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Chapter Text

Demona had walked on the Earth for more than a millennia. She had found countless allies, and even more enemies. When she was younger she would have a crisis about the fact that while she always ended up losing her friends, families, and allies, her enemies just kept on coming back generation after generation.

Macbeth. The Hunters. The Quarrymen. And many others that Goliath and his clan didn't even know about. They hated her, some for what she was, and some for who she was. While many of her enemies wanted her dead, there were a few that she despised even more because they wanted her capture.

There were humans who saw her as a prized specimen. The Vincent family were some of the worst. She'd had a bad run in with Michel Vincent in the early 1800s, and he had sent hunters after her so he could lock her in his private zoo.

She'd ignored him for a bit, but when he became a menace she struck him down before he could turn her into his pet. Michel had been gone, and that should have been the end of the story. However, she'd been going through a foolish and merciful phase at the time. She had left Michel's daughters, Isabelle and Laura, alive.

Demona had thought that she had struck the fear of god in the girls, but when Michel died they inherited his estate, including that ridiculous private zoo of his, and they picked up on his last wish of catching Demona.

It had been nearly 200 years, and the Vincent family was still after her. Sometimes the hunt skipped a generation or two, but then a rich brat with too much time and money on their hands would learn about their ancestors, and they thought that hunting Demona was a worthy pastime. It was humiliating and annoying, but nothing that Demona couldn't handle. The worst part about it was that she kept on being caught off guard, because sometimes she was pursued by the Vincents for the better part of two decades before they fell back, and sometimes she wouldn't hear a peep from them for fifty years.

The Vincents also weren't like the Hunters. They didn't have a set, traditional way that they did things. They all had their own styles. Michel had been a hunter, so he'd pursued her himself, but his daughters had preferred to hire someone else to do their dirty work for them.

Some Vincents hired bounty hunters. Some of them tried to find her stone form during the day to capture her when she couldn't fight back. She had learned to always watch her back, but ever since the Puck had cured her she had gotten sloppy. Nobody knew her human form, so Dominique didn't have the same enemies that Demona did. In fact, as Dominique she would often find her old enemies and make a deceitful alliance between them.

She was so used to manipulating and blindsiding people, and so careful to take every precaution, that she never expected to be fooled herself. So when a young man by the name of Matthew Clutch came to Dominique with a business proposal involving a gargoyle 'pet', she hadn't thought twice about meeting with him, even though she'd had her suspicions about who he was.

Some careful research confirmed her suspicions. Matthew Clutch was not related to the Vincents by birth at all, though his cousin, who was like a sister to him, had married into the family. Neither the cousin nor her husband seemed interested in Demona or any other gargoyle, but Matthew had been intrigued with the potential addition to his private collection.

Demona wanted to know more about Matthew. She needed to know if he was planning on going after her, and just how he intended on doing so. And if he was just interested in any gargoyle whatsoever, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. She didn't intend on letting him enslave or own any gargoyle, but she could let him think he was in control while she got all the information she needed.

So Demona, as Dominique, went through with the meeting. She said she was willing to give him the resources he needed to capture and contain a gargoyle, for a price. Matthew had just laughed.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about the capture." Matthew said. "I was already able to procure a rather handsome specimen. It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be."

Dominique sat up in her seat. "You've captured a gargoyle?" It must have been a recent event, because she hadn't had anybody in her traitorous old clan come to her, demanding that she return the gargoyle that she didn't have. She wouldn't exactly say she was concerned about her old clan, but she was certainly curious about how Matthew had managed such a thing, and who he got his hands on. A part of her was wondering just what Matthew had in mind for his new pet.

Of course, she was dubious about his claims. "How do I know you've actually caught a gargoyle?" Dominique asked. "I've seen quite a few creative hoaxes."

"Well, it turned to stone at dawn, just like the stories claimed." Matthew said. "I'll provide proof, of course. I won't just ask for something for nothing."

Dominique would give Matthew credit, he wasn't one of those arrogant rich boys who thought that they should be given what they wanted, just because they wanted it. He knew that there were transactions involved. You had to give a little to get a little.

"I hope you don't think a statue will be enough to convince me." Dominique crossed her arms. "Everybody knows what Manhattan's gargoyles look like. Anybody with enough money on their hands can commission a convincing replica, but that wouldn't make it a gargoyle."

"Understandable." Matthew leaned back in his seat. "I know you don't meet anybody after dark. I can send you an email tonight with a link to a live video of our little gargoyle friend, and then we can meet tomorrow to discuss specifics."

Demona had a dozen different ideas how she could turn on Matthew, and she would spend the night plotting things out. First, she needed to know if he really did have a gargoyle, and which one he had. That would be just one more variable that she could work with. Knowledge was power, and it was a weapon she wielded well.

They concluded their meeting, and Demona was sure that neither of them actually trusted the other.

Demona went home and planned for a bit before she settled down for a few hours and took a nap. She wanted to be rested for tonight.

Demona got the email five minutes before sunset, which she actually appreciated. She could open the video and see the captured gargoyle before they woke from their stone sleep. It soon became clear who Matthew had caught, and why it had been so simple for him.

She recognized Brooklyn immediately. If he was truly there, and this wasn't an elaborate ruse, then Brooklyn would be the easiest target. It wasn't because he was incompetent. Of the young ones, he was probably the most mature and patient, and he was a decent fighter.

Brooklyn's weakness was that he was uncertain, and he was lonely. Demona always kept a close eye on her old clan, and she'd noticed that Brooklyn would frequently be by himself. He would go out patrolling on his own when his brothers were tired and wanted to relax. When the others wanted to go out and do something fun, while Brooklyn would join them most of the time, it wasn't uncommon for him to stay home.

There was always a look of longing in his eyes. He was reaching an age where he craved a mate, and even when he was young Brooklyn had been more sensitive than his rookery siblings. He craved affection, but was uncertain and somewhat shy, and he didn't know how to take what he wanted. He was too submissive. Demona had tried to bring him out of his shell when he was a child, to encourage him to take more initiative, but the trauma of what their clan had been through had clearly set him back.

Brooklyn clearly didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want to bring the others down with his negative emotions, so he distanced himself from them instead. It was a slippery slope, and if Goliath didn't do something soon then he would lose his new second. Brooklyn could grow bitter and angry, and he would turn on Goliath's precious humans. He could drown in his loneliness and isolate himself so much that he became a shell of his former self. The most ideal situation that Demona could imagine was that Brooklyn would leave the clan for good, realizing that the best way to protect himself emotionally was by getting away from an environment that was full of so much pain for him.

Demona tried not to have regrets. She'd been alive for too long to linger in the past. But she did wish that she had waited a bit longer before trying to sway Brooklyn. She'd shown her hand too soon, and his personal pain had made him wary of her. If she had waited until now to go after him, when he was scared and alone, and oh so desperate for interaction and validation, then he would be hers. Neither of them would have to be alone.

But it was too late for that. Brooklyn wasn't going to forgive her, and she wasn't going to waste her time trying to win the approval of a naive child.

Demona couldn't watch the entirety of Brooklyn waking from his stone sleep, because she underwent her own transformation at sunset. It happened fast enough that she could turn her attention to the video just as Brooklyn finished stretching from his sleep. She smirked as Brooklyn wasted no time. He roared, his eyes glowing white as he lunged towards Matthew. He was pulled back by a collar around his neck. Matthew clearly wasn't a fool, but at least Brooklyn didn't just roll over without a fight. Living among humans hadn't tamed him completely.

"Now now, little one, behave yourself." Matthew said. His voice was dripping with a sickening patronizing tone that made both Demona and Brooklyn growl. "We want to make a good impression for my guest." He looked right at the camera, not even hiding the fact that he was recording their interaction. Brooklyn glared at the camera with a venomous fury that she wasn't used to seeing from him.

"What do you want with me?" Brooklyn growled. Whatever it is, you're not going to get it."

Matthew just chuckled. "Oh, I think I will." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He called, and Demona heard her phone ring. She answered.

"What do you think?" Matthew asked. "Convincing enough for you?"

"Impressive." Demona admitted. She tapped her claws on the table. "But that chain won't hold him for longer than two minutes."

"Well, that's what I'm coming to you for." Matthew just sounded amused, like he wasn't at all concerned that Brooklyn would break free from his chains and tear Matthew apart. He probably wouldn't be so harsh, but Demona hoped he would at least break a few bones. "Why don't you stop by tomorrow afternoon and help me set up a more…permanent situation?"

"If you think I'm going to stay here for another second you've got another thing coming, you-" Brooklyn's threat broke into a pained shriek as Matthew pushed a button. Brooklyn's whole body grew tense as he screamed before he suddenly slumped to the ground. Demona could see scorch marks around his neck. He was wearing a shock collar. A really strong one from the looks of it.

"I think that's enough of that." Matthew said far too pleasantly. "You'll learn some manners."

Brooklyn just groaned and curled in on himself, draping his wings protectively over his body. The shock must have been stronger than she had thought.

"I'll see if I can find something for you." Demona said. "You know it won't be cheap."

"I'm not worried about money." Matthew said. He sounded more arrogant than Xanatos. Demona wanted to scratch that smug look right off his face, but it would have to wait another day. She needed to know how he had caught a gargoyle. If he'd just gotten lucky, or if he'd carefully planned this, targeting Brooklyn specifically, and waiting until he had a window of opportunity.

"I'll come tomorrow." Demona said. She hung up. She watched Matthew on the screen as he put his phone away, looking very content. He stepped towards the camera, reached out, and the feed turned off.

Demona sighed and stretched. She would need to make herself comfortable. It would be too risky to go out tonight. If Goliath's clan saw her, they would be suspicious. Especially since Brooklyn had been gone for at least a day. They wouldn't be panicking about his absence yet, but they'd be worried enough that they'd get on her tail about it if she gave them a chance.

No, it was best that she lay low for a while. It was just for the night. And tomorrow she could put her plan into place. What that plan was, she didn't know quite yet, but she had time to think about it. She had considered just putting Matthew in his place, but he'd pulled Brooklyn into this game, and he made an interesting pawn indeed. If she made a show of saving him from Matthew, maybe Brooklyn would listen to her again.

There were so many possibilities, and just a day to filter through them. It was going to be a busy night.

Brooklyn breathed harshly as he stared at the man in front of him. His stomach was twisting with fear, frustration, and a fair amount of humiliation. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get caught. He'd just been out on a glide yesterday, trying to clear his head. He'd felt a pain in his shoulder, and he'd quickly lost consciousness. He hadn't woken until after dark the next day. Or maybe it had been even longer than that. He had no idea what kind of tranquilizer had been used on him. He didn't know anything.

"This is going better than I could hope." His captor said. He loomed over Brooklyn. "I think you're the key to everything."

Brooklyn dug his claws into the ground. It was the only movement he could make. He'd been tazed before, but this shock had been intense, and he felt like the electricity was still running through his veins. He couldn't move more than just growing tense, and he couldn't keep his hands from shaking.

"Whatever you want, you're not going to get it." Brooklyn ground out. Just talking seemed to take all his breath out of him. "My clan will come for me." Of that, he was certain…mostly. There was an annoying voice in the back of his head that told him that the others would think they would be better off without him.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The man said. "You see, I'm a bit of a collector, and while you gargoyles are all so fascinating, there is one in particular that I have my eyes on, and you're going to bring her right to me."

Brooklyn blinked and just stared at the man, confused. He was being used as bait? As humiliating as that was, it was also confusing. Who would be drawn into a trap specifically because of him?

The man approached Brooklyn and actually knelt by his side. Brooklyn growled and grew tense, about to strike, but the man clicked his tongue and held up the device that had the button to the collar. Brooklyn froze. He didn't want to be patronized, but he especially didn't want to be electrocuted again. It would probably knock him out for another day.

He forced himself to relax, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he felt the man start to gently stroke his hair, as though he was petting him. He hated this.

"There you go." The man nearly purred. "Isn't this nice? You aren't quite my fierce demon prize, but you're a beauty in your own right. Maybe I'll end up keeping you after all."

Brooklyn shuddered. The man was talking about him like he was an exotic pet, or a rare antique. Brooklyn knew that there were plenty of humans out there who saw gargoyles in this way, but he'd never been in the hands of one before. It scared him and made him feel small and pathetic.

It took Brooklyn a long moment to realize the implications of what the man had said. "Fierce demon? You're not seriously after Demona." He looked at the man, and seeing his expression it was clear that he was, indeed, serious. Brooklyn still felt fear and humiliation, but he couldn't help but laugh.

"You're trying to use me as bait for Demona?" Brooklyn laughed, but his voice also cracked with pain. "I thought you knew what you were doing. She won't fall for it."

"We'll see." The man sounded so sure of himself, but he didn't know Demona the way that Brooklyn did. She was careful. She wouldn't fall for any human's traps, but especially not this one.

If there was one thing Brooklyn knew for sure about Demona, it was that she wouldn't fall for a trap just to save him. She didn't care about him enough to do that. She didn't care about him at all.

Chapter Text

She perched on the ledge of Castle Wyvern, looking out over the courtyard where the hatchlings were running around chasing after each other. They were only ten years old, and they were still experimenting with how their bodies moved. Many of the young ones were play fighting, jumping at each other and swiping their dull claws in the way they'd seen their guardians do. Some especially bold little ones were jumping from crates and spreading their wings as they attempted to glide.

She smiled to herself as she watched the little ones play. They would make great warriors, she could tell. It was astonishing how young they were. She was just one generation older than them, not quite old enough to even be one of their guardians yet, but she felt a fond protectiveness of them.

They were the future of the clan, and what a bright future it would be.

She watched them fondly for several minutes before she noticed something that was a little odd. One of the boys had accidentally been too rough with his smaller brother when they played, and now he was being scolded by one of the guardians that was watching them tonight. The lecture wasn't harsh, and she knew that he was just being told to be a little more careful, but the boy's body language made it seem like it was far worse.

The little one in trouble, a red lad with long white hair, was curling in on himself. His wings were wrapped around his shoulders almost protectively, and he was hunched over in a way that made him look smaller. He was almost crouching. She didn't see gargoyles stand like that. Not even the young ones.

She hopped off her perch and glided down into the courtyard. By the time she got there the simple lecture was over. The guardian knelt and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, offering comfort. The little one had been trying to be strong, but at the touch he started crying. The guardian gave the small one a sympathetic smile as they lifted him into their arms.

"What happened?" She asked.

"Nothing." The guardian said. "This little one is sensitive." She already knew that much. He wasn't too anxious, but he seemed to feel things more intensely than his rookery siblings.

"I can watch him for a while." She offered, holding out her arms to take him. The guardian looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" They asked. She pouted. She knew that she wasn't quite grown. She was only thirty. But she could handle one ten year old for a few minutes.

