A/N. Yeah, this and the previous chapter is what made me want to start off with my very first Author's Note explaining that I really did take a kids show and made it wayyy too adult... so if you're into misery and whump, this story is for you, because I might be the most dramatic person out there. (Also again wanted to reiterate that for many chapters it's essentially going to be exclusively Frogg and my OCs to where it's practically original fiction, but I swear the rest of our favorite L.O.S.E. members will be coming in eventually!)

CHAPTER FIVE
No Man's Land

The heavy snow falling muted the glow of street lights as a little boy trudged through the city, carrying something in his arms. He was the only one out at this time of night in his borough of town, during this kind of freezing weather. If someone had in fact seen him, they would have heard him coming first. Each breath he took came with a rasping wheeze, and his movements were disoriented. Snowflakes collected in his hair, the shoulders of his sweater, and on the lifeless animal in his arms.

Frogg stopped for a moment, his ragged breath coming out in billows of steam. He had to get his bearings, because things had become very dizzy for him again. He readjusted his hold on Kaspar. She was a big cat, and he was a small boy, and his shoulders and arms were aching from holding her for so long. But still, he had to keep moving. He set off again, his footprints in the snow uneven as he stumbled along.

He arrived at his destination fifteen minutes later. It was a veterinary clinic, one that he had seen several times from wandering his part of East Berlin. Just like all of the other businesses around, the windows were dark at this hour. Yet he found himself shifting Kaspar and rapping the door with his knuckles. Maybe there was a technician still there doing lab work and they would hear him.

It wasn't until ten minutes had passed of him knocking and then finding the back entrance to do the same did Frogg finally let himself think of the truth. His lip began to quiver as he took a seat on the curb, hugging Kaspar close and burying his face in her fur. His shoulders shook as he sobbed into his pet, who was just as cold as the night around him.

Of course he knew she was dead.

He did not know why he even came to this place, as if there was something that the veterinarians would have been able to do. Frogg found himself putting a hand to her eyelids so that she would not stare out in death, lovingly petting her. He worked at the straps that held her new prosthetic on to her underdeveloped leg and tossed the invention behind him. It clattered against the pavement and would be thrown in the dumpster, mistaken for a piece of trash by the next person who saw it.

Frogg did not know where to go. He certainly could not go back home.

With every ache of taking a breath, he knew what had just happened to him.
He had almost died by the hands of his own father. It was seared into his brain, the image of his papa's tear-filled eyes burning down at him as his hands tightened around his neck. At what he had been told. It all finally made so much sense why his papa hated him.

And the worst part was that Frogg understood.

It was all his fault that they had to come to the city of Berlin. It never would have happened if Frogg hadn't been so different and strange compared to all of the other kids and forced to take his special classes. It was his fault that his mama - his father's wife - was taken from this Earth far too early, it never would have happened if it wasn't for him. He ruined everything. Maybe he never should have been born at all, then she would still be here with his father and they would not be stuck in this horrible city next to that horrible Wall...
He just wanted his old papa back, and he wanted his cat back, and to go back in time to their old home close to the sea before everything was ruined… before he ruined it. Frogg held Kaspar close to him, sniffling and trembling in the lonely cold.

Hours might have passed. It was hard for Frogg to tell, he was so distraught and he may have slipped in and out of consciousness from his injury. At one point a light shined through the cracks of the buildings, and when he turned to look, a military vehicle slowly crawled past the front of the businesses. He could see the soldiers piled on top, some with rifles, and he stepped back to where he might not be seen. He had wandered around the city by himself plenty of times, but never at this hour. This was a dangerous time to be out. It would look incredibly suspicious to the Stasi and military police alike, and he knew he had to move.

But when he set out again, he had no idea of where to go.

He thought about going to Humboldt University. But no, the science department would be locked and there was campus security there that would interrogate him. He most certainly was not going home. It was not until he actually considered slipping into the Geisterbahn he would frequent months ago to escape the cold that he realized how desperate he was.

And all the while as he trudged on, the cat in his arms grew heavier and heavier. His scrawny muscles were absolutely aching from it, his breaths raspy from exertion, and his back had a sharp pain right between the shoulders. When he realized what he was going to have to do, Frogg choked on a sob.

It was near some remote S-Bahn tracks where dry winter plants grew that he finally set her down. He had seen flowers grow in the spring and summer in this spot on his commute - it had been just a little cheer in his pitiful life. He only had his hands to move the dirt that was hard from the cold, and some of his fingertips were bleeding by the time he was done, cut by the sharp rocks. He gently put Kaspar in the shallow hole before covering it again, biting his lip hard to keep from loudly crying. I'll come back, he thought sadly, running his hurting fingers over the disturbed soil one last time. Bye, girl.

