((Cowers)) Don't... Hurt... Me. XX

It was illegal, what ever it was. It came in a needle, and at the price of two hundred ollars on the spot. And it was pulsing through his veins now. It didn't have a name… But it was the shit. He remembered feeling his body slip away, a discarded skin on the floor of a men's bathroom. He remembered the flashing lights and throbbing music of the night club disappearing away from him…. And then into nothingness.

Cradled in the arms of darkness, enveloped in the warmth that had evaded him as a mortal. Years of cowering under his bastard leader's thumb, tumbling off into the infinite mist. The bruising at the hands of Victor and Raven, gone, forgotten. The prejudice against his mutation - a shadow in the back of his mind.

-And it all came screaming back-

The silence vanished, sound and sight rushing back to him, knocking the air from his lungs. He struggled under the

forgotten weight of his body, unable to lift his limbs. It was deafening, after what had seemed like an eternity of

quiet. His body instinctively curled into a ball, evading the frowning faces of unrecognized normies…

"He's drunk."

"Drugged, more likely."

"Doesn't look right in his skin…"

"He's a mutie!"

"Better get rid of 'im before Randy get's back here and sees."

"Damned mutants."

And now dragged to his feet, but flinching from their touch, which seemed like fore to his skin. He resisted, attempted to argue against the injustice, but couldn't find his voice, couldn't control his lower jaw enough to create a proper syllable any way.

Dancing clubbers glared at him - Stupid drugger - as they lead him on useless legs out the doors. He staggered away from the bouncers, blood shot eyes rolling eerily in his head. Passerby side stepped him, glancing frightfully at his paling skin, which had drawn tight over his bones. Sweat matted his emerald hair, which had become plastered his forehead. Vague obscenities were tumbling from his lips. Those obscenities turned into blustering curses and swearing. His strides, usually so graceful and poised, were uselessly drunken, carrying him to and fro down the side walk, stumbling into the other night life and earning irritated glares from the bustlers.

The foreign substances in his system tugged at the nerves in his face, his legs, his arms, sending him on a crash course into the garbage cans outside a take-out Chinese restaurant. Some reached out to steady him. They failed. He fell to his knees, soaking himself in a sludge filled puddle. Rain pored down mercilessly on him. Tears of frustration and inebriation streamed down his cheeks. My God, it hurts.

He struggled to his feet, seeking aid from the bricks in the wall beside him, but the drug had taken away the secretions in his hands, and he couldn't cling to the surface - It was shutting down his systems… And at he same time, sending waves of heat through his body, each one carrying with it a heavier wave of pain.

And I to die right here? His cell phone was in his pocket, if he could only call Magneto, he might be given another chance… He struggled to his feet again, trying to grope through the many pockets of his long jacket, but his arms gave way to another pulse of static in his nervous system, and he found himself staggering, staggering, straight into a tall, muscly brute, who didn't seems particularly obliged to break his fall. Toad never even saw the man's face, only felt himself shoved ruthlessly out into the roar of traffic… And suddenly the world slowed down again.

He felt his body moving through the air, his limbs flailing. He could hear the shallow voices of frightened patrons, even saw some one reaching out to him as he fell away from the curb… For a moment, he was weightless, and the world was gone from him… But just for a moment.

Blinding light fell across his body, or maybe he flew into the beam, and as the world rushed back to him once again, he heard the horrified shrieking of a woman, felt the wind and the rain caress his face, and suddenly, colliding.

His spine cracked under his skin as he slammed into the grill of a speeding car, and his entire body twisted, sickeningly… And then there was the ground.

He lay, sprawled on the asphalt, staring at nothing and everything at once.

God, where am I?

There was an awful warring of noise, roaring in his ears; People screamed, metal scraped, horns honked in protest.

His body was a sea of pain, and it could only make sense that every bone was broken.