"I can do it." She said. The guardian's gaze softened.

"Alright." They said. They handed her the little one, who clung tightly to her, still sobbing. The guardian smiled encouragingly and went to look after the other little ones. She sighed and put the little one down, kneeling in front of him.

"Come now, little one, you're okay." She said gently, but sternly. "What are you crying for?"

He just sniffled and shook his head. He had his large wings wrapped around himself. He was trying to stop his tears, but he was hunching in on himself again, making himself smaller. That wouldn't do.

"Don't do that." She put her hands on his shoulders and guided him to straighten. "It makes you look weak and scared. You need to be strong." She stood up, holding herself proud to demonstrate a confident posture.

There were still tears in the young one's eyes, but he wasn't sobbing anymore. He looked up at her with a sob as he slowly tried to mimic her posture. It was definitely better than hunching in on himself. He no longer looked like he was terrified out of his wits, but he still looked incredibly uneasy.

"Better." She said. She put her hands on his back and applied just a touch of pressure. "Pull your shoulders back. Lift your head just a little bit. There you go." She smiled encouragingly. "Now you look like a warrior."

The boy frowned and tilted his head at her as his shoulders dropped slightly. "But I don't know how to fight."

"The first step to fighting is to look intimidating." She said. "If you can scare your enemies away, you can stop the fight before it even starts, but nobody's going to be afraid of someone who already looks defeated."

The boy pouted. "I don't want to scare anybody."

"It's part of protecting the clan." She said. "It's really not that bad. Being scary doesn't make you mean. It' just makes you someone that others won't try to hurt."

The young one looked at her with wide eyes. "I want to protect the clan. Can you teach me how to be scary without being mean?" He looked so earnest, and she couldn't help but be reminded of how she was when she was younger. She felt a fondness in her chest as she smiled.

"I would like nothing more."

Demona liked to get her work done as Dominique as early as possible. It was partially because her meetings always involved talking to humans, and she wanted to get those disgusting interactions over with as soon as she could. The more important reason was that sometimes meetings went wrong, and she didn't want to risk letting humans know about her better self.

She arranged to meet with Matthew in the mid-morning. She went to his estate, and he wasted no time in taking her down to his rooms downstairs. No part of the building looked fit for the keeping of any creatures, let alone a gargoyle. Even the large room where he kept Brooklyn's stone form just looked like an empty living room.

There were only a few things that made this room look like it was meant to keep someone contained. The door had an electric lock on it. There were chains connected to an odd looking machine and the collar still around Brooklyn's neck. That must be what was responsible for the shock Brooklyn had been subjected to last night.

There was another bit of machinery against the wall. Demona wasn't an expert in technology, preferring magic over man-made machines, but she wasn't foolish enough to think that magic could achieve everything. There was always a trick or price to magic. Technology was much more straightforward, and it did have its uses. She had a curiosity about this technology.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Matthew approached the machine. "I had it installed just the other day."

Dominique crossed her arms. "It can look as fancy as you like, but that doesn't make it useful."

"That's what I brought you here for." Matthew said. He looked a little sheepish. He seemed aware that he could have been duped by whoever he had bought this machinery from. "I've heard you're the expert on these monsters. Maybe you can tell me if this beauty can actually keep him contained."

"Well, let's see." She took a step back. Matthew went to the machine, double checked some settings, and pulled a lever. The room suddenly got brighter and Demona could feel a surge of power in the room. A series of plasma bars appeared around Brooklyn, caging him. She had seen things like this before, and they certainly were good enough to efficiently contain a gargoyle. It was certainly better than a steel cage, because these couldn't be torn apart through raw desperation.

"Not bad." Dominique admitted. She walked around the cage, looking for a hole or weak spot. "Why didn't you have this set up last night? You're lucky that chain held him. He could have torn your face off." That would have been a sight to see."

Matthew approached the cage himself. "I enjoy collecting rare items and specimens, but I don't think there's any point in having something priceless if I can't admire it. The bars obstruct the view too much for my taste. I have them just in case, but I prefer to use alternative means to keep my belongings."

She clenched her teeth and crossed her arms tightly to keep herself from scratching at Matthew. If she was a gargoyle, she would tear him apart for merely suggesting that a gargoyle was nothing more than his personal plaything. As a mere human, she couldn't do such a thing. She had a reputation to uphold.

"I'm curious," Dominique said when she could trust herself to speak. "How did you catch this young one? You seem prepared, so I expect this wasn't a spur of the moment decision."

"Oh, no." Matthew laughed. "I heard about gargoyles a while ago, and I've had my eye on one in particular since then."

"Why him?" She asked.

"For one thing, he's young." Matthew said. "He'll last longer than the older ones." He seemed to have no idea that Goliath and even Hudson would probably outlive Matthew. "And for what I want him for, he seemed like the best choice."

She frowned. "What do you mean? I thought you wanted a gargoyle as a pet." She spat out the derogatory term.

"I do." Matthew said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "But this one isn't exactly what I had in mind. It's just a means to an end. A bonus, if you will." She felt shivers go down her spine at Matthew's words. She turned to look at him, only to see that he was back at the machine. He lifted the lever, putting it in a halfway position. Before she could move or think she saw the bars around Brooklyn disappear as new ones appeared around her.

She wished so badly to be a gargoyle in that moment. She wanted to growl properly and intimidate Matthew, frightening him into letting her go. The weak excuse for a growl that came out of Dominique was pathetic. She'd heard hatchlings that were better at striking fear into someone's heart.

There wasn't a hint of fear in Matthew's eyes. He just looked even more proud of himself.

"And here I thought it would be a challenge to capture you." Matthew said. "I think catching the young one took more planning."

If she wasn't human, her eyes would be glowing a dangerous red. "If you release me in the next five seconds then I'll grant you mercy." She said lowly. "Your death will be quick and painless."

"As generous as that offer is, I have a few ideas of my own." Matthew stalked around the cage, going towards Brooklyn's stone form. "Behave yourself, and I'll reconsider your punishment."

Demona scoffed. "If you even try to lay a single finger on me, I'll scratch your eyes out." How dare he speak of punishing her, as though she was a disobedient child or pet. She hated all humans, but ones like Matthew were particularly disgusting.

"Oh, I'm not foolish enough to think I can beat you in a fight." Matthew said. "And as you've so kindly pointed out, my nice little collar won't work on you the way it does the young one, so I've had to find a more creative way of encouraging compliance."

Matthew put his hands on Brooklyn's, showing an intense interest on his claws. "You said you wanted to scratch my eyes out. I think an appropriate punishment is in order, don't you?" He gave her a pointed look, but he was still focusing his attention on Brooklyn. It was clear that he was threatening to hurt Brooklyn when Demona stepped out of line. If he thought that would work on her, he was a fool.

"You can't declaw a gargoyle." She crossed her arms. Even when they weren't in their stone forms, their skin was a lot tougher than that of humans. And Matthew had already said that he was a collector. He wouldn't damage one of his goods in a foolish attempt to teach Demona a lesson.

Matthew just looked amused. "You think you can call my bluff." She didn't like how confident he looked. "I'll tell you what, I'll be generous for your first offense. I'll give you until tomorrow. If you apologize by then, this offense will be forgiven. If not, you'll see just how much I'm bluffing." Demona had far too much experience with human bravado to even consider that he would follow through.

Matthew patted Brooklyn condescendingly before he left the room. Demona was stuck in a small cage that wouldn't allow for much pacing, and when she had her true form again she wouldn't even be able to spread her wings out. It was truly humiliating, but at least she wasn't stuck looking at Matthew's face and listening to his taunts.

Demona was left alone for hours as she tried to think of a plan. She thought that she could slip her wing past the plasma bars with minimum burns, and possibly reach the lever from here if she really stretched. Once these bars were out of the way she would easily be able to get away from this estate.

She usually took a nap during the day, but she didn't dare to now. There wasn't any room, but even if there was she wouldn't give Matthew the satisfaction. She couldn't trust him, and she wasn't going to give him the chance to see her any more vulnerable than he already had..

Matthew returned to the room shortly before sunset, and she hated that he was going to be here to witness her transformation. There was nothing she could do about it. Whether she liked it or not, the sun set, and she felt the sharp pain as she transformed to her true self.

She let out a furious roar just as Brooklyn did the same. She wanted to only have eyes on Matthew, because he was the threat, but Brooklyn's gaze was only on her. He didn't seem to understand that, for once, he wasn't her enemy.

"Demona?" He sounded confused, though there was something else in his voice that was hard to identify. "What are you doing here?" He frowned. "How are you here?" He didn't know that she became human during the day. All he knew was that she hadn't been here when he'd turned at dawn, but she was now.

"And you thought my plan wouldn't work." Matthew gave Brooklyn an arrogant look. He put his hand on top of Brooklyn's head. The young one stiffened and whimpered. He clenched his eyes shut tight and he hunched his shoulders so much that he looked like he was crouching. It was a truly pathetic pose, but what made Demona seethe was the way that Matthew started to pet Brooklyn, and the little one didn't fight him at all

Demona growled at the disgusting sight. Matthew just smirked as though he had both of them right where he wanted them.

"She's here because I invited her." Matthew said. She hated how right he was. "I just told her I had a gargoyle, and I wanted some help to contain it better, and here she is."

Brooklyn whimpered again, sounding absolutely heartbroken. He opened his eyes and gave Demona a wounded look. "That's why you're here? You…you wanted to help keep me chained up like a dog?" He sounded like he was either about to start screaming or crying, and it made Demona's gut twist in anger. She couldn't bear to look at him.

"Why else would I come?" Demona seethed. She only ever came near humans if a gargoyle was involved in one way or another.

Brooklyn made another pained whimper. He slumped even more, making himself even smaller. It almost looked like he was trying to hide behind Matthew, who was their true enemy here. Matthew chuckled and gave Brooklyn a condescending pat before he backed away.

"I have some more work to do." Matthew said. "I'll leave you to get reacquainted." He looked at Demona. "Remember what I told you."

He left, and since Demona couldn't take her frustration out on him she turned it to the only available target.

"Stop your cowering." Demona snapped at Brooklyn. He just made himself even smaller, which she hadn't thought possible. "You look like a scared gargoyle beast. It's pathetic."

Brooklyn wrapped his wings around himself and looked pointedly the other way. "Why should you care?"

"It gives gargoyles everywhere a bad name." Demona said. "I taught you better than that."

Brooklyn growled and his head snapped up. He glared at her, his eyes taking on just a hint of a glow. "You also betrayed our clan and tried to kill us more times than I can count. You gave up the right to talk to me like you're still…" His voice cracked, pain coming through the anger. He huffed and looked away. He turned his back on her, and Demona felt the familiar pain and loneliness tug at her heart before she hid it behind her anger.

It didn't matter that he wanted nothing to do with her. It didn't matter that he would rather let their captor pet him like he was a mutt than even consider talking to her. Demona had been alone for a thousand years, even when she was in the company of others. Why should now be any different?

Let Brooklyn act like a child. He was right. Why should she care? Her only concern should be getting out of this place. She shouldn't spare Brooklyn another thought. She needed to worry about herself, because if she didn't then nobody would.

Chapter Text

As a clan, the gargoyles didn't exactly have the same family roles that the humans had. They didn't have a single man who was the father and head of the household, running the place like a dictator. They didn't have one woman who was in charge of all the care of the young ones, the cooking, and the cleaning.

They had a clan leader, but most of that job was to act as a mediator between the humans they protected and the rest of the clan. The rest of their job was to make important decisions for the good of the clan, and only when necessary.

The other gargoyles were all caregivers, guardians, and teachers. The young ones saw each other as rookery siblings, and everybody else, despite how much older they were than them, was just family. Sometimes they took a role that more resembled that of an older sibling, or a protective parent. Sometimes they were a wise grandparent, or a distant relative that cared from afar. It didn't really matter. They were all family. Titles and labels were just as unnecessary for their clan as names were.

He admired all of the older ones. He watched them carefully when they trained, and dreamed of gliding off and protecting the clan the way that they did. He longed for the day when he could help, as all of his siblings were, but they were still barely being taught the basics. They were told that they wouldn't begin their true training until all of them could glide comfortably for at least half an hour without a break. About half of them could manage it, though the others were slowly but surely starting to pick it up.

He was a little impatient with waiting. One night he saw some of the human men fighting with each other, and he was fascinated. Humans didn't fight the way that gargoyles did. Not even in their mock fights that seemed to be more for fun than anything.

Where gargoyles would circle each other with growls and roars before striking fluidly with wings and claws and tails, humans struck clumsily with fists and a mug they might be holding. He couldn't help but be interested in these punches. Gargoyles didn't hit like that. This was something new, and for a curious child who hadn't fought more than the occasional wrestling with his siblings, it was intriguing and the thought stayed in his head.

All of the young ones clumsily tried to replicate the fighting they had seen their guardians do, though they had to do it in secret or they'd be scolded for being reckless. He didn't really like fighting too much, but when his siblings wouldn't stop messing with him, he fought back.

Some of his rookery siblings seemed to find his defensive anger to be funny. A few of his sisters liked to step on his long wings to make him trip, just to try to get a reaction out of him. Some of his brothers would say something a little mean about his favorite brothers so he'll step up and defend their honor. It was all in good fun, even if it was frustrating, annoying, and a little hurtful at the time.

One of his sisters, who was the best of their rookery siblings at gliding, liked to show off a little. She tried to encourage the others to join her in the air, challenging them to races and competitions. He never participated, because he was one of the ones who was still struggling with his flying. He was a bit embarrassed about that fact, so he didn't tell everybody. Only some of their guardians and his favorite siblings knew.

When she wouldn't stop bugging him about gliding, he found himself getting angry. Looking back, he knew that she probably just didn't want him to feel left out, but her playful tone and his own insecurities made him feel like she was mocking him for his struggles. He let his anger get the better of him, as gargoyles were prone to do, and without thinking about it he closed his hand into a fist and punched his sister.

She staggered back a bit, more out of shock than anything. Gargoyles were hardy creatures. An inexperienced punch couldn't hurt them. She was unhurt, both physically and emotionally, though she finally seemed to understand that he didn't want to play her games. She huffed, flicked her tail, and went to join the others that were playing with her.

When she was gone he whimpered and brought his hand close to his chest. It hurt. It wasn't too bad, but it was surprising. He shook his hand out to get his knuckles to relax. He flexed his fingers and looked at his palms, only to be taken aback when he saw three fairly deep holes in the middle of his hand. His talons had pierced his palm, and now he was bleeding.

He wasn't afraid of blood. He'd gotten scrapes before, and while these stung more than he was used to, it wasn't too bad. What made him feel uneasy was that he'd done this to himself, and it had been an accident. They were also still bleeding, and they were deeper than injuries he'd had in the past.

