Author’s Note; Well, it’s been another slow night. As you might notice, Mort's moods move very erratically, he seems to be all over the place. This is the point. Poor thing, all he needs is a hug. A hug and some chocolate. I had a field day with this chapter, and I hope you enjoy!

After countless minutes he finally stopped, the sadistic grin having been replaced by a look of grim determination and hatred. He dropped the girl unceremoniously on the ground, and she turned her face up to him.

It wasn’t streaked with tears, strained with fear, or even clouded with doubt—much to his irritation. Was every member of this family brain-dead? His father should’ve shot to kill, his mother should’ve stayed indoors…and he should’ve let that bullet hit her. And now this fearless three year old was looking up at him as if he were doing this all to entertain her. He squatted down and ran his webbed hand through her soft, coppery hair. She didn’t recoil.

Didn’t even shudder.

Mort decided that he hated kids. She grinned at him, her amethyst eyes sparkling. He sneered at her, shoving her head away roughly as he got up. He hunched his shoulders and turned away from her. This had been a mistake, all a big mistake. He looked down as he fell a tug on his pants leg, her cherub’s face staring in to his.

He suddenly felt cold, spreading from his chest through all his extremities. His chest felt weighted and raw…and…he shoved her away, backing up hurriedly.

Sabrina looked at him with a hurt expression, but he didn’t see her. Mort was stumbling between the trees, his hand to his forehead, trying to keep the world from spinning.

If only he could’ve been like her…good like her…he’d be in that house…

His breathing quickened, and he put out a hand to steady himself, leaning against a tree heavily.

If only he’d been good…been better…been…

He sat down, completely lost in a swell of darkness. A little hand tugged at his sleeve, and he looked up, frightened.

“Mor’mer?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle. He looked away quickly. The hand went away, and he didn’t care. She could get lost and get ripped apart by wolves for all he cared. A few moments passed before a small body leaned up against him, a pair of tiny, soft arms reaching around his muscled torso. He froze, his breathing barely above a strangled gasp. “S’ok. Don’t be sad,” she patted his back. He looked down at her blankly. Why was she doing this? Why did she keep latching on to him? He wanted to shove her away, but was too petrified to do so. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He looked at her, his stomach clenching.

“I’m…ah…” he looked at her again, not sure what to do. Should he take her home? No. Their father still had that pistol, and although he probably couldn’t make a fatal shot, he didn’t really fancy getting hit again.

The Island was another feasible idea. Hold the girl...take her away from them. He could kill her.

He glanced down in to her little face, seeing a little bit of himself in there. Not possible, he realized bitterly. He’d feel no remorse in leaving her here, though. She could fend for herself, right? He could when he was that age. He’d been fighting for survival since day one, and if this little runt didn’t have it in her to get back to her home… she leaned against his shoulder and his bravado flickered and failed. He cleared his throat.

“Are they…good to you?” he asked finally.

“Mummy and I made muffins for supper tonight. They ‘ave these berries in ‘em, they’re real sour, but Mummy likes ‘em a lot and Daddy says that iss’a…akw…ackwi…acqu...ired taste, an’ that I’ll like ‘em when I’m older an’ for now I just gotta pretend I like ‘em, or Mummy’ll get grumpy.”

“D’they ever hurt you?” he asked in a low rasp.

“No!” said Sabrina, looking shocked. “They’d never do that. Billy says that his mum spanks him, but our Mummy says it’s ‘barbaric’.” She used this word with a great sense of pride. ‘Our mummy’. He cringed inwardly, and let out a great, shaking breath. Another look at her smiling face and he wanted to ruin it, smashing it and making it bleed. He wanted her to be as imperfect as he was…he wanted to be the better one…they kept her, they kept her… But he held back the urge, balling his hands in to fists. He’d done a lot of awful things in his short time on his planet, but beating children was not going to be one of them.

He got to his feet, brushing the pine needles of the back of his pants. “C’mon then. We’re going home.” He said in a harsh voice.