He began stumbling on again.

Frogg did not realize where his feet were taking him. It was as if he had dissociated - possibly from being unable to take a satisfying breath of air, from what his papa told him, his grief over Kaspar, or the numbing cold. But he suddenly became aware of someone loudly repeating themselves, a shout that brought him out from his headspace into reality.

Even if he did not want to be there at all, he then realized his feet were subconsciously carrying him in the direction of home and he was not very far from his apartment building. There was someone shining a flashlight on him.
"You! Are you Archibald Frogg?"

Frogg realized it was a soldier by the shape of their silhouette. He was too afraid to answer.
"Answer me. Are you Viktor Frogg's boy?"

They began to walk his way, feet crunching in the snow. They were going to take him away. Whether it was to the mysterious place East Berliners sometimes disappeared to, never to be seen again, or back home to where he could get hurt again or worse, he did not know.
Frogg bolted.

As soon as he began running, he regretted it. It hurt in his chest as he gulped down unfulfilled breaths of air, through his throat which felt so painfully tight. Another soldier leapt from behind a building and joined the chase, also shouting for him to stop. All he felt was the fear towards these men, and knew that he was in serious trouble. It was this fear, the kind that could numb all of the higher faculties, that made him barely faster than the adults despite the fact it felt that the arteries in his abused neck could burst from the exertion.

He was running blindly, not paying attention at all to where his feet took him.

Now he was at the Berlin Wall, where it ran beyond all of the buildings. He faltered for a moment at the intimidating sight of it, and it was the shouting of the men giving chase that spurred him into action once again. He raced along the path, running and running and running-

He skidded to a halt when someone new intercepted him. It was his father, and he was holding a flashlight in his hand as well.

"Archibald! Where the hell have you been, it's a blizzard out and I've called the police looking for you-"

Instinctively, Frogg's eyes flicked to his father's hands, the things that were capable of hurting him so badly. He could tell by the alertness in his father's voice that he had sobered up a bit, and for a moment, it seemed as if he was genuinely concerned. But when he took a step forward, the young boy flinched and coiled like a deer ready to dart away.

"It's been hours! You need to get home right this instant!"

Frogg found himself frantically shaking his head 'no.' He became aware of the soldiers catching up behind him. He was trapped. Stuck between his father and these men with no way out- only the backside of apartment buildings with no doors to his right and the endless Berlin Wall to his left. He whimpered.

His father jabbed a finger down as if to say 'come here.'

"Archibald Niklas Frogg. I'll only say it ONE more time."

And still he was frozen, caught in some pose of action as if he was ready to run for it, if only there was somewhere to go. The soldiers were inching closer and closer too, and Frogg just started to think that maybe his papa meant it… that he really was worried, and he found himself getting that sliver of hope that there might still be his old father in there somewhere... But then the man began storming over to him, face showing his familiar anger, and the fear came back. Frogg shrunk back, fearfully looking for escape.

Then his eyes fell on it.

From months ago when he first noticed it, from where he had taken this route to avoid the neighborhood bullies. Where the big rabbits had dug their hole just underneath the wall, hidden by the overgrown dead grass…

When his father reached out to grab him, he leapt for it.

A hand wrapped around his ankle. When his father realized what he was doing, he began to shout urgently, and then fearfully, "Arch! No, stop it! DON'T!"

He was hardly aware of the soldiers rushing forward to stop him as well, and he kicked back until the grip around his foot lessened. Frogg pulled himself through the rabbit hole with his bloodied fingertips, feeling the flat surface of the wall's bottom scraping along his back. It was such a small space, he didn't know if he could make it-

He stood up.

All throughout the night, after his grievous neck injury, he had been disoriented and confused. But now where he was, that suddenly gave way to hyper-clarity, the kind that makes one's face numb and world silent. Despite three years of being terrified of this very wall, in that moment he did not fear a thing. He did not feel anything. It was as if he was deaf to the shouts of his father from the other side, who was much too large to fit underneath the rabbit hole, or from the soldiers demanding for him to come back.

Frogg was in No Man's Land.

First he looked to the right at the length of the Death Strip, and then to the left. He took three stumbling steps forward, and that was when he realized he tripped a wire. Immediately, a blinding flood light shone on him. There was an amplified voice over a speaker.
"STOP!"