Civilians had formed a tight circle, murmuring within themselves as to what to do about the strange young man lying spread eagle in the road. He tried to turn his head away from the chaos, painfully laying his cheek in a rain puddle. His breaths rippled across the water's surface.

…

Behind a visor of ruby quartz

…

Jean was gone. Oh god, she was gone…

A wearied X-man trudged through New York's grimy streets, his fists jammed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in mourning.

The mansion was just… Too much right now.

Too many sympathetic faces. Too many heart breaking memories.

It still smelled like her… Every where. The sheets, the pillow cases, her old shirts in the dresser. His heart tugged painfully in his chest. He had spent the last three days, just touching her clothing… But her scent wouldn't always be there… And then what?

It was all too strange to him… The world hadn't stopped. It hadn't come screaming to a halt. And he still had to go on in life.

Through the haze of gray that had overtaken the tones of his world, there was a sudden shriek - Tires skidding on pavement. The scent of burning rubber suddenly assaulted his nostrils, accompanied by a wail of panic from a woman. He looked up, his eyes catching to a gathering crowd. The screams seemed to emit from there.

X-men senses tingling, he strode forward, pushing knot of regrett to the back of his stomach. It would no-doubt reemerge later.

"Excuse me, pardon me miss." He elbowed through the shifting crowd, straining to see what had caused such a commotion.

A car had swerved off the road, wrapping it's front end around a telephone pole. The driver had already stumbled out, and was sitting on the side walk, disoriented. Another car had collided with the first, but the damage seemed minor. But then his eyes fell to the lone figure, lying in the rain.

…

Through the eyes of a toad.

Even through the pain, he saw a vague figure moving swiftly towards him, He squinted hard against the harsh light.

…

Cyclops could hardly believe his eyes as he rushed to kneel next the wounded creature - Green skin. Green skin. "Toad," he whispered, swiftly removing a glove to search for a pulse. He found at his fingertips a faint, erratic beating.

…

An x-man was at his side, touching him, murmuring. He shifted. "I can't move," tumbled from his lips, the words neatly slanted with a soft British tint. "I can't move…"

…

Scot saw the life leaving the younger man, panic rising in his chest. No more death… The wailing of an ambulance was far off in the distance, too faint to indicate that it might arrive in time…

He slipped his fingers beneath his old enemy's head, placing his other hand on the frog man's shoulder. "Just breathe, Toad."

The green mutant's eyes, while glazed and blood shot, met Scott's for a fraction of a second, straight through the visor of ruby quartz.

His lips parted, slowly, and formed a single word; "Why?"

Scott started, staring at the ailing mutant for a moment. …Why?

Oh God why?

He closed his eyes, and was instantly met by the image of Jean - It all came rushing back; Her face, her smell, her voice, her touch.

Yeah; why?

He opened his eyes again, taking Toad's hand in his comfortingly as he felt the young mutant's breathing hitch. "The ambulance is almost here, Toad." He winced in discomfort at his lie, feeling his insides churning as the Brotherhood member's lips gave way to blood.

…

Toad

…

He knew it. He saw the hints and twists of discomfort in his enemy's voice. How very ironic, to die right here, in the arms of the hated x-man. A perfect-faced x-man. He might have shuddered, had his body been warring in pain.

…

Scott

….

Summers played a hand across the scarred green face, cleaning it of the wet and blood.

"I'm so sorry, Toad."

He felt a slackening of muscle in his hand. Glancing down, he saw the silence that had come over the too-young face.

"...I'm sorry."

Yes, yes, I know. - I keep on killing him! It's just what happens when I write. I'm so sorry!

This fic was origionally written to a song I liked, because it really seemed to sum Toad up back then.-But I was looking it over, after I stopped liking the band for obvious reasons, and I realized how many people would hate me for putting the song in, and how much I'd hate myself! ((meep!)) The song, for those whom posess a morbid curiosity, was 'Untitled' by Simple Plan. -Any way, the fic may seem a little out of porportion.

Working on the chapters of my other storries! I swear!

Review?