CHAPTER TWO
A Porcelain Life

1988 - three years later

Contrary to the derelict or demolished cathedrals of the Eastern side of the city, the church bells of West Berlin could be faintly heard ringing on the hour beyond the Wall, announcing that the day reached four in the afternoon. As lessons came to their end, students began to pour from the doors of Humboldt University, heading to their next class or to sit on the lawn for talking and studying.

Frogg got a few stares from some of the more unfamiliar first-year students as he trotted down the steps of the Department of Science. It was an odd thing, certainly. Not only was he half the height of everyone else and stuck out from this, but to see a boy his age go about alone was a bit unusual. However, the upperclassmen who were more familiar and quite accustomed to the sight of the little boy paid him no mind- he might have become even a bit of a strange yet endearing feature of their campus at this point.

At first, the stares had mortified and discouraged a younger Frogg, but now he barely noticed and just went on his way. He was in a cheerful mood today. He had just completed an especially interesting lesson with Professor Reinhart in Chemistry and his head was flooding with all sorts of ideas on the subject - how to apply the science to his little inventions, or wondering how many cool reactions he could make in the university labs. Plus, that morning he had awoken to the fading occurrence of his father being alert and awake, actually engaging with his son. He had even offered Frogg's pet cat a scratch on the chin and a teasing comment on how fat it was getting. And he had been the same way the night before, actually present.

Frogg could not help the stupid smile on his face as he thought of this. Maybe things were going to go back to normal after all.

When he hopped on the S-Bahn, he was the train's youngest passenger and his feet did not reach the ground when he took his seat. At nine-years old, Frogg was still small for his age. He was what one would call 'all elbows and knees', managing to be both lanky and short all at once. He was a naturally slim boy, and with his messy hair and glasses that made his pale blue eyes appear even bigger than they already were, he was probably both a combination of cute and astutely mature to the adults around him.

It certainly wasn't the norm to see a nine-year old boy wander around East Berlin by themselves. At one point, in the first year of living in Berlin, his father would escort him every morning to his classes. But as his papa's nights ended later, or he was too hungover to be shaken awake, Frogg took on the responsibility himself. Now he took his route to and from his lessons with the same enthusiasm of an adult commuting from their 9 to 5.

Today, however, there was going to be a detour.

The S-Bahn brakes squealed and a voice announced their stop once in German, and then in Russian. He grabbed his bag and hopped from his seat, exiting the train and trotting through the crowds of the street. When he passed by a shop window with several TVs, something caught his eye on their screens and he paused. He looked up in excited wonder at the news being played, where it depicted women and men dressed in colorful, sleek clothing with capes flowing behind them. Their eyes were covered by masks and they flashed smiles at the camera.

Your Heroes fight the Capitalist Villains! The German Democratic Republic thrives under their Superhero's Victory!

The titles flashed at the bottom of the screen, but he paid them no mind. He stood transfixed, watching footage of a superhero flying past and winking confidently to the camera. He recognized some of them - Miss Valor and The Marvelous Menace. He thought it was so cool. Frogg was sure that for his small world, this was going to be the closest he would ever get to see a superhero or supervillain. Like he had thought of many times before, he was imagining how great it would be to have powers, and wondered what he would want. Super-strength? Shape-shifting? But then the broadcast changed to some other Soviet propaganda of politics and he quickly lost interest. He had important things to do, after all.

Where he found himself half an hour later was much more quiet. There were not many pedestrians out and about here. Frogg's head swiveled about, making sure that no one on the street or anyone from windows might have been looking when he suddenly darted down an alleyway steeped in shadow. The abandoned building to his right had it's doors and windows boarded up, but he was small enough to slip between two wooden beams. With his clumsiness, he did not hit the ground gracefully and landed in a heap. Frogg coughed from the dust and smoothed his clothes out, then reached into his bag and pulled out his flashlight. He gave the flickering light a few good smacks until it cooperated.

The Geisterbahnhof was dark and eerie, a forgotten relic. It was one of what the Berliners called 'ghost stations' - where the railways between East and West were abandoned when the city became split. He now stood in the darkened terminal that once upon a time thrived with commuting Germans. Now it was empty and silent, the smell of dust strong. Frogg had always been an anxious and easily frightened boy and he knew he should not be here at all, but sometimes those fears could be faced when the reward was worth it.