He knew that it would heal come dawn, but the thought crossed his mind that the holes were so deep that they would remain. Would he forever have holes in his palm, scarring him for the rest of his life? The thought terrified him, and he needed reassurance. He needed a guardian.

He held his hand close to his chest as tears came to his eyes. He ran inside of the castle and up the stairs. He almost stumbled over his feet a few times as he dashed up the steps. He almost tripped as he ran back out onto an upper ledge. When the young ones played in the courtyard a few guardians usually watched from this spot. He saw three older gargoyles talking to each other, and he felt relief when he saw who one of them was.

She frequently involved herself in the care of him and his rookery sibling, even back when she was still fairly young. She was one of his favorite guardians. She left him feeling like he was being cared for without being babied. He launched himself at her, clinging to her leg.

"Young one?" She knelt and put her hands on his shoulders. He felt a familiar pressure that was both comforting and guiding. He followed the slight pull and straightened his back, just like she always encouraged him to do. He couldn't stop crying though.

"What's wrong?" She brushed some of his hair out of his face. He whimpered and showed her his hand. She grimaced in sympathy. "Oh. I see." She stood up and took his unhurt hand in her own. She looked at the other guardians. "I'll take care of this one." They nodded and turned their attention back to the other young ones, many of whom were flying around.

She brought him back inside to one of the few rooms that the denizens of the castle allowed the gargoyles to use. They used to use it when the young ones needed a nap, though now it was mostly used when the grown-ups needed 'private time'.

The room was empty, and she brought him to a chest with spare clothes. She sat in front of him and used a cloth to carefully wipe away the blood. She was so gentle and calm, and he soon calmed down as well.

"I don't think it's too bad." She said as she grabbed another cloth. She started to wrap it around his hand to protect the injuries and stop further bleeding. "Did you guys get too rough again?"

He shook his head. He felt a little sheepish about how this happened, but he wasn't ashamed to talk to her about it. While she was one of the older ones, she was still young. She was barely more than one of the kids herself. She would understand.

"It was my claws." He admitted. He took his unhurt hand and curled his talons into a fist, though it wasn't as tight as he'd done before. "See? I got mad at one of my sisters, and I hit her, but it wasn't with my claws. It was like what the humans do."

She didn't scold him for hitting his sister. She knew as well as he did that that was part of the ways of the gargoyle. As they got older it would become less acceptable, but he was still young enough that fighting was how they played, and how they expressed emotions that were too big for them to understand. When they learned how to fight properly, they would be taught when it was okay to use their strength. In the meantime, they acted on instinct.

While she didn't get upset with him for being violent, she was frowning in clear displeasure. There was a hint of frustration in her eyes. "I know you young ones are curious about the humans, but you need to remember that we're not like them. We never will be, and we shouldn't strive to be."

She held her hand out to show him. "We have claws, and they're much thicker and sharper than human fingers are. They're not made for clenching. We're made for scratching and clawing, and we shouldn't try to fight it."

"I know." He said. "I just forgot." He hadn't been thinking when he'd struck his sister. It had just happened.

"And I'm here to remind you." She said kindly, but sternly. She took both of her hands in her own, being careful of his hurt palm. "We may live among humans and associate with them, but we will never be like them. We are gargoyles. We're a strong clan, and we should be proud of it. We should never need to rely on the barbaric means of fighting that humans use. We're better than that. We're better than them."

He was a little frightened of this tone of hers. She could be so serious sometimes. But he wasn't truly afraid of her. She cared about nothing more than her clan. Why should he be afraid of that?

Brooklyn was tired, sore, and had an ugly feeling building in his chest that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite resignation, and wasn't quite fear. It was a horrible mix of the three of them, and maybe some other feelings he couldn't identify.

He couldn't feel the physical effects of his collar shocking him anymore. His stone sleep had done wonders to get rid of the lingering numbness. He knew that he had to just be imagining the little tickles and phantom shocks that he felt at the back of his neck, where the electricity had come through the collar.

But he couldn't shake the fear of being shocked again. It had immobilized him basically all night. His captor could have done whatever he had wanted to do with him, and he wouldn't have been able to fight back.

Brooklyn didn't want to feel that pain and be left pathetic and useless. More than that though, he was scared of what side-effects he could feel in the long term if he was exposed to too much electricity in such a short period of time.

Back home, in his spare time when he was especially bored he would do some reading. While Hudson liked really old stories, from a time closer to their own, and Lexington liked to read about current events and future developments, Brooklyn liked to read about the ways that the world had changed. He read about all kinds of topics, including scientific and medical advances.

Brooklyn didn't understand any of it as much as Lex did, but he understood enough to know that electricity was dangerous, and just because he was a gargoyle didn't mean he was immune to it.

He wanted to avoid being shocked, so he resisted his instinct to lash out and attack his kidnapper. It wouldn't get him anywhere. Even if he did harm to the man, he would still be chained like a dog, and even if he was able to get out of the collar, it wouldn't be fast enough. The man would recover, and he would just shock Brooklyn again, and probably do something more to punish him.

Brooklyn had learned a thing or two about hostage cases from Elisa, and she had told them all over and over again that the most important thing to do was keep calm and not aggravate the captor, or else you might provoke them into harming their hostage.

Whether Brooklyn liked it or not, he was currently a victim. He was locked and chained up. His best chance of getting out was to keep his head low, keep his captor happy, and wait.

Whether he was waiting for his clan to save him, or waiting for the opportunity to escape, he didn't know quite yet. Just time would tell. Meanwhile, he would hold his tongue and deal with the humiliation of being treated like a pet and talked about like he was a mere object.

This whole situation wouldn't be anywhere near as hard if it weren't for Demona.

He didn't know how to cope with her being there. It was Demona's presence that made him feel pathetic and terrified, like he was suddenly a little kid again. A part of him, that was larger than he wanted to admit, was desperate for her affection again. He longed for the days when she was both a sister and a mother to him in a way that he didn't think most humans would ever be able to understand.

But she'd betrayed them. She turned her back on the clan, and it was just pathetic to seek her out again. He was stronger than that clingy little kid he'd been a thousand years ago. He was Goliath's second in their small clan. He'd grown up. He'd matured, and he definitely knew better than to hope for something that would never happen.

So he pushed that longing down and did his best to ignore Demona. All he needed to think about was getting out of here. Nothing mattered.

With their captor gone, Demona raged and shouted as she tried to find a way to get out of her strange cage. She shouted multiple threats about how she was going to tear 'Matthew' apart.

Brooklyn did his best to remember the name. He liked to know the names of his enemies, because then they felt like something he could handle, rather than just a monster from his deepest nightmares. Other than Matthew's name, Brooklyn did his best to block out Demona's words. Instead he focused.

Brooklyn stayed curled up in the corner as far away from Demona as he could get without making the chain pull at his collar. He did his best to look small and helpless, because if Demona and Matthew thought he was beaten down, they wouldn't think that he was up to anything.

While Brooklyn was curled up he brought his talons up to the back of his collar. He tried to avoid the area where he thought the shock had come from, just in case. He would rather avoid the back completely, but he needed to keep any potential evidence of what he was doing hidden by his hair, so he needed to do it in the back.

He just scratched repeatedly at a single spot. He didn't like the feel against his claws, but it was manageable, and definitely not bad enough to stop. He just scratched, and scratched, and then scratched some more just for good measure. He didn't know if he could break through this collar tonight, but he could tell that he was making progress, so he kept going.

If he was more impatient, or had a quick get-away planned, he would focus on the chains and get out fast, but Brooklyn didn't know how this shock collar worked. If the shock didn't travel through the chain, then Matthew could easily stop him before he could find his way out. Even if he escaped, for all Brooklyn knew the collar would work regardless of how far he got from here. He could be halfway across the city, gliding through the night, and then be shocked so much that he fell right out of the air, and he could get seriously hurt, or even hurt someone else.

The safest thing for him to do was to get rid of the collar. If it meant that Brooklyn needed to be here for a few more nights, so be it.

The night passed very slowly, and yet all too soon Matthew came back into the room. Brooklyn immediately stopped scratching at the collar. He'd made a dent, but all of that would go to waste if he got caught now. He slowly brought his hand away from his neck, at the same time curling up smaller so as to not look suspicious. He tapped into every ounce of fear he was feeling right now, and he let it be known.

If the others thought he was too weak and scared to try something, they would underestimate him, and that was his greatest weapon right now.

Matthew didn't even look at Brooklyn. He made his way straight to Demona. "It will be dawn in a few minutes. I think I was more than generous with my leniency, but your time is up. This is your last chance. Will you apologize for threatening me?"

"Never in your life." Demona growled. Matthew clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"Very well." Matthew said. "But I want the two of you to remember this. You had your chance, and you didn't take it. What comes next is merely a consequence of that." Brooklyn hunched his shoulders as he heard Matthew come closer to him. The man grabbed his hair and gave it a small pull, just enough to get Brooklyn to stand up.

"Stand up, little one." Matthew said in a way that was somehow both cruel and playful. "We don't have a lot of time."

Brooklyn did as he was told, because he knew if he didn't then he'd just be shocked, and things would get worse for him. "What do you want from me?" Brooklyn asked slowly.

"I want you to help me teach your friend a lesson." Matthew said. He stepped out of arm's reach and grabbed a thick metal rod. He set it on the ground and kicked it closer to Brooklyn. "Pick that up and hold it loosely in your hands."

Brooklyn frowned in confusion, but obeyed. His first instinct was to take this rod and throw it right at Matthew's head, but he could see the trigger for the collar in his hands. The man would just shock him, and he'd recover sooner than Brooklyn. Even if the gargoyle didn't get shocked, it was far too close to dawn for him to get anywhere. Matthew would just capture him again, and then the punishment he got would be far more than just a so-called lesson.

Brooklyn held onto the metal, but he didn't keep his questions in. So far Matthew had been amused by his questions. He might as well pay attention to that.

"Why the rod?" Brooklyn asked.

"It gets your hands in the position I want." Matthew said. Brooklyn didn't know what he meant, but he had a bad feeling about this. He started to loosen his grip, but Matthew just raised an eyebrow and gave the trigger for the collar a little jiggle, and he froze. Matthew had him, and he knew it. But this wasn't about Brooklyn. This was about Demona, and she wasn't giving Matthew any satisfaction.

"Whatever you're scheming, it's not going to work." Demona huffed. Brooklyn glanced at her, and he wished he hadn't. She was barely looking at him, and she looked like she couldn't be less interested. Brooklyn just knew that Matthew was going to do something terrible to him, and Demona didn't even look inconvenienced.

"We'll see if you say the same thing tomorrow." Matthew said.

"What are you going to do?" Brooklyn asked. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice. Matthew gave him a look that was a mockery of gentle and reassuring.

"Don't worry about it right now." Matthew said. "You'll find out tomorrow night, and if I'm correct then this won't hurt a bit." If anything that scared Brooklyn more. It was practically dawn. He would be going into stone sleep any minute now. While it was reassuring to know that he wasn't going to be in pain, that didn't mean that he would be unharmed.

He knew just how vulnerable gargoyles could be during their stone sleep. Matthew could cut or carve into the stone, and there wouldn't be anything he could do about it. The man could maim him for life, and he'd get no resistance.

Brooklyn's legs were shaking just as much as his hands were. He looked at Matthew with wide, desperate eyes. "Please, don't do this."

Matthew shrugged. "I told you, this isn't my decision. Your friend over there knows what she has to say to stop this."

Brooklyn turned his pleading gaze towards her. "Demona?" She couldn't be okay with this, just on principle. She thought that gargoyles were superior to humans, and she shouldn't tolerate any human thinking they could so easily hurt a gargoyle. Not after their clan had been shattered.

She met his gaze, and then she scoffed and turned the other way. Brooklyn felt his heart shatter. He knew he couldn't trust Demona, so why did this feel like so much of a betrayal?

Full of hurt and fear, Brooklyn could feel the stone sleep creeping up on him. He tried to fight it, but the change was inevitable. Before he finished changing his last coherent thought was one of pure terror. For the first time in his life, he feared the dawn and what the day would bring.

Chapter Text

Their clan was large, and they all worked well together, but they weren't immune from conflict. They were all proud beings, and they all held strong opinions and beliefs. It took a lot for a gargoyle to admit to themselves, let alone each other, that they were wrong. While it didn't happen often, it wasn't unheard of for a fight to break out amongst them.

Depending on the type of dispute, the parties involved would either fight it out in a spar or duel, or they would bring their issue to the leader of their clan. The leader would come up with a compromise that would not completely satisfy all parties, and then they would move on. Maybe there would be a few days or weeks of tension between the gargoyles, but eventually things went back to normal. They were a clan. A family. They couldn't be torn apart because of a petty disagreement.

She had been involved in a number of fights and disputes herself. She hated fighting with her clan, but she didn't back off easily. If she saw a terrible injustice, she spoke out against it, and if things didn't change then she fought for it. She never ran away from a fight, but now she was faced with one that she didn't know how to resolve.

"Young one." She glided down from the castle turret to one of the walkways. A few of the lads were just taking a late night walk. She was always more than happy to spend some time with the youth, and now that they were getting older, nearly twenty four now, they were all starting to come into their own.

There was one of them in particular that she wanted to talk to. She wouldn't exactly say that he was her favorite, but she was very fond of him, so it was both annoying and painful when he pointedly looked away from her when it was clear she wanted to see him.

If his brothers noticed the tension, they ignored it. The shortest of the three of them tugged on his arm. "I think she wants to talk."

"Well I don't." He said moodily. His tail flicked irritably. "She can talk to someone else."

She was starting to get more irritated. "You're being childish, and very disrespectful. You were taught better than that."

His eyes flashed slightly as he turned to her. "I was also taught to keep my promises to my clan, and you didn't." She couldn't believe he was still upset about this.

"I didn't break my promise." She growled. "I just had to postpone plans. I thought you would be old enough to understand."

He stood tall, looking ready for a fight. If she wasn't the one he was angry at, she might be proud of him. As it was, she was just frustrated. He was so stubborn.

"You said you would train me." He said. He tried to sound strong, but his voice cracked and it was clear that he really was hurt about this, and she didn't understand why. "And then you left."

"I didn't just disappear." She argued. "You aren't the only one that needs attention." The gargoyles had a tradition. When the majority of their young was deemed strong enough, some of the adults would take them out on a bit of an excursion. They would glide away from the castle, as far as the young ones had ever been and away from humans. There they would truly start to train the young ones in combat and teach them the traditions of their ancestors, from an age before gargoyles and humans lived together.

She wasn't originally meant to go. She had decided to stay at the castle and help protect the remaining clan. When this young one found out she wasn't going, he had asked her to specially train him. Apparently he had decided that he wasn't going on this excursion either, and she still didn't completely understand why. While it wasn't required for the young ones to go, she hadn't known any of them who willingly stayed.