Frogg raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting against the blinding light.

At the command, even the shouting beyond his side of the wall stopped. The only noise was that of his throat making its whistling sound as he took in breaths. He was aware that there was a man stepping outside of the watch tower that sat a hundred metres away, and the German Shepherd he had on a leash was wagging its tail and trying to lunge forward, excited to catch it's prize. Beyond the blinding beam of the spotlight in his eyes, he thought he saw figures moving inside the tower as well, pointing something in his direction.

"LITTLE BOY, DO NOT MOVE."

And yet, Frogg took one dumb step back. Something whizzed by that kicked up snow and sand from the barrier running through No Man's Land. It took a moment to realize that they had fired a warning shot at him. That was a bullet.

That was all he needed, and he snapped out of his trance.

Frogg took off as fast as he could, putting distance between him and the watchtower, crossing the strip towards the West.

He was aware of something pelting the ground about him, sand and snow being thrown up from its impact, but the running target was too far for the soldiers' shots to be accurate. A snarling huff grew closer and closer behind him, and he was thrown onto the ground when the released German Shepherd clamped it's jaws around his left ankle. Frogg cried out and fell, it's teeth tearing into him as it whipped its head back and forth to maul. He felt his own hot blood cascade from the wound, but no pain from all the adrenaline flooding his system, and then heard a distinct tearing sound. It was his jeans getting torn at the ankle, and when the dog ripped the fabric away it became distracted and shook ferociously at it, forgetting the actual boy.

Still, Frogg pressed on, his bleeding ankle beginning to buckle under each step. His raking breaths grew more and more desperate, his mind more delirious after what he had put his body through tonight. He had not realized just how far he had actually made it, the towering wall to his side was just an unending slab, and as far as his eye could see it went on and on like some inescapable nightmare.

He knew it, he knew that he was trapped and there was no getting out. No one ever survives the Berlin Wall. He would be shot just like everyone else who tried the same thing, this was it, this place was made out of the blood of everyone who tried and now it would be his as well. He was so out of mind, so close to dropping, to giving up, and a bullet hit the concrete wall beside him so that shards of the material pelted his face, cutting his skin and letting blood into his eye. Through the red veil in his vision, that was when he saw it.
"Oh my God," Frogg breathed in a sob of relief.

There was a crack between two panels of the wall, most likely a result of weathering and the sheer lack of having to maintain this side of the concrete - no West Berliner in their right mind would want to cross over. It was small, but the widest point was just enough. No adult would ever be able to fit, and most children his age wouldn't either, but Frogg was thin. He sucked in a breath, making himself even more skinny, and the concrete painfully scraped against him and rubbed some of his skin off near the hip, it was such a tight fit and he did not know if he could make it, and all the while he could still hear and even feel the bullets pelting the Wall around him as he tried to tug himself through...

There was the sensation of falling.

Frogg tumbled head over heels down an embankment, and he hit freezing water that sucked his breath away and stabbed his skin like a thousand stinging pins.
He was too shocked from it to even react, floating like a dead person might as the trauma he had been through finally caught up to his senses. For moments it was serenity, the boy eerily calm as he floated on the ebbing water. Then there were hands pulling him up, the winter air hitting his soaked and battered body. Frogg began to shake violently from the cold, and was only half conscious when he heard an American soldier barking out orders, words in a language that he could not understand. Finally, he slipped away.

Professor Reinhart knocked softly on the hospital room door. It was almost three in the morning at this point, and his eyes might have been tired from being woken up at this late hour, but he had never gotten out of bed so fast before. A part of him hoped that it was all a mistake, that what was described to him on the telephone did not actually happen to his student…

When he opened the door he was shocked into immobilization. Upon his entrance, the Frogg's face crumpled and he hung his head low, ashamed of the state he was in.

Archibald Frogg was sitting on the bed, hospital gown pulled down to expose his back and chest, a doctor placing a stethoscope over him to listen. Reinhart's heart twisted.

The poor boy looked like death. His neck was ropes of scarlet, and he could see the darkening marks of where fingers had been. One of his eyes seemed to have had a vessel burst and it looked as if blood floated on half of it's surface, an alarming red compared to his pale blue iris. There was a swollen bruise forming at his temple, and knicks across his face as if something had splintered his skin. Wrapped in gauze was some kind of injury to his ankle where blood was already beginning to spot through the tape.