His heart beat faster and faster as he began to see the lights by the house. They had kept their word- there weren’t any police there. At least, not yet. The lights were on and the two of them were sitting in the family room. He stopped for a moment, landing with an uncanny grace. He didn’t have to go in there. He didn’t have to return this child…his sister…to these people…his parents. Sabrina had been giggling through the entire ride on Mort’s back, and he gave her a stern glare to shut her up. He took one last grudging sigh and jumped through the window he’d crashed out of, with a very despondent look on his face.

On hearing the thump, Mr. and Mrs. Toynbee ran in to the room, faces overwhelmed with relief. He put her down and backed away, shoulders hunched, looking like a cornered animal, just wanting out—coming here had been the worst idea he’d ever had. And he’d had some bad ones.

Mary-Alice hugged her daughter fiercely, crying in to her perfect copper hair. Andrew turned his gaze on to his son. Mortimer backed away further, all the audacity and blitheness gone completely from his nature. His eyes were glued to the floor, and he looked like he expected to be struck.

“You came back,” he said, voice not entirely unkind. Toad’s head flicked up in that eerily fast, animalistic fashion. His eyes were wide and all the muscles in his neck and face were tensed. “Thank-you,” said his father, approaching him slowly, holding out his hand as if he wanted to coax a wild dog in to coming forth. Toad didn’t move, he just stood, frozen on the spot. He didn’t know what was making him do this, but he couldn’t help it. They were his parents…his parents. They’d given him up at birth, they’d left him to die, but all he wanted was to be held and comforted by them…all he wanted was to hear them say that they loved him. “Mortimer…” his father started, putting his hand on Toad’s shoulder.

The touch was what snapped him out of it. He jerked back, eyes slit and jaw clenched. He was an assassin, a powerful one. And who were they? Just humans. Just another set of flatscans.

“Mortimer, listen…” he pleaded. “We know you probably have a lot of questions…”

“Questions!” he hissed. “I didn’ come here for questions-- I came here to kill you.” Toad watched in satisfaction as the blood drained slowly from his face. “I came here…to kill you…you and wha’ever children you had…for what you did to me…” his breathing was coming harder again. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME! WHAT’S SO WRONG THAT I DESERVED THAT?” Mary-Alice had taken Sabrina in to the other room quickly, leaving just the two of them. He was panting, his face flushed a dark green, golden eyes wild with fury. After a few moments, the anger seemed to drain out of him, as suddenly as it had came. “Why…?” he whimpered. He had come here knowing the answer. He had known it all along. He was a freak, drew attention, soiled the family name. He needed to be rid of.

Not…good…enough…disgusting...not human…not even human…just an animal…just a toad..

He fell against the wall and slid down it, knees drawn up to his chest, his face hidden. He just wanted to die, now more than ever. That lightning bolt should’ve killed him. It should’ve killed him several times over, but here he was. Was this hell?

Andrew watched the green mutant slump against the wall, a broken shell. He was only sixteen, he thought with a twinge. Still a child. His child, more importantly. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the fear in his heart. This boy had done more in sixteen years than most would do in a lifetime—two lifetimes. Like he had said, those security guards at Liberty Island hadn’t been recognizable as human…just sacks of flesh and splinters of bone. But he didn’t look capable of any of that right now. He just looked like a lost little boy.

Toad felt a blanket draped around his shoulders, and a few minutes, he saw a pair of fuzzy slippers approach. His mother crouched down beside him, putting a cautious arm around him. When she saw that he wasn’t going to lash out, she embraced him tighter.

He trembled under her touch, all his muscles tensed, his scared eyes looking in to hers.

“Shh, now,” she said, rubbing his back in a calming manner. A few tears dropped on to the carpeted floor and he shivered harder, his shoulders up to his ears, protecting his neck and face. When she proved not to be a threat, he slowly relaxed, finally leaning in to her, hot tears escaping his closed lids.