Flashlight swinging before him to illuminate the way, Frogg was on high alert as he made his way to where the old ghost trains rested on the track. It creaked under his feet when he went aboard and made his way to the front to where the control panels sat. It was here he pulled a screwdriver from his bag and got to work, thin fingers moving precisely.

Many of the parts were already missing from his previous reconnaissance missions. He had been absolutely terrified his first time coming here, both of being caught and by the unsettling darkness. But he had come home with all kinds of bits and pieces of useful (albeit outdated) pieces of metal, wiring, and electric bits that he could put towards his inventions and experiments.

When he was done, he exited the way he came and peered carefully from around walls to make sure it was safe to go into the street once more. Back on his normal route, he let out a long breath of relief. It was always a nerve-wracking experience to do what he just did, and he knew there would be some very bad consequences if he were to be caught... but if anything gave him the confidence to be brave for a change, it was finding ways to fuel his love of science and invention.

However, where his smarts might give him that boost of self-assurance, his social skills certainly did not. Because of this, when he approached his apartment building and saw the group of boys along his path, he stopped in his tracks. They were shouting and laughing in fun as they passed a fußball between their feet in a way that awkward, clumsy Frogg never would have been able to achieve. Before they could glance over and see him, Frogg ducked to the side and his feet carried him to the backs of the apartment buildings.

If he would have continued, he most likely would've been met with taunts of 'Froschgesicht' in the least, or shoves and pushes at the worst. Frogg thought that being called Froschgesicht was a rather uncreative insult, but would never have the courage to say that to their faces. Because his last name sounded very similar to an animal in English, it seemed the best they could come up with was 'frog-face.' It did not feel good at all to be called this rather than his actual name, but it was the other things that came from their mouths that hurt the most... they would take mean little jabs at how he did not have any friends, and that he was so weird and different. They taunted him for not going to school like the other boys but his private lessons with Professor Reinhart, and the girls his age would act repulsed by him. He was bullied for his uniquely rural accent, by how skinny he was, and even his clothes and glasses were made fun of, as if there wasn't a single feature of Frogg's that was off limits.
It was constant and so exhausting, that even he would rather opt for this route rather than face them and ruin his already good day.

Now he walked behind the backs of the apartment buildings, and to his left was the sobering sight of the Berlin Wall.

Even three years after moving here and being able to see it from his own bedroom window every night, it still made him nervous. He was the only one on this path, because the locals and kids who grew up with it were still wary of the miles-long structure, and the sounds of his feet crunching on the gravel was the only sound. He kept his eyes to the ground, mindful of the watch tower several hundred meters to his back, certain the soldiers inside would be watching him. He was very aware of his own appearance, trying hard not to walk too fast or too slow... it was not common for locals to take this route.

When there was a sudden movement Frogg yelped and nearly jumped out of his own skin. But he realized that it was just the shape of a rabbit darting before his path, one of the especially big kinds like a cat or small dog, and Frogg clutched his chest in relief. The animal regarded him for only a moment before hopping to the wall where some underbrush grew and scurried beneath. Had he not seen the rabbit disappear beneath it, he never would have noticed. He did not want to look too hard at where it went, aware of the watchtower, but in his short glimpse Frogg could see the hole running beneath the concrete slab. Mostly obscured by the plants, he could see that it was big. Almost big enough that even he could crawl through, and he realized the only way the soldiers did not notice and immediately fill it was his low vantage point - an adult could walk right past and never notice.

And if he was to be caught looking at a way to the other side…. Frogg shuddered and quickened his pace, eager to get home.

Frogg took the four flights of stairs to where he and his father had lived for the past three years, and then slowly twisted the knob to apartment 42. He was thinking to himself that there may be no need to be quiet and careful, because last night and this morning his papa had been in such a good mood just like his old self... However, when the door opened all the way, Frogg's face fell.

From his view, sitting on the kitchen counter were empty beer bottles. A used shot glass laid upside down beside a fifth of Jägermeister. He stood there for a moment counting the bottles, and when he reached the number of eight he heard a voice call out, "Archibald?"