The day before the trip one of the adults that was supposed to accompany them got injured in a small fight. It was nothing truly concerning, just a small sprain in his wing, but he couldn't glide the required distance. So she had volunteered to go in his stead. She had felt a little bad for not keeping her promise, but she told herself that she could train the young one any time, and his siblings needed attention too.

He had felt hurt and betrayed, but she was sure that he would calm down and get over it by the time she returned. If anything he was even more angry. It had been several days since she had gotten back, and he was still trying to ignore and avoid her.

If he was even just ten years older, she would challenge him to a fight. It would give him a chance to get out his hurt feelings, and then they could get along again. But she couldn't fight someone who was still so young, and she especially couldn't be the one to initiate it. But since they couldn't fight, and she didn't think this issue was important enough to bring to their leader, she was stuck trying to figure it out for herself.

"If you wanted me to train you that bad, why didn't you come with us instead of moping around here the whole time?" She asked. The anger in his eyes went away in an instant and he looked hurt. His shorter brother gave her a sharp glare while the third of them gave his distressed brother a concerned look.

She knew that she had somehow done something wrong, but she couldn't imagine what. He was always so sensitive, and she couldn't keep track of everything that upset him. She opened her mouth, though she wasn't sure what she was going to say. It didn't matter, because he didn't give her a chance. With a flick of his tail and turned and just ran away.

The broader of the little ones looked like he wanted to run after his brother, but he didn't. Instead he turned towards her. "You know he couldn't come, don't you? He wouldn't be able to glide that far."

She frowned. "What do you mean?" She had thought that all of the young ones had figured out how to glide by now, though some of them were certainly more confident at it than others. That was part of why they had this adventure. To give all of them a chance for a longer flight. When she thought about it though, she realized that she hadn't actually seen the young one glide. While his rookery siblings chased each other through the air, he would play with the gargoyle beast on the ground.

She had just thought that he wanted to play with the gargoyle beast. She hadn't even considered that he couldn't glide.

"Is something wrong with his wings?" She asked. She couldn't imagine any other reason why he wouldn't be able to glide by now.

"There's nothing wrong with him." The smallest lad growled.

"I think he could glide." The other one said. "He can drift a little in the air, but he just goes down. Whenever he tries to catch the wind, his wings get unbalanced and he doesn't know how to control them."

She could actually remember when her mate had struggled with the same thing when they were younger. It had just taken a lot of practice, and some coaching from their leader, for him to get better. He had been one of the last of their siblings to glide, but he hadn't been far behind the others. He'd certainly been older than the young one was now.

The young one probably thought that he could figure it out on his own, and as time went one and his siblings all started gliding without him he might have gotten too ashamed and embarrassed to get help, and he might have even gotten discouraged and stopped practicing as much, and he definitely wouldn't get better like that.

She wondered if he would have wanted her to train him on just that kind of thing while all of his siblings were away. If she had just known, she would have insisted that they work on that.

She had thought that he was upset for no reason. That he just wanted her around and wasn't putting the needs of the clan above her desires. She hadn't known that he'd had a need of his own, and she'd brushed it aside to fulfill a need that could have been done by anybody else.

She didn't truly think that she'd made the wrong decision, because she hadn't known any better. But she should have. The adults in the clan were supposed to know the needs of the young ones, even when the young ones didn't have the words or confidence to say what they needed.

She couldn't change what she'd done, and she didn't know how to make things right. If she offered to help him with his gliding, she knew that he would just reject her out of pride and hurt. And if she let the other adults know what he was struggling with so one of them might help him, he might feel betrayed that she'd revealed his secret, and he'd be even more upset with her.

It was probably really selfish of her, but she didn't want him to hate her. Not for something so small.

She would find a way to make it up to him. A way to show with her actions that she was admitting that maybe he was a little right, without saying the words that meant admitting she was wrong.

Demona usually slept sometime during the day, but she didn't dare to this time. She couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes all she saw was the hurt and betrayal in Brooklyn's eyes as he was turned to stone. It was a harsh reminder of just how young he truly was.

Demona had been alive on this earth for more than a thousand years. Brooklyn was not even forty. By gargoyle standards, he was still a young one. Even if he wasn't a child he would still only be about 4% the age that she was. He was practically a hatchling.

And he was here because of her.

She refused to admit that it was her fault. Matthew was to blame for both of their situations. But he had told her that if she just apologized, just said two simple words, no matter how insincerely, he wouldn't make Brooklyn pay for her insolence.

She refused to roll over and play Matthew's game. She was going to get out of here sooner or later, but she didn't want him to have a moment's victory. And she'd convinced herself that he wouldn't follow through with whatever this threat of his was. He just wanted to scare them, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She'd been too proud, and now Brooklyn's stone form was gone and Matthew was doing who knew what to maim him.

She told herself she didn't care. She'd given Brooklyn a chance, and he'd squandered it. He had refused to join her. He'd chosen the humans. Demona ignored that little voice in the back of her mind telling her that Brooklyn hadn't truly chosen the humans. That if it had actually just been between her or the humans, he would have joined her, no matter how much he disagreed with her.

No, he chose his clan. They were the ones that chose the humans.

Demona had spent so long living alone, relying on nobody but herself, that it was easy to forget that gargoyles were social creatures. They weren't built for isolation. It was in their blood to crave the company and comfort of their clan. Even when Demona had lost her clan she had found new ones, and she lost them as well. Eventually she got so tired of losing those she cared about that she stopped letting herself care. She turned to isolation as a way of comfort, but it had taken her a lifetime to get to that point.

Could she really blame Brooklyn for not being there? Was naivety such a terrible crime that it deserved such a cruel punishment?

She tried to tell herself that this was for the best. Perhaps this would be one step too far, and he would finally be so hurt by others that he would harden his heart the way that she had done. Maybe he would finally see the world the way she did, and it would save him from future pain like this. But was it worth the cost of whatever Matthew was doing to him?

Because she didn't know what the man had in mind, she couldn't say for sure. She couldn't tell herself that he would be fine and get past this obstacle, because what if he couldn't?

The only thing that Demona could do all day was pace around her stupid cell and wait for Matthew to return.

He didn't return until shortly before dawn, wheeling Brooklyn in on a dolly that made her feel infuriated, as though he was nothing more than a piece of furniture. Her fury grew when she saw Brooklyn's hands.

His talons looked like they'd been sanded down to stubs. They were less than half the length they should be, and the sharp claws were gone completely. Both of his hands had been brutalized in this way, and Demona hated that she would have to be in the room when Brooklyn first saw it. She had been haunted all day at the betrayal in his eyes. She couldn't bear his pain and anguish too. Not when it had happened for such a pointless reason.

Demona was so focused on Brooklyn that she forgot about yelling at Matthew and threatening his life. Maybe that was for the best, because it was her threat to claw at him that had made him do this. He'd said he would give a punishment that fit the crime, and it did. It was just the wrong gargoyle being subjected to it.

"I hope this will teach you to hold your tongue." Matthew said, his tone sounding like a parent who had just disciplined a disobedient child. She hated all humans, but this one was particularly despicable. She couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to kill a human so badly. But she was stuck behind these bars, and he didn't give her time to come up with a way to get out or at least threaten him without it backfiring. He left just as she felt her transformation come over her. The sun had set.

Far too soon she heard the ear-piercing scream that she was sure would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. She had heard many horrible things during her life, but at this moment she thought that this was the worst. Brooklyn sounded like he'd had his soul ripped from his body. In a way, he had. Gargoyles were beastly creatures, and they were very proud of the traits they had that separated them from the humans. Their wings. Their tails.

Their talons.

To lose a part of oneself, without even having the chance to fight for it, it could destroy someone.

"What…what did he do?!" Brooklyn's voice shook both with anger and horror. Demona dared a look at him, and she wished she hadn't. He was trembling and crouching so low towards the ground that he looked like he was going to start crawling. His eyes were squeezed shut tight, as though he was trying to block out the imagery of half of all his fingers being gone. He was trying to scratch at the ground, and it was a pathetic and painful sight to see. She couldn't look away.

He spent a long time clawing at the ground, only stopping to try to clutch at his hair. He started to scream again when he struggled to get a grip on anything. Demona wished that she was anywhere but there, and not just because she hated being at the mercy of a worthless human.

Brooklyn panicked to the point of exhaustion. It felt like hours before he calmed down, and he only did so because he didn't have the energy to keep going. He huddled in the corner again, staring blankly at his hands as he flexed what remained of his fingers. Demona thought that he had forgotten that she was even there, but then he addressed her.

"Was it worth it?" His voice shook, but it also sounded numb. "Was your pride worth this?"

She didn't know how to answer that. What was she supposed to say? She didn't know if she necessarily regretted it, because how could she apologize to a human just for defending herself? Matthew didn't deserve that.

But Brooklyn didn't deserve this.

Demona's silence lasted too long. Brooklyn made a sound that was part sob and part scoff. "Who am I kidding? Your pride is the only thing you care about. You never cared about the clan. You never cared about me."

"That's not true." Demona said defensively. Usually her tone had anger and confidence in it, because she was defending what she thought to be right. Now it was more desperate than anything, because she was trying to defend herself when she knew deep down that she was wrong, but she would never say it.

She cared about the clan. All of her clans. She cared about Brooklyn. That was why she'd tried to sway him to her side, because she thought that he was worth it. But the clan was also her enemy. She'd taken advantage of Brooklyn's sensitive and trusting nature, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

He was far too young to understand the nuance of her situation. In his eyes, if you cared about someone, you treated them well. If you treated them badly, then you hated them. There was no black and white about this.

"Shut up." Brooklyn tried to growl, but he sounded more defeated than anything. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Please. If you ever, even once, cared about me just a little bit, don't say another word to me."

It was a childish plea, because Brooklyn was a child, and Demona could see that more clearly now than she could when they were both far younger, when she was barely more than a child herself. She wanted to reason with him. She wanted to yell at him and tell him that his anger was misplaced and they needed to turn their hate to Matthew, who was the one who truly deserved it.

But Brooklyn never asked things of people. He was both too proud and too shy to do it unless he was beyond desperate. For him to ask such a simple thing from her now showed just how much he was hurting, and she knew that he didn't blame Matthew.

So Demona looked the other way, giving Brooklyn as much privacy as she could. She would leave him to wallow in his self-pity, at least for tonight. He'd been maimed and crippled. It would take him time to wrap his head around that fact, let alone learn how to live with it.

She'd wallowed herself all day. Now she knew just what state Brooklyn was in, and that Matthew wasn't afraid of following through like she thought he would be. She needed a plan of escape, and soon.

She tried to plot, but Brooklyn's sobs and growls were distracting. She couldn't blame him though. Goodness knows she'd had countless days where she felt like she could do nothing but curl up and cry. They weren't often, but the pain from those days lingered in her soul and she'd never truly recovered from them, even though she tried to pretend they never happened.

Eventually his cries faded away, and she finally turned around to see him curled up on the ground, sleeping. She hadn't seen him sleep during the night since he was ten years old. He was so distraught that he had physically exhausted himself, and he was too scared and upset to even try to stay awake. He had to be feeling really bad if he was desperate for the escape that unconsciousness provided.

In any way that mattered, Demona was alone, and she felt something inside her start to splinter. She wasn't broken completely. She wouldn't let Matthew pull her down that far. But something slipped through the strong shields that she tried so hard to maintain, to protect herself.

"I'm sorry."

Chapter Text

Brooklyn had tried to wait out his imprisonment, because he thought that would be his best way out. Either he could give his clan enough time to find him, or Matthew would finally realize that having Brooklyn wouldn't help him to tame his prize, and it was just a waste of resources to try. Matthew seemed smart enough, and he'd certainly done his research on gargoyles. He had to know that if he killed Brooklyn then he would just put a target on his back.

The clan frequently found themselves trapped or captured in one way or another. They always did whatever it took to free the one who was imprisoned, and then they would move on with their lives and be cautious around the new threat going forward.

In ancient times the gargoyles practiced revenge. An eye for an eye. But they'd realized that getting revenge just gave their enemies more reason to attack them, and then they got hurt all over again. It was a hard lesson to learn, but the clan tried to be cautious and defensive rather than aggressive and cruel.

If Matthew let Brooklyn go, the clan would leave him alone, albeit reluctantly. If he didn't walk out of this alive, Brooklyn was almost sure that his clan would at least temporarily forget the avoidance of revenge that they strove for.

Brooklyn knew that Matthew wanted to use him to intimidate Demona or scare her to cooperate. If it was a gargoyle from the clan, it would probably work flawlessly. Brooklyn knew that he would do whatever a sadistic human wanted if it meant protecting his family from them. But why did Matthew think it would work with Demona?

Brooklyn hated what Matthew had done to his claws, and he spent the whole night panicking about it. He couldn't really think about anything else until the following night. He was still horrified, but he was also focused. He needed to get out of here, and right now Brooklyn was starting to realize that he might need to save himself.

He didn't know where his clan was. It usually didn't take them more than a day, or maybe two, to find one of them that was missing. The exception had been when Goliath, Elisa, and Bronx had been taken by Avalor, but that had been by magic. Matthew was just a man. There was no magic involved. He didn't understand why his clan hadn't come for him.

Brooklyn forced himself not to think about it. He would just start feeling sorry for himself and wonder if they just didn't care. He knew they did, he just always had those stupid doubts at the back of his mind. But he had bigger issues to worry about. First he needed to get away from this place, and then he could worry about where he stood with the clan.

Brooklyn had been making progress in scratching through the collar, but that plan was out now. He couldn't even grip the thing and rip it off, because his claws, as they were, couldn't grab anything, or at least he didn't know how to do it. They were too short and stubby. He had to come up with something else.

He had been trying to play it subtle and safe before, but after his claws were taken from him he didn't want to give Matthew the chance to do more. He needed to get out, and soon.

He didn't want to act rashly, but he didn't have the time or resources to come up with a careful plan. He figured the best chance he had was to wait for when Matthew came back, and act submissive and docile. Play the part of the scared child who feared pain that Matthew seemed to think he was. When Matthew inevitably turned his full attention to Demona, that was when he would strike.

Brooklyn didn't know if he'd be able to reach Matthew. The chain he was kept on was just too short. However, since he couldn't use his claws he would have to get creative anyway, and he knew just what to do. His tail had further reach, and unlike his claws it could actually grip something. Not well, and not easily, but it was still better than his hands.

Brooklyn would have wanted to spend the night getting used to maneuvering his tail. Gargoyles could control their tails if they put the effort in, but usually they let them move by instinct. He needed to get back into practice, but he wasn't given the chance. Matthew came in shortly after midnight, looking far too at ease for someone who was keeping sentient creatures in his basement.

