physically clamped a hand over his own mouth when he realized what he said.

Hesitantly, as he picked at his untouched dinner with his fork, Sam said, “...What’s Operation: Phoenix?”

“Nothing,” Alan and Edgar squeaked together. Both Frogs finally picked up their forks and started shoveling food into their mouths, hoping to avoid answering any more questions.

Everyone else slowly started eating too. Despite Edgar’s slip-up, the tension in the air did dissipate. Things started to feel normal again, which Alan appreciated. He couldn’t stand all that feelings stuff, and he definitely couldn’t stand it getting in the way of them and the woman that cooked them homemade meals.

…

After dinner, they took their ‘apology cookies’ to the backyard while Ms. Emerson cleaned up. Michael lingered on the back porch, keeping his distance but obviously keeping an eye on his younger brother.

“I think that went well,” Edgar decided, bumping his shoulder against Sam’s. “Don’t you think?”

Sam stared at the ground, kicking idly at the rocks and dust. “Yeah… yeah, of course. It went about as well as it could have.” He looked up at Edgar and Alan, a slight frown on his face. “What’s Operation: Phoenix?”

Edgar froze in place, rapidly glancing over at Alan for assistance. “Oh. That. It’s… uh… it’s nothing. Really! Just…” He scratched at the back of his neck, clearing his throat like that would give him more thinking time. “It’s just, uh… Alan, you should tell Sam what it is.”

Alan fixed his brother with an unamused glare. Two could play at this game, and this was a stupid thing to hide, anyway. He looked back over to Sam and grinned. “It’s just the plan we made so Edgar could kiss you.”

“Alan!” Edgar hissed, trying to lunge at him. Unfortunately for him, Edgar was flustered, and Alan was prepared. Alan dove out of the way and started running, all while digging through his messenger bag for the notebook he knew was in there. He found the book, thankfully with a pen tucked into the right page, and chucked it at Sam.

Sam didn’t catch it, but he did manage to scoop it up off the ground before Edgar could nab it from him. Edgar tried in vain to get the notebook back, but Sam was quick on his feet, and after a few hearty seconds of dodging and weaving, Edgar gave up the chase, looking resigned to his fate.

Sam flipped open the notebook and read through their plan. Thankfully, he actually seemed charmed by it. “You know,” he said, laughing, “‘get him somewhere romantic and isolated’ makes it sound a bit like you were planning to kill me.”

Edgar was blushing so hard that Alan thought he might burst a blood vessel.

Sam grinned, looking up from the notebook at Edgar. “You planned this all out just for me?”

Edgar nodded, still looking bashful but smiling a bit himself. “Al did most of the planning, really. I just followed it.”

For a split second, Sam looked overwhelmed. He closed the notebook and tossed it back to Alan. Then, in a move that it looked like Sam himself was unsure of, he grabbed Edgar’s face and kissed him square on the mouth.

Alan had never actually seen that before. He’d slowly been subjected to all the gross hand holding and brief pecks on the cheek or forehead, but they’d been avoiding that particular action in front of him. Watching it now, he realized he was quite thankful for that.

Thankfully, he didn’t even have time to gag before Michael Emerson had marched across the backyard faster than Alan thought possible, grabbed the back of Edgar’s tactical vest with both hands, and physically lifted Edgar away from his younger brother.

“Nope,” Michael said simply, popping the ‘p’ sound as he deposited Edgar back down next to Alan.

“Mike!” Sam cried, red in the face.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Michael shrugged, “I’m still your older brother. It’s my job.” He glared at Edgar. “Watch it, Frog.”

“He’s the one that kissed me!” Edgar protested, but Michael was already back across the yard, leaning casually on the porch like nothing had happened.

“Sorry about him,” Sam chuckled, brushing his hair away from his face. “What I was trying to get across is… thanks, I guess. It’s really sweet to know that you cared so much.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “Duh! You expect us to have a mission and not come up with an elite tactical plan?”

“And it worked perfectly,” Edgar bragged, grabbing Sam’s hand after shooting a look over his shoulder to make sure Michael wasn’t about to pounce again.

“Well, almost perfect,” Alan conceded. “We forgot to consider that the actual aim of the plan might make you… a bit anxious.”

Sam’s face fell slightly in thought, but the smile didn’t stay gone for long. “Yeah, well, it was the first time I really let myself realize that I actually… you know, liked a guy. So, anxiety inducing? Definitely. Worth it? For sure.” His brow suddenly creased as he glanced over at Edgar. “I’m surprised it didn’t freak you out more.”

Edgar shrugged. “Why would it?”

Sam laughed. “The whole gay thing? That didn’t cause you like, an ounce of panic?”

Edgar scrunched up his noise, looking genuinely baffled. “No? I told you when we found out. You’re cool, so it doesn’t really—”

Sam looked like he couldn’t tell if Edgar was trying to make a joke or not. “Not me being gay.” Alan noted that Sam seemed so baffled that he didn’t even stumble over the words like he usually did. “I mean you being gay.”

“Me being what now?”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and he tried uselessly to form words. He looked over at Alan, seeking assistance, but Alan was just as lost as he was.

“Edgar,” Sam started eventually, holding up their still clasped hands between them. “You like me.”

“Yup.”

“And I’m a guy.”

That somehow just made Edgar look more confused. “Yes?”

“You’re also a guy.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Therefore, you like guys. Therefore—”

“Oh my God, I’m gay.” Edgar looked like his brain suddenly snapped into working gear all at once. He then looked accusingly over at Alan and dropped Sam’s hand to point at him. “Did you know?”

Alan exchanged a long glance with Sam. “Uh… yeah, I kinda figured. I thought it was just one of those things we didn’t need to talk about.” Like me being a boy, or the fact that there are werewolves on the city council.

Sam clapped Edgar on the back with a look on his face that said it’s really unfortunate that I like this guy. “Feeling the panic now, Ed?”’

Edgar seemed to genuinely think for a moment, before smiling and grabbing Sam’s hand to swing between them again. “Nah. I just can’t believe no one told me.”