Eight wasn't good, but not the worst. It was when the number went above ten he knew things could end very badly. Frogg softly closed the door behind him, locking it, and found his way to the living room where his papa sat on the couch. He tried to hide the disappointment on his face… that morning, his father looked the most alive he had in a long time. It was so nice compared to what he saw now, the usual sight of what his papa had become - eyes glassy, words slightly running together, still in his wrinkly work clothes from the day.

"It's starting to get dark. Where have you been?"

Frogg did not like to lie, and he hated that his hands nervously wrung the strap of his bag so he dropped it to the ground instead as he answered, "There was a fire drill, so I had to stay late to make up our experiment."

Viktor Frogg considered that, and his son seemed to shrink under the scrutinizing gaze. But then he only raised his beer to his lips for a long drink, returning his attention to the TV program that he was watching.

"Your cat threw up a hairball in the hallway again, take care of it please."

Frogg did so without complaint - he had sworn three years ago he alone would take care of his cat, and did not want any reason for his father to get rid of his pet. Finished, he wandered back into the living room and awkwardly stood there… waiting for some kind of acknowledgment from his papa, like how his day at the university went or if he learned anything neat. But the man only sipped his beer and watched the nature documentary on TV with half-lidded eyes. He thought back to the first night that they arrived in Berlin, when his father showed him his mother's things as they sat on the couch and had his arm wrapped around Frogg's shoulders… back when he still cared. He missed it.

Frogg cleared his throat and asked softly, "Is there any dinner made?"

"There's some sausages on the stove. You'll have to reheat it."

Frogg was fine with cold food. It wasn't uncommon for him to have to make dinner these days as well, even if it wasn't very elaborate and he had to stand on a stool to see what he was making. He ate the leftovers in dejected silence, feeling quite foolish for getting his hopes up. When he went to gather his bag from the floor and return to his room, he knew there was no point in trying to engage his father when he was like this. But as he moved it, something shifted in his bag so there was the distinct sound of metal on metal. Frogg winced. His father looked his way and had his eyebrows furrowed.

"What was that?"
"Nothing!"

His words came out much too fast, and it only seemed to rouse his father's attention more. He sat up and gestured for his son to come closer. "Come here. What's in your bag?"

Frogg faltered, shuffling in place. He held it close to his chest as he approached with trepidation. His demeanor only fueled his papa's suspicion, and the bag was jerked from him. His father reached in, hand coming out holding a bundle of wires, loose screws and a glass gauge that Frogg had pulled from the train.

"What is this?"

Frogg could not meet his gaze, eyes focused on a point on the carpet, and he was anxiously wringing his wrists. His father's voice rose into a shout - "Archibald, where the hell did you get this!"

He did one of the last things he should do.
Frogg bolted. He did not know why he did it, because there really was no safe space within the apartment, but he went for his room. He only made it halfway through the hall before a hand clamped around his wrist. Frogg yelped as he was abruptly jerked back and dragged through the apartment, pain shooting up through his elbow into his shoulder. Babbling apologies, and tears forming from the awkward and painful way his arm was bent, Frogg found his head shoved close to his bag like how a dog might have it's nose buried in its own accident.

"Are you crawling around places you aren't supposed to again? Where did you go! Answer me!"

Now, between his head being pushed forward and his arm pulled back, there was a tension in him as if something would pop at any second and it squeezed more tears from his eyes. Frogg's answer was a pathetic wail, "I'm sorry, papa!"
"Where did you GO?"
"A broken train, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
"What have I told you! You know better!"

And then he was suddenly lifted and sent sprawling across the floor. It hurt, but he recovered quickly and only made it a few paces before he was shoved again, and his head was sent into the wall. Pain radiated from the frame of his glasses smashing into the side of his face and nose, one of the lenses cracking, and he cried out and dropped, hands going to where it hurt. His fingertips came back red. It was a small cut, but he would be bruised all around his eye the following morning.

"Oh, great! Now you broke your glasses again."

His father was standing over him, and Frogg just cowered on the ground, flinching from the way he was gesticulating. Lately any sudden movements from adults would make his body automatically jerk and eyes squeeze shut.

"How many times am I going to have to buy you another pair? You know how expensive they are!"