And somehow, despite the complete alarm of seeing this, it was the bruises that had faded to shades of purple and yellow over his torso and arms that stood out the most to him. These were older, the ones that had taken place right under his nose, right under his care as the boy's instructor.

He could not even say anything for a long time, appalled at the scene before him. It was then he became aware of the obscene sound coming from Archibald's throat, like a high-pitched whistle with each inhale.

"Archibald…"
It was all he could say. He should have looked after him better. Report his father for what he had suspected the entire time… anything. The doctor examining Archibald returned his stethoscope to hang at his neck and approached Professor Reinhart.

"You're Hans Reinhart?"
"Yes, I am."
He was speaking softly, as if he did not want the patient to hear- "His trachea is bruised. The trauma to his neck is severe, so there is a high risk of complications… We need to keep him under close observation for the next thirty-six hours. The Youth Welfare Office has already been contacted and should arrive by morning. In the meantime, you're the only Western contact he could name. I'll give you two some time."

The doctor left the room, leaving the two alone.
Hans did not know what to say. He was still in such shock seeing the state that his student was in. He cautiously approached as if delicate Archibald could break at any moment, and what came from his mouth was an incredibly stupid thing to ask- "Are you okay?"

The nine-year old swallowed with what looked like difficulty. He tugged his hospital gown back over him, back over the old bruises that the Professor had seen. He did not answer, and his hands were anxiously working, wringing his wrists. Hans Reinhart stepped closer.

"Archibald?"
At first, he didn't hear what the boy weakly muttered, and had to lean down and ask him to repeat himself.

"...he hates me."

Professor Reinhart frowned deeply. He did not have to ask to know who Frogg was referring to. He had always been able to tell that something was not quite right at home for Archibald. It was by the way his student would become anxious towards the end of his lessons when it was time to go home. How he would recoil if Hans moved too suddenly without warning, how he was so skittish. Or it was how Frogg 'tripped' so often, resulting in a bruised eye or split lip.

It had deeply concerned him, but there was only so much that he was able to do. As a citizen of West Berlin, he could not legally do a thing about what happened in the East side of the city, and making it his business could have been dangerous... he had a family at home to think about. And he had no idea just the extent of it all. Even Reinhart's own father had given him the belt a time or two for being naughty as a little boy and he had turned out just fine, but never did he fathom it was this bad for his student.

"Archibald, I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

"He said-" Frogg's voice choked, "He said that he wished it was me who died. Not mama. And- And I wish it was me t-too!"

And he suddenly broke down bawling, covering his face with his small hands.

Professor Reinhart knew all about Frogg's mother passing. Even though he had always made it a point to try and stay professional, to not show too much affection to his student even outside of the lab, Hans suddenly scooped Frogg up in a hug. How could someone say that to their own son? How could a nine year old actually wish that upon themselves?

When the boy's arms returned the embrace, it broke his heart. Frogg, who in his youth already seemed so particular about personal space, was clinging to him and shaking tremendously from his sobs, face buried into his chest so tears and snot began to saturate his shirt. He was positive that a part of Frogg was absolutely humiliated to be in this state, but he also had the very real feeling that he had not been consoled or held in a very long time.

"It's all my fault, I ruined ev-everything and he hates me because of it! I just want papa to like me again, like b-before we came here-"

"Don't say that," Hans comforted him, and Frogg was crying so violently that his throat was making that awful whistling sound and he was choking on his own breaths, and it scared him. "Please, you've got to calm down before you get hurt. Don't you ever wish that upon yourself. It's alright, you're safe now."

And they stayed that way for several minutes, Frogg's cries sometimes slipping into unintelligible babbling, and Professor Reinhart just held him close. He was certainly out of his element - even if his job as a private tutor had him constantly interacting with kids, he did not have any to call his own and never had to console a bawling child before, especially not from this sort of trauma, the kind that no child should ever have to experience.

Frogg's cries became softer and softer, and his grip on Hans began to loosen to where his thin arms were soon hanging limply at his sides as the boy leaned on him in his sleep. Still, the professor was alarmed at how quickly it happened and pressed the button to send for the nurse. When she arrived, she only smiled softly after checking vitals and helped settle the nine year old back into his bed, delicately draping his arms across his chest.
"I think he has had a very long night. He just needs rest is all."

That was comforting news to Professor Reinhart, and for several minutes he just looked in concern at Frogg's state of deep sleep - even in unconsciousness the boy looked troubled - wondering what to do with this child who was seemingly all alone now. He had only spent maybe fifteen minutes in the room with Archibald, but even in that time the marks around his neck had darkened. The anger of it all really began to hit him… that someone could actually inflict such pain on their own son. And on Archibald Frogg, who was so bright and had so much potential?
What was Hans going to do?