"I hope you two have learned your lesson." Matthew said. Brooklyn hunched in on himself slightly and growled lowly. Demona, who had been oddly quiet all evening, hissed at Matthew.

"I've learned how despicable you can be." Demona said.

"I really don't think you have." Matthew said. "But considering you haven't threatened my life today, I think as much as you try to deny it my lesson has sunk in at least a little bit, so I think we're ready to move on."

Matthew leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. "Do you know why I want you?" Brooklyn knew why he'd been taken, even if he didn't understand it. He doubted he was the one Matthew was talking to. The man only had eyes for Demona, but he was standing too far for Brooklyn to get him with his tail. He needed to wait a little longer.

Demona didn't answer, though Brooklyn didn't know if it was because she didn't want to give Matthew the satisfaction, or if she genuinely didn't know why she was there.

Matthew clicked his tongue and pulled out an elaborate dagger. "I'm waiting for an answer."

Demona crossed her arms and gave him an unimpressed look. She refused to play his games, and Brooklyn knew that he was going to be the one to pay the price for it. He grew tense and watched carefully. When Matthew sighed and shook his head in disappointment, Brooklyn knew what was coming before the man even made his move.

Matthew threw the dagger with the speed and aim of somebody who knew what they were doing. Brooklyn ducked and lurched to the side, just barely avoiding getting nicked. The dagger clattered to the ground, and Brooklyn felt like he could hear his heart pounding in his head. He stared at the dagger while Matthew continued to address Demona, as though he hadn't done anything.

"I'm not an unreasonable man." Matthew said. "But my patience only lasts so long, and I suggest you don't test me more. Now, answer the question."

Brooklyn looked at Demona, trying to get a read on her face. What she did would determine what Matthew would do. Demona's eyes were harsh. Her gaze drifted from Matthew to Brooklyn. They made eye contact for just a short moment, and it hurt. Brooklyn was about to look away when Demona did it first. She looked at the dagger, and then back to Brooklyn, before looking at Matthew.

"You expect me to be your pet." Demona said. "Another artifact in your collection."

"You're close." Matthew took a step towards Demona, and Brooklyn's breath hitched in his throat. If he stepped just a bit to the side he'd be nearly out of Matthew's direct view. He wasn't close enough to reach him, but he didn't think he had to be. Not when Matthew had handed a weapon right to him.

Brooklyn hunched more and covered himself with his wings, trying to look like he was just cowering. He was just trying to hide what he was doing. He brought his hands to the dagger and tried to pick it up. It should be the simplest thing, but he couldn't get it off the ground. He growled in frustration. This was humiliating.

Matthew continued to address Demona, oblivious to Brooklyn's attempts.

"I want an obedient specimen." Matthew said. "I'm glad you answered my question. That's a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for, and I think I need to drive the point home. Because if I'm not consistent, then you'll never learn."

Suddenly Brooklyn felt a harsh burning pain in his shoulder. He shrieked and fell forward, landing awkwardly on his hands and almost stabbing himself with the dagger on the floor. He gasped and clenched his teeth. It took him a long moment to be able to push past the pain. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder.  He saw a dagger, identical to the one on the floor, embedded into his shoulder.  Then there was Matthew.  The man was looking at Demona.  He looked like he didn't care that he had hurt Brooklyn.

Brooklyn had known that he was just here to be a scapegoat, but it wasn't until this moment did he really understand that he might not get out of this alive.

He growled and forced himself to focus. He needed to get out of here before he lost his chance. He looked away from his shoulder and pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Forget the dagger in his shoulder. The dagger on the ground was all that mattered.

It was a struggle, and absolutely humiliating, but Brooklyn kept trying because he couldn't afford not to. Eventually his fingers were able to get the thing just far enough off the ground that he was able to slide his palm under it. Brooklyn breathed a sigh of relief and did his best to close his fingers around it. It wasn't a very good grip, so he improvised and held the dagger between his palms, pushing them tight together so he didn't drop it.

He'd never stabbed someone before, but he'd scratched with his claws, and he wasn't going to hesitate to do what was necessary to protect himself. The only reason he wasn't striking now was because Matthew wasn't within striking range, and unlike the man Brooklyn didn't think he was capable of throwing the dagger at all, let alone accurately.

All he could do right now was wait.

He forced himself to keep his breathing even. He'd panicked the day before. He couldn't afford to do the same thing now. He just needed to wait for Matthew to come closer to him. Maybe he'd take the dagger out. Brooklyn didn't know what he would do if he didn't. He tried not to think about it. He needed that opportunity, and he needed to get the dagger out of his shoulder.

"I don't like to damage my belongings." Matthew said. "But I won't tolerate being disrespected, and if I need to choose between the two of you, I'm choosing you." Brooklyn didn't need to be looking at Matthew to know that he was addressing Demona. Brooklyn wasn't his prize.

"If he's so worthless, why keep him at all?" Demona asked. "You're just asking to be stabbed in the back." She put emphasis behind her words, and Brooklyn couldn't help but roll his eyes. She was far from subtle, and she severely underestimated him. Did she really not think that he would take advantage of the opportunities given to him? He wasn't that pathetic.

"Because you clearly need a lesson on what will happen should you upset me." Brooklyn grew tense when he heard Matthew approach him. This was just what he'd been waiting for. Matthew put one hand on his shoulder and used the other to grip the dagger and pull it out. Brooklyn screamed and nearly dropped the dagger in his hands. He had to force his palms together so harshly that it was painful.

Brooklyn got desperate, and he acted brashly. He spun around and thrust his arms forward. He didn't know if he was trying to startle Matthew, harm him, maim him, or kill him. All Brooklyn knew was that he wanted to get out.

The dagger was headed straight for the man's chest, but in one fluid movement Matthew stepped to the side and pulled the remote for the collar out of his pocket. Before Brooklyn could make a second attempt the collar went off and he felt that agonizing shock course through his body.

He shrieked and dropped the dagger as his body grew tense, feeling both numb and painful. And the shock didn't stop. It just kept going, growing stronger with each passing second. Brooklyn only really registered that it stopped when he felt his legs give out beneath him as his body went limp. He fell to the ground with an exhausted groan.

"You two are really not as clever as you think you are." Matthew said. He stepped behind Brooklyn, standing over him. "What did you think you were going to accomplish? You thought you could just escape? Glide away and pretend this was all just a bad dream?"

"I'm not just going to roll over and be your pet." Brooklyn growled, though the intensity that he was trying to convey didn't get through. The shock left him unable to move again. He could barely breathe. Intimidation wasn't his strong suit right now.

"She's my pet." Matthew said. He put a foot on the shoulder that he'd shot and he slowly increased the pressure. "You're just a tool."

Brooklyn clenched his teeth and did his best to keep his pain to himself. As the pressure got stronger he couldn't keep it in. Brooklyn shouted in pain, and that grew into a raw scream when Matthew just went harder. Brooklyn's scream grew to a piercing pitch until he felt something in his throat give. Only then did Matthew stop

The man got off of him, and Brooklyn just lay on the ground, gasping and sobbing as the pain started to ease. His shoulder still felt like it was on fire, but the pain was focused on just one area now instead of spreading down his entire arm. His ears were ringing and his head was pounding. He thought he might have heard words, but he couldn't understand any of it. All he really heard were his own cries.

He hoped that was all. That the punishment had been dealt. It had hurt, but dawn was just in a few hours. This injury would heal, and he wouldn't feel a thing. He'd be just fine, and he could make a more careful plan tomorrow. Everything would be just fine.

Those thoughts rushed out the window when he felt a hold on his wing. He felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn't really understand what Matthew might be saying, but he knew what he was doing.

The man had made it clear that when he administered punishment, he would do so in a way he thought was appropriate. He wanted the punishment to fit the crime. Demona had threatened to scratch him, and he'd taken Brooklyn's claws. Brooklyn had tried to escape so he could glide away from here, and Matthew had grabbed his wing. It didn't take a genius to know what he had planned.

"Please, don't." Brooklyn pleaded, his voice coming out resembling a croak and he didn't know if it was because of terror or the strain he'd put on his throat.

There was no response. No taunting words. Brooklyn just felt the hold on his wing tighten. There was a stabbing pain. His vision went dark, and then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Gargoyles got hurt often, but they didn't get injured easily. By nature they were sturdier than humans were. Even if they didn't heal during their stone sleep they would still heal better than humans did.

Nobody liked getting hurt, but it wasn't in a gargoyle's nature to worry about their injuries. It was just a minor inconvenience, and nothing more. Despite how strong they were, gargoyles were still only mortal, and they sometimes got anxious about things they didn't need to worry about.

It shouldn't have been that big of a deal. Some of the young ones had left the castle to play near the cliffs nearby. Such an unsupervised adventure wouldn't have been allowed when they were younger, but they were closer to adolescents than children at this point. They were old enough to take care of themselves, and they would be staying close enough to home that should an emergency come up they could make it back in a matter of minutes.

She hadn't even thought to worry about the young ones when they were out. She just took advantage of the quieter castle to spend some time with her mate. Their clan leader had recently stepped down, and her mate was picking up the mantle. It was a demanding and time-consuming responsibility, so they planned on taking advantage of each other's company as long as they could.

They had decided to go on a brief midnight flight, and they thought they might as well fly past where the young ones were playing, just to make sure they were okay. It was fortunate that they did because one of the young ones glided up to meet them, an urgent look on her face.

"Our brother fell." The young one pointed towards the ground. They could see the young ones all crowded around a familiar red form on the ground. She felt both concerned and slightly annoyed at the sight. This particular young one always seemed to be in the middle of trouble of some kind.

Without saying a word about it she and her mate glided down to check on the young ones. Most youth their age were embarrassed about any kind of fuss being made over them when they got hurt, but he wasn't. He was breathing heavily, looking on the verge of panicking, and staring at his clearly broken arm in horror.

She didn't see what the issue was. Broken arms were painful, but probably the least risky of any injury any of them could get. They just had to make sure it was at least close to the right position come the dawn, and their stone sleep would do the rest. She didn't understand why he looked so scared when most gargoyle children grew out of being anxious about injuries by the time they were eight or so. This young one was almost twenty-seven.

Her mate was a lot more sensitive to the pain and fear that the young one was feeling. He went up to the lad and talked quietly and calmly to him.

"Let me see." Her mate said as he knelt on the ground in front of him. The young one grimaced in pain and lifted his arm. She watched as her mate handled it carefully.

"It's not too bad." Her mate said. "Let's get you back to the castle and get it bound." He picked the lad up, carrying him in his arms. She thought the young one was getting too big and old to be carried, but her mate was very protective, and he liked to take a hands-on approach to protecting those under his care.

The young one didn't protest or resist the hold, which meant he was more distraught than he seemed, or he was humble enough to accept the help when he needed it. If any other young one had gotten hurt, they could have glided home and just been careful of their arm. She didn't know if this lad had figured out how to glide properly yet. It was something she would have to pay attention to.

She followed her mate as he took to the air and returned to the castle. The gargoyles didn't have a healer, but there were a few in their clan who knew a thing or two about basic healing. Their old clan leader wasn't the best at medicine, but he could bind an arm, and he was the one that her mate trusted the most, so he was the one they brought the young one to.

The old one had always had a very calming presence over their clan. It was why he'd become the leader in the first place. Everybody couldn't help but be assured by the way he took control of a situation. He'd always been especially good with the young ones. However, when the lad saw him he looked even more upset than before.

He finally started squirming until her mate put him down. He clutched at his arm protectively and wrapped his wings around himself. He was glaring to the side in the way that any other injured young one would when they didn't want to admit they were hurt But she could see the fear in his gaze. What was he so afraid of?

She watched as the old one wrapped up the lad's arm while her mate stroked his hair, whispering reassurances to him. Neither of them seemed to think it was worth worrying about his fear. The lad was acting younger than he was, and she was the only one who thought that was a little more concerning than his broken arm, which would heal with the dawn.

She watched carefully, looking for a clue to what was going on. She noticed that the young one would frequently glance at the old one, specifically at his eye. All of them at one time or another had stared at his injury. Gargoyles were supposed to heal. For anybody to have an injury that lasted for longer than just a single night, it was concerning.

The lad should be old enough to not stare so blatantly, and yet here he was, looking more scared than before. She didn't think he was scared of the slightly fearsome look that the scar and hurt eye gave off. If that was the problem, he wouldn't trust the old one to bind his arm.

"There you are, lad." The old one put a hand on the young one's shoulder. "Don't upset your arm, and it should be better come dawn."

The lad's eyes flashed. "Should?" His voice cracked, and she realized what was going on.

"I'll watch the young one." She said. She held a hand out to him. He gave one more look towards the old one's injury before he turned away and took her hand. She led him somewhere else where they could have a little more privacy. She usually liked to glide to the top of the castle where there wouldn't be any unwanted interactions with the humans. The young one wasn't in any state to get up there, so she brought him inside of the castle instead to an empty room.

"Do you think your arm won't heal?" She asked. The young one flinched, and finally there was that expected embarrassment flashing in his eyes.

"I know it will." He muttered. "But…but what if it doesn't?" He sounded scared of what the dawn would bring. It was something he was supposed to be too old for, but she couldn't judge him. He was still so young, and this was his first exposure to a lasting injury.

Many young gargoyles were afraid when they got hurt for the first time, but they usually calmed down as soon as they saw that their injuries had gotten better the next night. But not the young one was faced with the possibility of a pain that didn't just go away so easily.

She knew his arm wasn't so bad that it wouldn't get better, and he probably knew it too, but the fear couldn't be rationed away.

She couldn't tell him to just stop being so needlessly scared. He was probably already frustrated at himself for his fear. He didn't need that added pressure. She thought the only thing that would make him feel better would be the dawn. His arm would heal, and he would see for himself that what had happened to their old leader was the exception, and far from the rule.

But the morning wasn't for several hours, and it seemed cruel to make him cope with it all by himself.

She sighed and wrapped her wings around him, pulling him close. "Your arm will get better." She said confidently, leaving no room for doubt. "And I will be right here until dawn." He would not face it alone.

"Do you promise?" He looked at her with wide eyes.

"I promise." She said. She couldn't take away his pain or his fear, but she could provide company. He wouldn't go through this alone. Not if there was anything she could do about it.

Demona had learned a lot about pain during her life. She had seen horrible displays of brutality that disgusted her. The shattering of her clan was up there, because it was one of her first exposures to the cruelty of mankind. But over the years she had started to believe that while the shattering of a whole clan was horrible and absolutely unforgivable, what made it so bad was that there were survivors.

