The rest of that day had been long and nettled, as if Kermit had been thrown off into the deep-end of a pond, after not swimming in it for about a good five to ten years. The Electric Mayhem called for a new set of drums, as Animal had eaten his previously brand new set. Hilda was up to collar with throwing down her apron, and choking Beauregard with his own janitor broom. Piggy took a good pounding out of her beloved frog after realizing Kermit had cut out her number, in place for one of Gonzo's stunts. The said stunt performance had been an utter failure in itself, and called for remodeling of the theater stage floors. Kermit barely knew the definition of pain, as it practically pulsed inside his every vein. Perhaps that's how Gonzo got by through most of his days, he was just numb to anything life pitched at him.
Habitually, Fozzie wordlessly requested for another ride home that night. Kermit couldn't care more or less to give it, he merely just wished the day to end. The night air had been thickly sweet that night, as mildew was etched over the sidewalks from the previous rain drizzle. Kermit didn't know how many rain clouds would invade him that week, but however many it had been, those same clouds sure were persistent. Buzzing of insects and chirping grasses deafened into white noise, as the frog began to feel the heat of the night take weight. It reminded him of his days back in the swamp.
He hated remembering his days in the swamp, even the most passionate ones.
The amphibian slipped inside the car, as his friend quickly followed suit, but not without admiring the navy-caked sky. "Real pretty out, huh Kermit?"
"Yeah."
"It's hard to think rain is gloomy. I mean, rain waters things to grow. And growing things mean living things."
"Uh huh."
"...Kermit?" He really didn't want to look at Fozzie, but knew the best of etiquette than not to do so. He transferred his gaze, as the dim moonlight craved shadows against the textures of the bear's fur. Fozzie's body was almost completely masked in darkness, all yet his face. That soft, tender, look that grew on his face. He looked almost daunting, even.
"Yes?"
"You know I don't like it when you lie to me. It scares me." Kermit paled his grip against the decaying steering wheel, feeling as if the beating of his own heart had been clouding his vision. He swallowed, hard. Then, he swapped his gaze for that of the windshield, despite not making any lousy attempt to start the engine. "Fozzie, why would I lie to you?"
"I-I don't know. It's just….oh, forget I said anything. I'm sorry." Fozzie turned his back, wallowing over his stale reflection in the window. The moonlight still creviced the same shadows, but to Kermit, they seemed just a tad darker against the side of Fozzie's face.
But what did a country boy know.
It was practically midnight by the time Kermit stepped into his house, which hadn't been much anyway. The amphibian would gladly admit that he never had the financial pleasure of staying in one home, without being kicked out by drunken neighbors or simply being unable to make a timely payment. But, this "home" showed promise, to the very least extent. Kermit just wondered how much time he had left before his luck, and money, ran out. He just hoped that it wouldn't be soon.
The frog threw the carrying bag he transported for work against a shy corner, and plopped himself against a garage-bought sofa. It was magnificent to think that with just a touch of sewing and other home-making skills, utter garbage could be transformed into furniture bought from real furniture stores. At least, that's what Kermit thought, having traced his fingers over the sofa's stitching patterns with a blind eye. The room was thoroughly dark, aside from the single window that borne from the room the frog occupied in. But, nonetheless, it was dark. Darkness comforted the soul, and so did silence.
A creak echoed from the upstairs, followed by a thump. Kermit caught the anxious shimmer across eccentric eyes, peering at him through the oozing shadows, the window light illuminating rigid features against the skin. "Uncle Kermit?"
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Kermit clicked on a table lamp seated next to him, much less to his own content. Robin squabbled under the accusing light, drafting him into the presence of Kermit himself. "I couldn't….you weren't home yet." An internal, steady, click transferred itself into Kermit's thoughts. His finger tapped along with it, against the rugged stitches (that he had spent many sleepless nights in making) ingrained on the sofa. He gave at least three ghostly taps, each one more deafening than the previous. "Robin, come here for a moment?" Time itself seemed to have been stationed at a crude space, before startling itself into motion. Robin gave light taps down the staircase. Kermit's click aligned itself with it, a grim metronome. Soulessly, the child made the silent notation in seating himself next to his inclement uncle, who's gaze penetrated a frictionless air density. "Did you want to share something about today?"
In Kermit's eyes, his nephew had always been a docile child, much to his later frustrations. The very first time the frog took notice had been when Robin was barely the age of four. He had hardly been in his diminishing tadpole stages, and was an adventurer to the great indoors of Kermit's cramped apartment at the time. Robin often found himself sticking his hair-thinned fingers into curious errors in the pattern lines of a thrift shop carpet, yipping croaks and whines at the furs that poked against his skin like a haystack. During one of these crusades, the froglet witnessed what must have been a beetle scamper across his tender, juvenile, hands. The legs that itched across his hands sparked an odd ticklish sensation, a feeling entirely new to such a young frog. The only thing Robin knew was that he liked the driving emotion, and wished to be engulfed into the pits of it again. However, in the process of trying to catch the tickling beetle, Robin was much unaware of his own superiority to its life. With an audible crunch, the beetle's legs snapped and hung to wits-end on the shriveled body. Despite being so youthful at the time of the crime, Robin knew the murder he had committed, and had already grasped the idea of ship loading guilt filling itself onto his tear banks. The rest of that day was spent sobbing into his uncle's arms, as Kermit tried to understand the empathy of it all.
