Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yes I'm going insane,

And I'm laughing at the frozen rain.

I'm so alone.

Honey, when they gonna send me home?

-- Steely Dan, "Bad Sneakers"

They say talking to yourself makes you go crazy.  In Brooklyn’s case, he needed to talk to himself to stay sane.

It’s been about four months since he mistakenly touched that blasted Phoenix Gate.  Since then he’s hopped about through different points in time on the mission the Weird Sisters had given him: “To set time on its correct path.”

This involved making sure every detail to every action of every moment that will either directly or indirectly affect the events himself, his clan, and all those tied to the clan were laid out properly.   

“No small task,” Brooklyn scoffed, tossing a few bits of grass into the fire. 

A momentary reprieve on his journey, Brooklyn has found himself back in Scotland, a long time after he and his clan were cast to stone.  He was reclining under a tree in a small wooded area, very early in the morning, with a bonfire lit before him.  The heat felt nice on his skin. 

Though he could’ve traveled to Castle Wyvern and stayed there for the night as opposed to the wilderness, he couldn’t bring himself to be around his family in their current state.  It was awkward and uncomfortable.  Once had been enough.

But he couldn’t complain.  The scenery, calmness, and unobstructed view of the night sky was putting him in a relaxed state, in spite of the weight of the task he’d been given.  He had a bottle of wine beside him that he “borrowed” from the local village’s tavern, to calm his nerves whenever his anxiety spiked when thinking about the gravity of the situation—like how much time it’s going to take him to complete the mission, and how long it might be until he sees his clan again.

What didn’t help was that Brooklyn was alone.  Save for the occasional visit from the Weird Sisters, who only appeared to tell him what to do next, and the people he’d met, befriended, and helped along the way, whom he had to depart from to travel to other points in time, Brooklyn had nobody to talk to, nobody to accompany him on this long journey. 

He rested his head against the tree, sighed, and took a long drink of wine.  It was slightly sweet, and surprisingly cool.  He looked up and saw the face in the moon.  He raised the bottle in the air.

“At least you are keeping me company, my friend,” Brooklyn said as his arm fell back down. 

Friends.

His face morphed into a slight scowl.  He wished he could say he missed everybody.  The only ones he truly missed were Lexington, Hudson, Bronx, and Elisa.  The others all had their reasons why Brooklyn couldn’t think of them fondly.   

Goliath?  Well, cracks had begun to form in Brooklyn’s relationship with his supposed leader.   

It started after Goliath returned from his long journey adrift at sea.  Brooklyn had lead the shell of the clan admirably in Goliath’s absence, when they had no idea if Goliath would ever return.  However, when Goliath did return, everything went back to how it was, rather than seeing a progression.

Brooklyn thought the position of second-in-command was something to be proud of.  But he realized being the right-hand wasn’t a consolation if what he did went unacknowledged or wasn’t taken seriously.

Goliath hadn’t thanked Brooklyn for keeping the clan together in his absence.  Or at least, he didn’t do so in the way Brooklyn would’ve liked.  The only thing Goliath said was that he was “proud” of his second for rising to the occasion, before immediately waltzing back into the leadership role as if the last six months hadn’t happened.

Goliath treated Brooklyn as he had before, as that of an inexperienced youngling in need of rearing.  Brooklyn had grown as a natural leader and learned so much in Goliath’s time away that he was, frankly, beyond needing Goliath’s guidance.  Granted, Goliath had intended to mentor Brooklyn before he disappeared, which probably explained the behavior.  Goliath was probably just trying to play “catch-up.”

Yet, if Goliath was the kind of leader he thought he was, shouldn’t he have realized quickly that Brooklyn didn’t need mentoring?  Goliath learned from Hudson, and Brooklyn had learned from Hudson while Goliath was away.  What more could Goliath teach that Brooklyn didn’t already learn from Hudson?