Those who were destroyed were dead and gone. Demona had to live with the pain of what was lost, and could never get back. Over and over again in her life she loved, and lost, and felt unbearable pain that she never truly got over. After all this time she had come to realize that death was a mercy. Those who were gone didn't feel pain anymore. If she ever wanted to hurt someone and make them suffer, she would take away something they loved and leave them to fail to pick up the pieces, because she knew just how much it hurt.

She had known that she would be haunted by the sound of Brooklyn's anguish when he had seen the state of his hands. That was nothing compared to the torture she was witnessing

Matthew worked slowly. Methodically. He took his knife through Brooklyn's wing, cutting the forearm of his wing with the care of a man who knew how to dissect an animal. It seemed as though he was doing the same. He wasn't just out to cause pain, he was wanting to cause real damage, and he knew how to do it.

Matthew cut through just more than three quarters of his wing, pausing only to activate the electric collar when Brooklyn started to fight him. Demona thought that he would cut the wing off completely, but Matthew didn't go that far. He didn't go too far to risk cutting the wing off completely, but he did enough that Demona knew that even if the cut away parts were lined up just right come dawn, they still may not reconnect.

Matthew wasn't taking Brooklyn's wings from him, but it wasn't a kindness. He probably just wanted to keep his pet at least looking somewhat whole. A gargoyle wasn't a gargoyle without their wings.

What Matthew was taking from Brooklyn was still abhorrent. Unless they had luck on their side, Brooklyn wouldn't be able to take to the sky again. Gargoyles were creatures of the air just as much as they were creatures of the night. Demona believed that to deprive a gargoyle of fight was like taking the sense of touch away from a human. It took away their ability to connect with the world around them.

Demona wanted to scream. She wanted to turn away and cover her ears to block out Brooklyn's shouting, screaming, crying, and pleading. She wanted to break through these bars, take that knife, and cut into Matthew's leg. Do the same thing to him that he was doing to Brooklyn, and make him suffer for every bit of pain he was causing.

But she couldn't. Demona felt like a thousand and fifty years younger than she truly was. She was frozen, her horror pushing past her fury. She could do nothing but stand there and stare numbly at the blood that was pouring from the wound. Brooklyn's wings and his hair were being stained with a red that was so sickeningly bright that she felt nauseous.

Demona was sure that after this day she wouldn't be able to see Brooklyn with his red coloring without seeing him covered in blood.

After what felt like hours Matthew finally released Brooklyn's wing. He let it fall to the ground, and Brooklyn's broken whimper shook Demona more than his screams had. She finally turned away. She couldn't take it anymore.

"So, was I right?" Matthew asked. She clenched her fists and wouldn't look his way. She knew he wanted her to look at him when he addressed her, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. More than that, she didn't want to see him covered in Brooklyn's blood, in the position to cause even more harm.

"Look at me." Matthew said, a hint of impatience in his voice. Demona clenched her jaw and slowly turned to look Matthew in the eyes. She refused to let her gaze go to his bloody hands or the gargoyle at his feet.

"What?" She growled.

"Was I right that this young one can be used to make you better behaved?" Matthew asked. Demona did not want to tell him that he was right, because a week ago she would have insisted that he couldn't have been more wrong. But she had done what he had said, because it would have been far too easy for him to take his impatience out on Brooklyn. The young one had been through enough already.

She shouldn't care. She told herself that she didn't care. But seeing Brooklyn like this made her feel useless and weak in a way that nothing else could. Why was she so bothered by this? She'd mourned the loss of her original clan a millennia ago. She'd moved on. They'd moved on from her. Clinging to the past would do no good. She was better off alone.

But she wasn't alone. Whether she liked it or not, Brooklyn was there. He was bringing out a weakness in Demona that she thought she had rid herself of years ago. As long as he was there, and as long as Matthew thought he could break her, that weakness would remain.

Demona needed to fight against Matthew, but to do that she needed Brooklyn to be out of the way. If Matthew had nothing to hold over her she could get herself out. But as long as the man believed that he could use Brooklyn to keep her in line, neither of them were going anywhere.

"No, you weren't." Demona said coldly. The best way for her to get out was if she got rid of the advantage that Matthew held. If Brooklyn was no longer of use to him, the man may release him, so as to avoid bringing the wrath of Goliath's clan onto him.

Matthew hummed, looking unconvinced. "We'll see if that's the case tomorrow. As for tonight," He used the shock collar again, waiting until Brooklyn was completely still before grabbing his other wing and bringing the knife to it, just as he had done with the first. "I don't like leaving a job unfinished."

Brooklyn didn't scream this time. Demona didn't know if he was even conscious anymore. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She couldn't watch this torture all over again. She didn't need to. She could still hear Brooklyn's screams in her head, and see the blood flowing in rivers down his wings. It was something she would never be able to forget, no matter how much she wanted to.

She longed for the dawn, but at the same time she dreaded it. On the one hand, The stone sleep would at least ease Brooklyn's pain. However, unless Matthew took mercy on Brooklyn, it would also resign him to his fate. The cuts in his wings would heal, but not back together. There would be a gap in the forearm of his wing, and Brooklyn wouldn't be able to glide like that. He possibly wouldn't even be able to move his wings properly. How many more ways would Matthew find to disable Brooklyn?

That was the other reason why Demona feared tomorrow. Matthew had given a warning, and Demona knew that he wasn't going to be gentle. He was going to hurt Brooklyn, all to try to prove a point that Demona didn't entirely understand.

As much as she wished the dawn would never come, she was counting down the minutes before the sun would rise. She was scared of what tomorrow night would bring. But the sun would bring peace. Brooklyn would be stone. Matthew would leave to do whatever it was he did during the day. And Demona would be left on her own.

She longed for the solitude. Being alone was how she was meant to be. She was better off that way.

Chapter Text

Brooklyn's clan wasn't coming.

When he woke up that night he had a feeling of dread and depression, and he didn't really remember why. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up from his stone sleep and felt drained. He just wanted to let his stone sleep reclaim him, and he didn't want it to let him go.

It took Brooklyn several minutes to just push through his mental haze and remember where he was. When he did he remembered what had happened last night, and he wished that he could just forget.

He hoped in vain that it was just a horrible dream. His wings didn't hurt, but when he stopped to actually focus on them he realized they didn't feel quite right either. Brooklyn had to take several minutes to steel himself before he tried to spread his wings out. It didn't hurt, but it didn't work either, and it felt incredibly wrong.

It felt like someone had taken his limb and just cut off all control he had over three quarters of it. He had to put so much more energy into just trying to lift his wings, and they still didn't work.

Brooklyn felt hollow inside. If his talons weren't filed down and practically useless he could claw at his chest to try to dig out the unbearable pain that was building up inside and spreading.

He wanted to wrap his wings around himself to give just the hint of comfort, but when he tried to do just that simple action he found he couldn't. His wings wouldn't move. That was the final straw. Brooklyn hunched in on himself and let out a short sob. He really couldn't remember when he'd last sobbed and cried like a child. He didn't start bawling. He felt too numb for that. But he felt too shattered to hold it all in.

And there was nobody around to tell him that he was acting like a child. The only one here was her, and she would be unimpressed with him no matter what he did.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, and with his eyes closed Brooklyn could almost pretend that she was the gargoyle she had once been, and not the monster she had become.

Brooklyn didn't answer. Why should he? But Demona wasn't one for giving up.

"Brooklyn," The patience in her voice was what made Brooklyn pause and even consider listening to her. "Are you in pain?"

"...No." Brooklyn shuddered. He wiped his eyes. "They feel fine, e-except that they feel so wrong." The feeling in his chest tightened even more and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He whimpered and wrapped his arms around himself. He tried to grip his upper arm, but he couldn't.

"That man is a barbarian." Demona growled. Any hint of compassion or patience in her voice was gone. Brooklyn knew it couldn't last, but he still felt disappointed. "To take away the very things that make someone a gargoyle-"

"You sayin' I'm not a gargoyle anymore?" Brooklyn asked numbly. He didn't really care about her answer. His wings and talons didn't make him who he was. He felt crippled without them, and helpless, but he was still Brooklyn.

Demona was quiet for a long moment. "Young one, you are one of the strongest gargoyles I have ever known. Your scars aren't a sign of weakness. They're a testament of your strength."

Brooklyn scoffed. "I've been crippled by a human with a dagger and a shock collar. How is that strength? I didn't even go down fighting. I'm just a pawn to him, and to you, and I don't want to play your sick game anymore." He swallowed thickly. "I just want to go home."

"I'm sure your clan is looking for you even as we speak." Demona said. It was weird to hear her be reassuring. Brooklyn didn't believe a word she said, and not just because she couldn't be trusted.

"It's almost been a week." Brooklyn said. "We always find each other in a matter of hours. If they were going to find me, they would have." He didn't know if they just weren't looking for him for some reason, or if they just couldn't find him, but by now he knew they weren't coming.

He'd tried to escape, and now that was impossible. He couldn't glide. He couldn't climb. Brooklyn wouldn't be surprised if Matthew did something to take away his ability to walk soon. He was stuck here. Trapped in this basement, chained up like a misbehaving pet, and tortured in an attempt to break the most unbreakable gargoyle he had ever met.

He was going to die here. Maybe not today. Maybe not in the next month. Maybe not in the next twenty years. But if he couldn't escape, then this would be all he would know for the rest of his life. And Brooklyn didn't think that Matthew would use him to test Demona much more. He'd only give her another few chances at most. If she didn't bend to his will the way he wanted her to, then he would realize that keeping Brooklyn was a waste, and he would dispose of him.

Brooklyn was terrified of that day, but the numb pain that filled him also embraced it, and that just scared him even more. He wanted to live, but he didn't want to suffer anymore. He didn't want to be tortured for hours at a time, only to wake up as a clean slate to be maimed all over again. He couldn't do it.

The door to the room was opened and Matthew stepped in. He carried a duffel bag with him, and Brooklyn shuddered to think what was in there. For the first time since Matthew had gotten their hands on them his gaze slid right past Demona and he looked right at Brooklyn.

"The two of you seem to think I'm wrong about my little theory about your usefulness." Matthew placed the bag on the ground and started to go through it. "I think today we should figure out just who is right." He looked Brooklyn in the eyes, staring him down. The gargoyle found that he couldn't look away.

"I'll give you a choice. Do you want to see, or do you want me to blindfold you?" Matthew asked. Brooklyn didn't need to think of the answer.

"Blindfold." He said. It would be frightening to not know what was coming or when, but Brooklyn was eager for an escape. He only remembered bits and pieces of Matthew going after his wings. He'd blocked it all out. He wanted to do the same thing tonight. He wanted to retreat into his mind. If he couldn't see, then he wouldn't have any visual distractions.

Matthew pulled out a cloth. It was itchy and uncomfortable, but when he tied it tightly over Brooklyn's eyes it did its job. Brooklyn couldn't see, and he could already let go and feel himself slipping.

"Now, Demona, let me make one thing perfectly clear to you." Matthew said. "This game has one easy rule. You can stop it at any time. All you have to do is admit I'm right. If you don't, I'll go until dawn. Even if its body doesn't last that long, I won't stop until the sun rises.

Brooklyn whimpered. "You're going to kill me?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Matthew said. There was a cracking sound that made Brooklyn flinch. "We have all night ahead of us. Why don't we just see how it goes?"

Brooklyn retreated into his mind. The blindfold made it so easy. He wasn't chained up in a human's basement. He wasn't being tortured. Those weren't his screams that he was hearing. How could they be when he was far from here?

In Brooklyn's mind he was back in Scotland. The whole clan was there, including Angela and Elisa, as well as his other rookery brothers and sisters that he had tried so hard to not think about. He hadn't realized how much he missed them. He never let himself think of the siblings he had lost. He didn't know if he'd be able to function from day to day if he thought about them.

He didn't feel the expected pain of grief. He was safe here. He was surrounded by everybody who cared about him. What did he have to worry about? So what if his ears were ringing with the sound of screams, and he felt like he couldn't breathe? So what if he kept on feeling flashes of pain that would hang him back to a harsh world of hurt? His family was right there, and they would soon pull him back under their safe protection.

It was almost perfect, but there was something missing. He could almost ignore it, but it was just obvious enough to make him feel uneasy. He just wanted to pretend that everything was fine, but then Angela took his hand. Brooklyn couldn't actually feel her. He didn't feel anything physical. He wouldn't let himself, because if he felt anything at all it would be pain.

"You wish she was here." Angela said, and Brooklyn's heart about stopped. He didn't want to talk about this with Angela. As soon as he thought that he realized that it wasn't Angela by his side, but Lexington. One of his closest siblings.

"You miss her." Lex said, and Brooklyn was just a little confused. He didn't miss her, because she was right there. He'd just seen her. He'd just talked to her. But when he looked she was gone, and in the blink of an eye so were all of the others. Brooklyn could see them gliding off towards the horizon. They wanted him to join them. He was desperate to follow, but his wings…

Brooklyn felt a sharp pain and a bitter darkness in his chest, but he pushed it down. He didn't want to face it. He didn't want to think about it. He could glide. Of course he could. What gargoyle would he be if he couldn't. He just wasn't because he was scared to fall. Just like when he was younger.

He shouldn't need help. He was too old for that, but he was scared to try on his own, and he didn't want to be left behind. But there was only one person that he could ask for help. One person that he'd ever trusted that way.

Brooklyn muttered a word. One that he thought he had long-since forgotten. It was an old language. It had been old a thousand years ago. Brooklyn didn't know what this language was, he just knew that it was something the gargoyles used to speak to each other when there weren't humans around to get in their way.

He couldn't remember the meaning of this word. He just knew that it was what he called her, and she always came when he called for her.

When he didn't get a response he could feel himself slipping back to that world of hurt that he was so desperate to get away from. He said the word again. When he still didn't get a response he screamed for her, because the clan was just getting further away and he didn't want to be left behind. He couldn't be alone. He needed her.

"Hush, young one." She said. He turned and saw her. It wasn't the Demona that she had become. She was the way he remembered from the past. The way he had been longing for her to be.

She gathered him into her arms, and suddenly he felt half his age. He sank into her gentle touch, too relieved and content to question why he could feel her when he hadn't been able to feel the others. It didn't really matter why. He was just glad that he wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

Demona had experienced torture. She had suffered pain that would drive someone insane. If it weren't for the healing she used to get during her stone sleep, she would have lingering aches and scars. It was just through her own vicious nature and desperation for survival that she had never been hurt enough to have scars.

She had been careful ever since she'd seen Hudson's injury. She knew he was a capable fighter even with his blind eye, but it had forced him into retirement and even now he was little more than an old man who sat around until he couldn't avoid it anymore. He could have kept going for years, but his own fear and wounded pride had held him back, and he'd never been the same since. Demona had always been afraid of that happening to her.