At this point, the fight would turn into money and how his father could be making so much more at the power plant back home rather than this place. How it was Frogg's fault that they had to come to Berlin. It was no longer about the things that he had found in Frogg's bag, and the boy could not even tell if his father knew what he was arguing about anymore at times in his drunken state. He just knew that the best thing to do was stay in his spot on the floor, and most certainly not defend himself or try to run away lest he be hit again.

Finally, it seemed to be over. The yelling and throwing of things died down to angry pacing, then finally to his father returning to his seat on the couch to take a long drink of his beer. He was still fuming, but only said it stonily, "Go to your room. Now."

Frogg shakily pushed himself from the ground and slunk past, making himself small. It was risky when he grabbed his bag on the way, but fortunately nothing came of it.

Arriving to the safety of his bedroom, behind the closed door, Frogg shrank to the floor. In the beginning of his papa changing into this completely different man, he would bawl all night, confused and hurt. Now, he only choked out a few sobs and gingerly touched where his face hurt. He was no longer bleeding, but it was tender and he winced as he touched the affected area. His shoulder ached from his arm being yanked so roughly and he would be sore there for days.

Kaspar the cat, or Kassie, who had been locked in the bedroom all day following the hairball incident, trilled and went to greet him. Frogg sniffled and reached out so his pet could purr and scent mark his finger tips, graciously accepting her human's affections. With no human friends to call his own, she had become his only and closest companion in his lonely, little world. When he had taken her in, he did not realize that Kaspar was a girl when he chose the name. But in his six-year old logic at the time, he thought it would be rude to suddenly change a pet's name and it stuck.

Now, she had grown from the tiny fur ball he found in the box to one of the bigger breeds, much to his father's dismay. She balanced on her three legs and used her soft stump to nudge at him and request more rubs, her purr comforting. He petted her until his trembling hands were steady once more, and then went to the spot he always sat at on the floor, Kaspar faithfully at his side. Sniffling and blinking away the last of his tears, Frogg opened his bag and poured out the spoils from his time spent in the Ghost Station that day. He found that creating was what pulled him from his dismal version of reality the best, and after the way he was just abused, he needed it.

Sure that his father would leave him alone for the rest of the night, he next gingerly pulled a box from beneath his bed. Opening it, first he pulled out a little radio. There was an odd device attached to it, like a tiny radar dish made from salvaged parts. With his homemade modified radio, he could listen to the stations of the West, where certain types of music were not banned like it was here. Sometimes he would find himself just looking out his window, above and beyond the Berlin Wall as the songs played over his headphones… just imagining what it might be like out there.

What came out of his secret box next was like a small appendage made of differently colored pieces of metal. Frogg held it out and clicked his tongue, "Look, Kaspar."

She sniffed the softer mesh-like material that Frogg invented to coat the inside, slightly interested, but began climbing on her human's lap instead.
It was his latest project - a prosthetic for Kaspar's missing limb. What he had planned was very ambitious. He wanted to make something that she would actually be able to move by herself, down to the imitation toes and claws. It was testing his ingenuity more than any other project of his. Creating it from salvaged parts was certainly difficult and having him think in all sorts of new creative ways, but he did always like a challenge when it came to these things.

Feeling much better with Kaspar purring steadily in his lap, listening to the forbidden West German radio stations and using his tools to work on the prosthetic, his mind went to some far off place. Far away from where he was afraid of living in his own home, far from where the neighborhood children were mean to him... to a place without walls trapping him and where he had two parents and both loved him unconditionally. Escape was good.

A/N. The times I did some exploring in the LOSE fandom, it seemed like a generally-accepted head canon that Frogg is German, though they never really confirm it in the show. I think it makes perfect sense - the stereotype of scientist types often being from there in movies/lit, how it's become one of the world leaders in technological advances, how he spells doKtor, some cultural norms over there that could fit his character.. The only thing that doesn't make total sense is his accent, which kind of sounds like some bastardized Hungarian to me, and I'm no expert. In my head canon, Frogg is originally from a more rural and remote village in Germany which it's own unique accent. The country already has so many regional accents that are entirely different from each other, it doesn't seem too far-fetched to use this an explanation. Plus, despite him living in a city ever since (in my fic) moving to Berlin, I can totally see Frogg as being a shy little kid out in the country, kind of out of his element with city life and seeming super awkward for this once he does arrive.