It was so darn hard to imagine that this same child, who had wept and grieved over a despicable beetle, had been the very same trouble making child on the playgrounds of his school. It baffled Kermit's senses beyond recognition, leaving him with a burning desire to hear a much more reasonable alibi than the utter nonsense the school faculty decided to play him on. Kermit's curiosity in its truth was a mere understatement, in comparison to this idea.
"Not really." The nephew fiddled his fingers, the same fingers that crushed the life out of nature's creation, wrecking havoc wherever it reigned. Kermit denied the urge to chortle, and in its presence, sharpened his parental gaze. "Is there something that you need to tell me?"
"If you already know, then I don't know what else to add." Robin hung his fingers, his face striking a pure sense of melancholy. Much like that day of a murdered beetle, Robin was heavily aware of his circumstances, perhaps more than most children his age. Almost as if the child had aged to adulthood, within the manner of a single glance. It was a look that killed Kermit each time he perceived it, but he shielded that weakness in efforts of controlling the situation. "Well, shouldn't I hear your side of it first?"
"It's kind of self-explanatory, Uncle Kermit."
"Obvious or not, just be forward with me. Things can only get worse if I don't get the actual details of what happened." Kermit felt something snap under his fingertips, giving a mental grief over the stitching he had been tampering with. He'd have to fix that at a later date, if there ever was one. Robin, in response, glanced at the ruined stitching, fumbling his murderous fingers once more.
"I don't even know what happened. There's this kid that wouldn't stop bugging me, I don't even know his name. Today, I guess I just kinda lost it." Upon the appalling statement, Robin perked up with a sense of urgency, an odd look that Kermit only ever saw on Gonzo. "But he just wouldn't stop, Uncle Kermit! I don't know how, but someone got word going around that I lived with a guardian relative. He wouldn't stop mocking me for it…" Robin's voice wavered into a trembling river shore, bouncing up and down along unpredictable waves, dictated solely by emotional eruptions. "He just kept saying stupid stuff, and I know he was only trying to get to me. I know he was just making it up, but I was so sick of it." The young frog stared at the broken stitch pattern, still pasted on the sofa. Who knew juxtaposition could bring out the truth in so many ideals?
Kermit slit his throat to silence, pondering on the state of events. Despite his younger years, Robin rarely shed tears on any matter. He was an individual that always chose to look at the sun rather than the dying flower, and would often let wounds heal before ripping them to a cure. Robin had been a child of eternal patience, and would paint smiles over crevice frowns. It crushed Kermit to see his own kin in such a manner, and it shot him in the heart to realize all factors of causes and effects pointed to himself indefinitely. He was supposed to be there for Robin in times of peril, to guide him into the rights and morals civilization had accepted decades ago, to reel him back when the young child was led astray by rage and excitement.
Yet, Kermit had failed that promised duty miserably. Even he knew it.
Instead of a foreshadowed lecture and scolding, the frog chose compassion to toxicate his blade. He abandoned that broken stitch, its bonds ripped to shreds by his own doing, and held his nephew tighter than he could breathe. Robin whimpered, as his uncle stroked the storm that had settled into his spine. Kermit waited a few moments for the devastation to subside.
"Why didn't you tell me anything sooner?" Robin retreated a few breaths before deciding on an appropriate response, still nestled against his uncle. "I…didn't want to bother you. You always look so tired and upset. I didn't want to make you feel worse about stupid things at school." Something shocked Kermit, unknown to its source, thrashing and butchering his voice into thoughtless fragments. Robin wouldn't have been this way if his uncle had been more of a figure instead of a failure. The idea loomed over the frog, but he ignored its existence, covering it with a blanket until he decided on a time to unearth it once more.
"Robin, if there's something bugging you, I need you to tell me. No matter what." He released Robin, still lingering a few strokes against his shoulders. "Promise me that?" Robin still made an effort to avoid his gaze, but he nodded in understanding. Kermit stimulated his tongue, trying to burn out the swollen feeling it began to give.
"I'll..try to be better about things from now on. How about you come with me tomorrow, to the theater? There's lots of people there you can hang out with, and you even get to see how I run things a little?" Robin gave a silent agreement to the idea.
An honored parent would have disciplined their child for such brash behavior, no matter their causes. But Kermit could never find the heart in doing so, knowing the type of soul Robin had always been. The idea curled in his neglected thoughts, as he tucked his nephew to bed. As he clicked off the light. As he shut the door with a hush.
He may have been a horrible parent for letting such events slide, but Robin was his whole world. If Kermit shattered Robin, he'd shatter his own reality. The act in itself, would have been considered to be a gun barrel at Kermit's own soul.