The disrespect reached a tipping point in Brooklyn’s perception of Goliath when Goliath butt in on Brooklyn trying to ask Delilah out to the Halloween party.  Goliath saw Brooklyn attempting to talk to her, and yet he sauntered in without a care, disregarding Brooklyn’s presence.  Brooklyn learned later that Goliath and Elisa had hit a rough patch in their relationship before the party and had split up temporarily, which was why Goliath saw fit to throw his weight around for a quick score. 

But then, after the incident at the party with Thailog and the clones attacking, Goliath and Elisa declared their love for one another anyway, making the whole drama utterly pointless, leaving Brooklyn screwed over.  And, to top it off, Brooklyn noticed Delilah and his clone holding each other closely afterward.

“My goddamn clone—me, but a different color!” Brooklyn said out loud.  No one was around, so he felt he could vent without embarrassment.  “So, I had a chance, and yet that bastard took it away from me!  All because he actually thought his lovey-dovey fairy tale with Elisa was over.  What a joke!”

Brooklyn raised the bottle of wine to his lips and drank down another long gulp. 

The mention of lovey-dovey romance made him think of Angela, and by extension Broadway.  Where could he start with that?

He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t quite horny for Angela when she first arrived.  Could anyone blame him though?  She was the first female gargoyle he’d seen in a thousand years, (if you don’t count Demona, which Brooklyn understandably didn’t after what that red-haired bitch had done to him and the rest of the clan since waking up in Manhattan). 

Him, Lexington and Broadway had all vied for her attention, and it was Broadway who ultimately won her favor.  Brooklyn was angry at Broadway for a while after that, though he knew now that the anger was just thinly veiled envy.

After making a mess of his opportunity with Maggie, (another person he’d like to forget), Brooklyn thought the time was right for him to find love again, only for it to be wrenched from his claws.  Admittedly, he’d felt a little entitled, considering his second-in-command status, (when he still felt the title meant something).  Shouldn’t he have been the most desirable by default?

Looking back on it, Brooklyn realized he acted quite foolishly.  He’d put Angela on such a pedestal that he didn’t read between the lines.  She was Goliath’s daughter, and considering he’d lost respect for Goliath, it most likely wouldn’t have worked out in the long run.

Sure, he could have mated with Angela to get back at Goliath psychologically.  But if he had done that and the relationship between him and Angela didn’t develop in a respectable way, making it seem like he was just using Angela, it would have likely incurred Goliath’s wrath, which would have ended badly for both him and Brooklyn. 

Thinking about it like that lessened Brooklyn’s hostility toward Broadway.  He almost felt bad for him, in a way.  However, the thought of him and Angela together still made his stomach churn with anger and regret, always serving as a reminder of what he didn’t have that he wanted badly. 

By now, Brooklyn realized he was putting himself into a spell of depressing rumination.  To alleviate that, he forced himself to think about the people and things he did miss. 

The first person that came to mind was Hudson.  The eldest member of the clan had always had faith in Brooklyn, and treated him as an equal rather than a youngling.  Though he tended to ramble, Hudson’s words were a source of comfort and sagely advice.  Brooklyn didn’t know what he would have done during Goliath’s sojourn if Hudson hadn’t been there to be the mentor Goliath couldn’t be.  

Bronx came next.  Brooklyn hadn’t realized how much the wingless gargoyle was a source of positivity until he’d been away for so long, (the six months Brooklyn lead the clan would have been more bearable had Bronx been there).  Though he couldn’t talk, Bronx’s faithful presence could cheer up anyone without the need for words, and for that Brooklyn was always grateful.

As for Elisa, though she was Goliath’s main squeeze, Brooklyn felt no ill-will against her.  She was a non-factor in Brooklyn’s contempt for Goliath.  She had always treated him kindly and with respect, and he had her to thank for something that had become very important to him.

Everyone in the clan occupied themselves with something the modern world had to offer.  Goliath read books, Hudson and Bronx watched TV, Broadway sampled all the new foods that were available and had taken up cooking, and Lexington studied the new technology to see how it all worked.  Brooklyn found himself drawn to music.