The following weeks passed like the haze of a fever dream.

Frogg spent two days in the hospital where kind nurses would dote on him, and every once in a while the doctor would come in as well to prod at his neck with gentle fingertips and listen to his heart. It was odd, considering that he had become accustomed to solely taking care of his own hurts, and he was not used to getting fussed over. When he went into the restroom for the first time and saw his reflection in the mirror, even he had been shocked at his appearance. Frogg was familiar with seeing himself banged up, but it had never been this bad. He looked like someone who had survived death.
And the adults around him certainly seemed to treat him like he did.

Not only was there the friendly hospital staff, the ones who called him brave (he had not once been told he was brave before and had no idea how to process it), but Professor Reinhart visited for hours during his stay in the hospital as well. So did strangers who carried clipboards with them and made notes, people who would ask him many invasive questions that he did not want to answer.

It made him incredibly nervous. It was not easy to unravel the kind of silence and mistrust an East German learns to survive by, and he thought it was an interrogation. The first day they came, he did not say a single word to them or answer any questions, appearing to be dumb or mute in his fear. But then his professor, who was sitting in the room as well, assured him several times, "There's no reason to be afraid. You're in the West now, you can't get in trouble for anything you say. They're just trying to help."

They were asking him questions about his father - how often did he hurt you? Has he ever choked you before? When they asked if he had ever been touched in certain private places by his father, Frogg did not understand and he wanted to disappear more than anything as he shook his head 'no' in humiliation. Then they moved on to other questions, like if he was fully aware of the danger of the Berlin Wall. What happened and how did he get through? Did he have any relatives other than his father?

He did not understand what was happening around him, and expected to be returned to his apartment in East Berlin any day now. He knew he was going to be in very big trouble when it happened, and he dreaded it so much it put his stomach in painful knots.

The day came when it was time to go.
Professor Reinhart was handing him some new clothes, since the ones he had worn on the night it all happened had been ruined by blood and the river, and he said something that changed everything- "You're going to stay with me until everything gets figured out. I hope that's alright with you."
"I'm not getting sent back home?"
"…You realize you can't go back there, right?"

The nine year old blinked up at him, not understanding.

His professor let out a long breath, trying to choose his next words carefully. "What happened to you is a serious crime, Archibald. It's not safe for you to go back. This is where you need to be."
"But… but what about my papa?"
For a moment he thought he might begin crying again, but his professor put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"We don't know yet what will happen. For now, we just need to focus on you getting better. Come on, let's get going."

Outside of the hospital, it did not take long for him to become lost in the world around him. In the car, he was pressing his hands against the window as he looked out, absorbed by what he was seeing. West Berlin was so much more... vibrant.

They passed people outside of restaurants laughing loudly with each other as they ate and drank. A group of teenagers with neon-dyed hair were dressed in leather jackets with spikes, and a young couple unabashedly kissed on a public bench. As if no one was afraid of being seen, for being too different and attracting the attention of the Stasi. The advertisements on walls and on bulletin boards was more aggressive and colorful, the newer buildings showed character and were built at interesting angles, and a car next to them loudly played music with lyrics that never would have been allowed back home. He was very out of his element, yet fascinated.

They drove to the more residential areas where trees lined the streets, and Professor Reinhart announced they had arrived. This seemed to be an area that had been missed by the bombings of World War Two that decimated much of the city - these buildings appeared older and quaint. Frogg looked up at where he was to stay with big eyes. He had become so used to the monotonous grid of apartment buildings of East Berlin, he had not expected a cozy-looking house.

When he meekly stood inside the foyer to take off his shoes, a woman came from another room of the house to greet them. Her graying hair was pulled back in a messy bun and he tried not to openly stare at her colorful and eccentric outfit, a style that not many women back in the East would wear - it drew too much attention. Frogg could detect her initial reaction to how he looked, as if she was unsettled by his bruised, banged-up appearance, but she still smiled at him and offered a hand to shake that was covered in dried paint.

"Hello, Archibald. I've heard all about you, the little scientist! I'm Gisela."

He shyly said hello back, and when the Professor greeted his wife and gave her a kiss, Frogg felt like he was interrupting something personal. He was uncomfortable, and it would be a long time for him to get used to seeing his professor like this, but then Gisela smiled at him again and offered to show him where his bed would be.

They were trying.