She didn't even bother sparing such a concern for Brooklyn. She desperately wanted to worry about how his life would look in the future, and the risk that he would wallow in his injuries and never mentally recover.

Right now though, Demona thought it would be a mercy if he lived long enough to get to that state. Matthew was doing his best to kill him as slowly and painfully as possible.

Demona tried to act indifferent. She tried to tell herself she didn't care, but every time Matthew made another cut, or broke another bone, or injected some horrifying serum into Brooklyn's veins, she felt like something inside of her broke.

She didn't let it show. She couldn't let Matthew know that he had gotten to her. She told herself that this was the best for Brooklyn. Eventually Matthew would back off, and he would leave Brooklyn alone. If she made it known that he could be used against her, Matthew would just do this over and over again. This was Brooklyn's only chance.

She convinced herself that was the case, but deep down she wondered if she was just scared that if she showed Matthew weakness then he would hurt her worse than he was hurting Brooklyn.

She knew she was selfish. She always had been. If she didn't take care of herself, nobody else would. It had brought her this far, and sometimes her self-preservation was all she had. She lived on through sheer stubbornness and spite.

But Demona couldn't remember the last time she'd had somebody that relied on her. Somebody had had nobody else, and if she didn't step in then they would have nobody either. She had tried to lead Brooklyn down that road, and now that she saw him like this she wished that she never had.

It made her wish that she had never let him get close to her when they'd shared a clan. He deserved far more than her.

Watching Brooklyn, it was clear that he wasn't all there. He was screaming, but he didn't cry or plead. Whenever Matthew paused in what he was doing to switch methods, Brooklyn would go completely still, as though that collar had been used on him. The first few times it happened Demona thought he was unconscious, but then the torture would start again and he would scream and grunt in pain again.

Demona was familiar with distancing oneself mentally from their pain. She'd done it more times than she could care to say. It could be dangerous, but at the same time it could sometimes be the only thing that someone's mind could do to protect their sanity.

While Brooklyn blocked out his own pain, Demona couldn't bring herself to look away. He was here because of her, and the only thing she could do was watch and recognize what she was responsible for.

Matthew didn't so much as glance her way for several hours. He'd set his terms, and unless she gave in he wasn't going to stop. It was a few hours before dawn when he finally met her gaze as he reached for another vial of some unknown serum. She didn't know what poison was in there, but those were the worst. They made Brooklyn's body spasm and seize in unnatural, painful ways. The last serum caused him to start breathing harshly, like someone who had been deprived of air their whole life. And then suddenly he stopped breathing entirely. Demona had been terrified that that had been it. That the serum had finished him off, and that Brooklyn was gone.

He eventually started breathing again, his body relaxing as quickly as it had tightened. He'd gotten better, but that had been hours ago. Demona didn't know if Brooklyn was strong enough to do the same now.

"You know, I think you might be right." Matthew said casually as he prepared the serum and needle. "Your eye has barely twitched all night. You really seem like you don't care."

Demona felt a flare of hope. Maybe all of this would finally end. Matthew had to see how pointless all of this was, and Brooklyn would be left alone.

But Matthew didn't put the needle down. He gave Demona an expectant look. She knew what he wanted, but she couldn't put words to it. Her pride and fear was too strong. It always was. She didn't say a word. Matthew turned away from her, needle in hand. He knelt next to Brooklyn, pulling his hair to expose his neck. He jammed the needle in harshly, and Brooklyn let out a broken whimper.

The whimper could have easily just been nothing more than a pained sound, but Demona's ears twitched when she recognized a word. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she knew that word. It was the old gargoyle language. A tongue that had nearly died out before she'd even been an egg. She could recognize the language when she heard it, but she only recognized a handful of words. This was one of them.

It was a word that young gargoyles used to use for some of their caretakers. It didn't really have a direct translation. It encompassed a lot of things. Teacher. Friend. Guardian. Mentor.

Demona didn't like human traditions, but deep down she had to admit that humans were somehow able to find a word that summed up all of that, and more.

Mother.

Demona felt like she couldn't breathe when she heard Brooklyn say that ancient word. She wanted to tell herself that she imagined it, and then he said it again, more breathlessly than before. He wasn't growing tense and breathing harshly the way he had before, even though it was the same serum. His body was too weak for that, and Demona was scared that he was skipping right to the part where he stopped breathing, and that he wouldn't start up again.

And maybe Brooklyn was scared of the same thing. He was calling for her. He was hurting, and scared, and dying, and all he wanted was his mother.

Matthew pushed the needle further in, injecting more of the poison into Brooklyn's body. The gargoyle didn't react at all. He didn't shudder, or whine. He was completely still and silent, and Demona couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop!" She said. She wished she could reach out to him, but these bars kept her confined. "Please, stop." She didn't know if she had ever pleaded to anybody like this, let alone a human, but she was tired, horrified, and desperate. She couldn't watch this any longer.

Matthew paused, but he didn't pull the needle out. He raised an eyebrow at Demona. He wanted more. She didn't want to give it to him, but more than that she didn't want to face the consequences if she didn't.

She lowered her head and tucked her wings in, making herself as non-threatening as possible.

"You were right." Demona had thought that she had killed every part of her that was desperate for a clan. The parts of her that put those under her care first. She hadn't really had a choice but to get rid of it, but Matthew had seen what Demona and Brooklyn could not, and he'd pulled it back up to the surface. "Please, don't hurt my young one."

Because Brooklyn was hers, and he always had been. She'd been fond of all of the little ones, but Brooklyn was the one that drew out the guardian instincts. She couldn't help but notice that he had needed a little more attention than his siblings, or at least a different kind of attention, and she hadn't thought twice before taking on that responsibility.

She had taught him to fight like a gargoyle, rather than a human. She got him to stand up for himself, even if he sometimes fell back on his old habits of being shy. She had been the one to finally get him to open his wings and glide without having a fear of falling, because she had always been right there to catch him.

She hadn't been there for so long, but she was there now, and she wasn't going to let him go. Not until she knew that he'd be safe when she did.

Matthew looked far too smug. He released Brooklyn, letting him fall carelessly to the ground. He didn't pull out the serum, but he didn't push it in more. Matthew stepped over Brooklyn and walked towards her. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. Demona felt like her heart stopped when he pointed it at Brooklyn, but then Matthew went to the lever in the wall that had activated the bars she was trapped behind. She felt hope alongside the now familiar fear.

"If there's even a hint of funny business, he's dead." Matthew said. Demona nodded. She hadn't even considered taking this opportunity to go after Matthew. He wasn't her concern right now.

Matthew turned off the bars, and Demona rushed forward to be at Brooklyn's side, subconsciously putting herself between him and Matthew. She knelt on the ground and pulled out the needle in his neck. He screamed, calling for her once again, and this time she was able to answer his call.

"Hush, young one." She gently put her arms around him and held him close. She stroked his hair and rocked slightly as he fell against her. He wasn't a child anymore, but he felt so young and small in her arms.

She knew that Matthew was watching them, but she blocked him out. Her full attention was on Brooklyn. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, as it was a motion that many gargoyle youth found comforting, but it was something that Matthew had done to patronize and threaten him. She didn't want to do anything that could remind Brooklyn of that pain, or make him think that he was in danger. He needed comfort.

Brooklyn's breathing was harsh and slow. Sometimes it seemed like he wasn't breathing at all. That was part of the reason why she was holding him so close. If he was pressed against her body, then he could feel every rise and fall his chest made.

He still had that poison in his blood, and it would take time for it to dilute and stop causing him pain. It would take time, and if he was stronger he could wait it out. But Demona didn't know if Brooklyn had the strength or the will to get through those hours of pain.

She could tell that he'd almost given up. Demona wished that she could fight this battle for him, but all she could do was sit here and offer comfort as he struggled. She wasn't good at this kind of thing, and he'd be better off with anybody else, but right now she was all he had, and it would have to be good enough.

"Come back to me, little one." She carefully untied the blindfold. He'd been protecting himself by hiding from the pain, but if he didn't address it then it would overtake him. His body would give up because his mind didn't know that it was safe to keep fighting.

Brooklyn kept his eyes closed tight. He didn't respond to any of her questions or encouragement. He just laid there, clinging to her. Demona kept trying, because she had no choice. She just talked to him.

Nothing changed for several long minutes, but eventually Brooklyn blinked and turned his head, looking at her. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused, and she didn't think he really understood that she was there. This was progress though, and she would take what she could get.

"Hurts." Brooklyn muttered. He buried his head against her. "Everything hurts."

"I know." Demona said. "But you need to keep fighting."

Brooklyn groaned and shook his head slightly. Demona frowned and tightened her grip on him. "No, don't you give up like that. You're stronger than that, and I'm not going to let you give up when you've come so far."

"Why?" Brooklyn whined. "It's hard."

She leaned down and nuzzled the top of his head. "I know." She said, quietly enough for Matthew to not hear. This wasn't for him. This was for Brooklyn. "I know it's hard. I know it hurts. I know it will be so much easier to close your eyes and make the pain stop forever, but you still have your whole life ahead of you."

Brooklyn shook his head. He didn't believe her. What life could he hope to have? Matthew had made it nearly impossible for him to escape on his own. His clan had shown no signs of coming. Demona was all he had, and she hadn't given him any reason to believe that she cared about what happened to him.

He didn't have any hope left. Demona could get him out of here, and she wasn't going to give up until she did, but she couldn't do a thing if he gave up before dawn. His body would heal, and he'd be at least a little closer to being okay. She could take care of everything else, but this first step was something he needed to do, and she needed to give him a reason to do so.

"Think about your clan." Demona said. "You're Goliath's second. If you won't fight for yourself, could you fight for them?" She would rather he fought for himself, just for the sake of his own life, but if this was the only way to get through to him then she would do what was necessary.

Brooklyn's wings twitched as he tried to move them. "I can't lead like this." Demona disagreed, but she wasn't the best person to talk some sense into him. Hudson would understand Brooklyn much more. Demona just needed to make sure that Brooklyn had the chance to talk to him about it.

"I have a plan for that too." Demona said. "I swear on the stones of our ancestors that if you just fight through the night, I will personally see to it that you will glide again."

Brooklyn huffed, actually sounding amused. Demona felt like a weight was lifted off her chest. Maybe Brooklyn wasn't as far gone as she'd been worried he was. If he could laugh about his pain, just a little bit, then he could move on.

"You can't promise that." Brooklyn already sounded a little more like himself. He was weak, but he was inching away from the point of no return.

"You should know better than anybody that I can accomplish anything when I put my mind to it." Demona said. "If I say you will glide, then you will glide."

Brooklyn snorted and closed his eyes again, relaxing against her. "If you say so." He clearly didn't believe her, but she didn't need his belief. She just needed him to try.

"I do say so." Demona said. Her eyes darted to the needle that she'd tossed aside. She intended to keep her promise. First thing's first, she needed to get them out of there.

Chapter Text

Demona held Brooklyn until the sun rose. There were a few times when she thought she would lose him. He didn't want to keep fighting, but she was able to pull him back from the edge. She wasn't in the habit of encouraging hope, but when one lived for a millennia they learned when to let go of their pride, and when to cling to it like it was the only thing they had.

She held Brooklyn and gave him reassurances that she didn't fully believe herself. She told him that Goliath didn't give his trust easily. He thought that Brooklyn was strong enough to be the leader of their clan. He needed to prove that the trust wasn't misplaced. He needed to fight through the night and return to his brothers. When she was at her most desperate she even told Brooklyn of a scheme that she'd been putting together. If he wanted to stop her, he needed to return to his clan and tell them.

If Brooklyn wasn't going to fight for himself, she needed to make sure he fought for those he cared about.

After what felt like an eternity the sun rose, and Brooklyn slipped into his stone sleep while Demona shifted into a human. She finally felt like she could breathe. He'd been weak and close to giving up again just before sunrise, but he had still been alive. When the sun set again he would wake up and probably feel no lingering weakness or pain from the torture he'd been through.

There was no saving his claws and wings, and looking at his stone form Demona could guess that he would have more than a few lingering scars, but ultimately he would be okay.

Brooklyn had done the hard job of just staying alive. Now it was Demona's turn to do her part. She slowly stepped away from Brooklyn, subtly picking up the needle that Matthew had dropped.

He hadn't left the room all night. He'd stood to the side, gun aimed at the two of them, waiting for anything that remotely resembled an attack. Demona had ignored him all night. Turning to look at him now he still looked frustratingly smug.

"Are you proud of yourself?" Demona growled. He'd reduced Brooklyn to a whimpering child.

"I am." Matthew said. "I admit, I had my doubts that bringing him here would be worth it, but it went just as I'd hoped. You both can deny it all you want, but you care for him, and you'll do what is necessary to keep him safe." Matthew stepped toward her. "Which means that I now have a way to tame my perfect pet."

Demona forced herself to remain still as Matthew came up to her and brushed her hair out of her face in a gesture of mock intimacy. She refrained from snarling and slapping his hand away. Let him think he had her under her thumb. If he thought he was in control, he would let his guard down.

Demona was still for as long as she could stand it, and then she took the needle and plunged it as deeply into his neck as she could. He screamed in alarm and tried to pull back. She quickly injected the poison into him, finding gratification in the way that he stiffened and screamed harshly as he was immediately affected.

This stuff had been strong for Brooklyn, and gargoyles were sturdier and tougher than humans were. Any poison strong enough to nearly kill a gargoyle would bring the strongest of humans to their knees in a matter of seconds.

Matthew couldn't even fight her. He just fell to the ground and started writhing and screaming in agony. Demona gave him a disgusted look. He was worth less than the dirt beneath her feet, and now he wasn't going to be a problem.

She moved back to Brooklyn. She was going to take him home, but there were a few things she needed to take care of first. For one, those wings had to go. As much as Demona was loath to admit it, the majority of his wings were just dead weight. They were dragging him down, and Brooklyn wouldn't be able to move easily with them like this. She didn't want to take his wings from him, but it really was for the best.

In Matthew's bag she found a hammer and chisel. She used them to chip away at the bit of his wings that were still connected, finishing the job that Matthew had been too cruel and cowardly to do. It took time and care, and every hit made Demona feel like a monster, but she knew this was necessary. Eventually the wing crashed to the floor, and she moved on to the other one.

Soon Brooklyn's stone form was left with just the stubs of his wings. It would probably break his heart, and she wouldn't blame him if he hated her for what she had to do, but she was going to make it up to him. She had a plan.

Matthew had stopped moving by now and she didn't think he was breathing, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She dragged Matthew's body to where her makeshift cell had been, pulling the lever to activate the bars. She didn't care at all that his feet got caught by the lasers. Even if he was still alive, he was trapped and wouldn't have the chance to hurt Brooklyn anymore.