Elisa had given the clan her old record player that she didn’t use anymore, as well as some of her records.  She wasn’t a music historian by any means, but she gave them the basic rundown of the different eras and styles of music, along with showing them what modern instruments looked like.  The clan was naturally intrigued, having only seen humans perform with more primitive instruments back in old-time Scotland.

Brooklyn became the most attached to what the new world had to offer with music.  He found himself playing the records many times over, and when he had free time after patrol, he’d seek out anywhere around the city that had live music playing, be it anything from intimate open mic nights to loud, bombastic affairs at bigger venues. 

He’d even befriended a human who was not only a musician, but just as obsessed with music as he was, after saving said human from thugs one night after he performed at an open mic.  This new friend was a night owl, and once or twice a week Brooklyn would stop by his apartment and they’d listen to all kinds of music until dawn.  Brooklyn missed his company immensely.  (*)

Lastly was Lexington, whom Brooklyn probably missed the most.  They’d grown closer in the months leading up to the Phoenix Gate incident, considering Broadway was frequently off with Angela, Hudson was back to being Goliath’s mentor, and Bronx, while always good company, was still just . . . Bronx.

They’d glide around Manhattan on patrol together or in their spare time and have long conversations about various things, joking, reminiscing, and just generally being there for one another.  Even when Xanatos and Fox brought Alex into the world, (Lexington grew quite protective of the baby), Lexington still made time to hang out with Brooklyn. 

That was until Lexington came back from Europe.  Prior to being sent through time and space, Brooklyn had started noticing a slight change in Lexington’s behavior.  They weren’t talking as much as they had been, and Lexington had started a streak of declining Brooklyn’s offers to hang out.  Lexington seemed pre-occupied with something, and Brooklyn had intended on talking with Lexington about it before fate intervened.  He hoped his clan brother was doing okay in his absence. 

And just like that, Brooklyn had run out of pleasant thoughts to remember.  Silence returned, clearing his mind.  For a moment, he floated in a non-thinking head space, detached but content. 

Then he fell out of the trance, and the first thing he was aware of was that he was in the wilderness—not home—lost through time—forced to do a monumental task—

His head began to hurt.  He put his head into his palms, and let his palms push back to try and clutch the pain away.  He vaguely swayed side to side. 

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” he said, feeling his eyes start to glow.  “Why did I have to get stuck with this shit?  Set time on its correct path? It’s going to take so fucking long to do that!  And it’s not like I can choose to not do any of it, or even half—it has to be done, or else the whole timeline is fucked.”

In a fit of rage Brooklyn stood up and smashed the wine bottle into the trunk of the tree, glass shards and splashes of red exploding every which way.  He began slashing away at the tree with his claws, each hit directed at each frustration that had been festering within his soul.  He lost track of time, and only noticed the deep gashes he’d left in the bark once his hands fell limp at his sides. 

Panting, he looked down at a group of shards that had miraculously piled together.  He bent down and saw the biggest piece had a small bit of wine pooled together.  He carefully picked it up, raised it above his head, tipped the wine drop into his mouth, and tossed the shard away.

“Ugh,” he croaked, clutching his head.  “Why did I only grab one bottle?”

Laughter erupted from his chest.  It was neither maniacal nor gleeful, but a simple release of tension.  It was his way of accepting what he had no control over.  When he had composed himself, he put things into perspective.

“But hey, I must be pretty important if I’m the one having to do all this.  I’m the Traveler in Time, out influencing all of reality.  That’s a major honor if there ever was one.  How’s that for a role?  Fuck you, Goliath.”

By now, the bonfire had begun to fizzle out, and the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon.  Brooklyn took to the sky and began searching for a place to hide himself while he slept through the day. 

Loneliness still held its cold grip over Brooklyn, but for the next twelve hours he’d find rest in dreamless sleep.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeH_FcuuhKc