With Matthew taken care of Demona left the room and rushed upstairs. She found a phone and called a familiar number. She really didn't trust humans, and she certainly didn't trust this man as far as she could throw him, but he could be useful, and that was more important than anything else right now.

"Hello?" The familiar voice spoke, making her seethe.

"Xanatos." Demona growled. She didn't want to reveal to him that she had a human form during the day, but she suspected that he already knew. Xanatos seemed to know everything about anybody that interested him. And if he didn't know through his own research, he would have been told by the cursed fae that was responsible for this in the first place.

"Oh, Demona." Xanatos sounded completely in control. "Fancy hearing from you at this hour."

She never had the patience for him, and especially not now. "I'm ready to cash in that favor you owe me." She didn't like working with humans, but when Xanatos had asked for her assistance for something that she thought might be a little amusing, and in return he would owe her a favor of her choosing, no questions asked, just as long as it didn't hurt him, his business, or his family. She couldn't use the favor to tear him down, as much as she might want to.

Demona had never intended to use this favor. Having Xanatos owe him gave her a lot of power, and cashing in that favor meant releasing that power. And she knew that he would find a lot of amusement in whatever plan she might come up with. She didn't want to be his source of entertainment.

But circumstances had changed. Her pride was the reason why Brooklyn had lost his wings. She wasn't going to let it be the reason why he didn't get them back.

"You have my attention." Xanatos said, as though he hadn't been paying full attention from the second he had heard her voice. "What do you want?"

"Prosthetic wings." Demona said. "As well as claws. I don't want them to be able to be controlled by you in any way. They need to work like any other limb."

Xanatos was quiet for a moment. "I know our agreement was no questions asked, but I'm curious about why you're asking for this? I thought you said my creations were crude mockeries."

It was true. Demona was not a fan of Xanatos' robotic monstrosities that he modeled after gargoyles. But at least his expertise would make him uniquely qualified to do this for her.

"They are, but I don't have much of a choice." Demona hated to admit as much, but she knew that Xanatos would be more likely to agree if she stroked his ego a bit. As much as she didn't like it, they were similar in that way.

Xanatos gave a little hum, sounding pleased with himself. "What are the exact measurements you'll be needing? If you want them to work right, they'll need to be precise."

"I'm sure you already have Brooklyn's exact measurements." Demona said.

"Brooklyn?" For the first time during this conversation Xanatos sounded genuinely surprised and a little unnerved. "You know, Goliath has asked me about a dozen times in the past week if I've seen his second. I'm guessing you were responsible for his sudden disappearance."

Demona growled. "No, I wasn't. Some arrogant human got it into his head that he could tame me like a pet, and Brooklyn got dragged into it."

"Why does he need prosthetics?" Xanatos asked. Demona had thought the answer was obvious.

"Why do you think?" Demona snapped.

"Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do." Xanatos said. "Have you dealt with the problem?"

"He's dead." Demona said. "I'll be getting Brooklyn out of here as soon as the sun sets."

"If I may, where are you?" Xanatos asked.

"In an estate a few miles away from Manhattan." Demona said. Xanatos let out a dry laugh.

"Well, that explains why Goliath hasn't been able to find him." Xanatos said. "This past week they've looked in every corner of Manhattan. They always forget the world is bigger than New York City." Of course they did. Gargoyles were territorial creatures. If something wasn't in their territory, it wasn't worth thinking about.

"I have one more thing to ask." Demona said. "For obvious reasons, Brooklyn can't glide by himself. I can get him out of here, but Goliath won't let me anywhere near the clan. If he knows that I was involved at all, he'll interrogate Brooklyn, and that's not what he needs right now." Brooklyn had only gotten into this mess because he'd gone off on his own, probably because he was overwhelmed by Goliath being overbearing. He needed to recover, not to feel like running away again.

"No, I agree." Xanatos said. "Goliath has asked me to keep an eye out for our young friend. He won't question it if I happen to know where he can find Brooklyn." Xanatos was sounding pleased with himself. "Technically, this is another favor, but I'll give it to you, no strings attached, because it will mean that Goliath will owe me one."

"And you won't tell Goliath of my involvement with the prosthetics?" Demona asked, just to clarify.

"Of course not." Xanatos laughed. "For all he'll know, this will be a gesture of my good will. And it will be yet another favor that he owes me." This was why Demona hated and respected Xanatos. He could take any situation and turn it in his favor.

They spoke for a few more minutes, arranging the details of where Demona would take Brooklyn, and when Xanatos should tell Goliath the news. As much as Demona didn't like Xanatos, she was in her element. Making deals, going behind someone's back, it came naturally to her. Though it felt a little nice to be doing it for someone else's sake rather than just her own survival.

Not that she would make a habit of it.

"Let me know if something changes." Xanatos said. "Goliath is starting to get annoying." Demona could only imagine. He'd always been very protective. It was what she had loved about him, and what drove her insane.

"Just do what I asked." Demona said. She was tired of talking to Xanatos at this point. She hung up and went back downstairs. She was relieved to find Brooklyn where she had left him, and Matthew hadn't moved. If he wasn't dead, he would be sooner or later, and good riddance for that.

Demona sat down next to Brooklyn. Now that she had a moment to breathe she felt absolutely exhausted. She didn't need much sleep, but she hadn't been letting herself sleep lately. It wasn't something she could afford to do. Now that things had calmed down and there was nothing she could do now but wait for the sun to set, she could finally sleep.

She had just meant to rest her eyes for a few minutes. She woke when she felt a sudden pain throughout her entire body. For a moment she was terrified that Matthew was alive and responsible for it. It took her a long time to realize that she had just shifted back to her gargoyle form. The sun had set, and Brooklyn was awake.

Brooklyn stretched, rolling his shoulders. He looked refreshed after a restful sleep, and he was no longer carrying the pain that he'd been tormented with last night.

"How do you feel?" Demona asked.

"Like last night was just a really bad dream." Brooklyn said. "I'm a little sore, but I'll take it." He stretched out his back, his eyes widened with shock and slight horror. He looked over his shoulder, moving the stubs of his wings.

"They…they're gone." Brooklyn sounded like he was about to faint. Demona could only imagine how he felt. She prayed to their ancestors that he didn't look at the ground behind him. He didn't need to see his wings. It would do him no good now.

"That doesn't matter." Demona said. She grabbed Brooklyn's arm, pulling him out of the basement. "What's important is that Matthew is gone, and we can leave."

Brooklyn numbly followed behind her, too stunned and possibly tired to try to fight. "Gone? What do you mean-?"

"I injected him with the poison that he was torturing you with yesterday." Demona said. "He's dead." Brooklyn was quiet for a moment. When she turned to look at him there was a dark look in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing from anybody other than herself.

"Good." Brooklyn said. Demona wanted to feel pleased that he was finally seeing things her way, but she just felt sad. She hadn't really wanted him to fall as far as she had.

Brooklyn didn't fight her as she brought him to the highest floor of the house. She would rather go to the roof, but it would be a little difficult with Brooklyn's talons in the state they were. They would have to just get as high as they could.

She found a balcony on the third floor. She stepped out into the night air, and Brooklyn finally faltered as he followed her. He stared in disbelief into the night. He looked like he could almost start crying. She hoped he didn't.

"We're actually out." Brooklyn said to himself. "I-I can go home."

"Your clan is looking for you." Demona said, and this time Brooklyn looked like he believed her.

They could see Manhattan from here. It really wasn't that far, but Brooklyn looked at the city with hopeless longing in his gaze.

"I never realized how far a distance could be without gliding." Brooklyn said to himself. "How am I supposed to get back?"

Demona rolled her eyes. She thought the answer was obvious. She climbed onto the balcony railings, pulling him to do the same. "We'll glide."

Brooklyn's eyes widened as she wrapped her arms around him. He instinctively clutched at her as much as he could to keep himself from falling. "I can't!"

"Perhaps not now." She said. She would see him glide again someday. Until then, she would do what she had done when they were younger.

"You'll glide on your own someday." Demona said. "Until you do, I will be your wings." She spread her wings and leaned forward. Brooklyn yelped and clung to her as the wind caught her wings and she began to glide back to the city.

She watched as the young ones glided around each other, playing and showing off. Almost everybody was accounted for, but there was one lad missing that she only noticed because she kept an eye out for him. He looked content to not be part of the fun, but she knew better. No gargoyles were satisfied to be grounded. Even gargoyle beasts enjoyed being in their air when the clan decided to take them for a glide.

The lad was good at hiding that he was feeling left out, but she knew the truth, and she would know it even if his brothers hadn't told her directly.

She knew he could glide on his own, he just needed a push into the air. She came down from her perch, landing on the ground right next to him. He smiled when he saw her.

"Come with me." She said. She didn't give him the chance to ask why. She started walking away, trusting that he would follow. He nearly ran to keep up with her. She led him to the top of the castle, overlooking the land around them.

"Do you want to glide?" She said. She saw him flinch out of the corner of his eyes.

"I can glide." He said defensively.

"But not well." She said. He wrapped his wings defensively around his shoulders. She wasn't trying to scold him. She just wanted him to admit that he needed help. His pride wasn't worth never properly gliding. "I can show you."

"How?" He asked. She turned so her back was to him, gesturing for the smaller gargoyle to get on. He did so. It was awkward, but he held on tight and she held him in place. She spread her wings out, mindful of just where he was on her body.

"Do you trust me?" She asked.

"...Yes." He said after just a moment of hesitation. He squeaked when she jumped onto the ledge and leapt into the air, letting the wind catch her wings. She could feel his own wings flapping awkwardly and out of control as she glided and he rode along.

"Spread your wings." She said. "Feel the wind in your wings. Don't fight it. The wind isn't your enemy. It's your greatest ally. Use it."

She glided around. Gradually his grip on her loosened as he felt more and more at ease in the sky. When he was relaxed she told him to watch the positioning of her wings and mimic them with his own. It was a little tough to glide smoothly with the additional resistance, but she enjoyed the challenge.

They glided for a long time, and she thought he was ready for a change. She pulled her wings back, gliding smoothly through the air, going much slower than before.

"The most important thing about hiding is confidence." She said. "If you're scared you're going to fall, you're going to fall. Your wings are a part of you. If you trust yourself, you won't fail. So, I want you to try to glide on your own."

"What?!" He tightened his grip on her.

"What did I say about being scared?" She reached up and forced him to loosen his grip. "Just spread your wings, let the wind catch them, and let go. If you start to fall I'll be right here to catch you, but you'll never glide if you never try."

She could feel him shaking. He was scared, but she believed she was more afraid of never flying than he was of falling. She gave him a minute to gather himself. Eventually he took a deep breath and slowly loosened his grip. He muttered a reassurance to himself and suddenly let go all at once.

She felt him lift off her back as his wings caught the wind. She flipped over and looked up at him to see him above her, gliding. His arms and legs were twisting wildly as he tried to clutch at something that wasn't there, but his wings were calm, adjusting slightly to account for the subtle changes in the wind.

He was gliding, and Brooklyn looked as proud of himself as she was of him. "I'm doing it!" He said excitedly. "I-I'm gliding!"

"Well done." She said with a smile. She adjusted her wings, catching the wind and gliding up to be at his level. She took his hands. "You're a fast learner."

He gave her a sheepish smile that was just shy of being a grimace. "I was the last to learn."

"But you figured it out." She said. "You learned how to do something that comes naturally to so many others. The fact that you were even willing to try is impressive."

He didn't look like he quite believed her, but he looked pleased with himself.

"Thank you." He said. "For teaching me. For gliding with me." He smiled broadly and tucked one of his wings in slightly to do a little spin. Now that he was gliding, he was comfortable enough to experiment. It was in his blood. "For forcing me to not remain grounded."

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's giving gargoyles the push they need to get into the sky." She said. They were meant to fly. They were creatures of the air. If she had to put in a little extra effort to get someone off the ground, she would. Nothing made her happier than to see the ones she cared about, her clan, in the sky where they belonged, and she would do whatever was necessary to get them there.

Chapter Text

Brooklyn couldn't hold Demona as they glided away. He could wrap his arms around her and try to grab her as much as he could, but he knew if her grip loosened then he would fall, and he didn't have his wings to catch him. Whether he liked it or not, he needed to trust her to carry him.

It felt weird to trust her in this way, but she had always been the only one he had ever remembered trusting to carry him before he figured out how to get his own wings under him. Brooklyn knew this wouldn't last, but he couldn't help but bask in this feeling. At least for this moment, he had his guardian back. His mother who would give anything for her clan. For him.

They only glided for a few minutes before Demona lowered down to a roof near the river. Manhattan was right across the water. Brooklyn was so close to getting home, and he was happy about that, but it felt bittersweet. He had known that this peace with Demona wouldn't last, but he didn't want it to end.

Demona put him down, and though Brooklyn wanted to stay in her arms just a little longer he held back. He wrapped his arms around himself, finding what comfort he could get. It wasn't as good as being hugged, or wrapping his wings around himself, but it was something.

"Your clan will be here soon." Demona said. Brooklyn's heart hurt. His clan. Not hers.

She took a step away from him and towards the edge of the roof. Brooklyn realized in a panic that she was about to leave him. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and grabbed her arm. It wasn't much of a grip, and Demona would have been able to pull out with ease, but she grew still.]

"You don't have to leave." Brooklyn said. "You…you can come back. I can talk to Goliath. If he can forgive Xanatos, he can forgive you." He was scared of letting her back in, because he hadn't forgotten everything she'd done. But now he'd seen that the old her was still in there. She could be part of the family again. She could come home.

Demona turned and gave Brooklyn a very small smile. It was a slightly patronizing look, as though he was a young child who had asked an innocent question because they didn't know any better, and Demona was the parent who knew the sad truth, but admired the childish optimism he still had.

"You know I can't, Brooklyn." She said. "I don't belong with the clan anymore, and things wil just go badly if I try. We're past that point in our lives, and it would be foolish to try to go back."

"Why?" Brooklyn said. His voice was almost a whine. He should be embarrassed to be acting so childish, but after getting hurt so badly and realizing that his old guardian still cared about him, he couldn't help it. He felt young.

Demona sighed and gathered Brooklyn in her arms, pulling him close. He leaned against her, trying to make this moment last. She ran her hand through his hair, and it felt so much more soft and genuine than when Matthew had done it.

"You don't need me anymore, young one." She kissed his forehead. "You're going to be a strong leader someday. But you can't hold onto the past. Don't make the same mistakes me and Goliath have."

Brooklyn didn't really know what mistakes she was talking about. He knew where he thought that Demona had gone wrong, but he knew that she would defend those actions. She was talking about something other than her crimes, and Brooklyn knew that she wasn't going to be more specific than that.

"Your clan will have questions if they see me hanging around." Demona said, and Brooklyn hated that she was right. "I'll be close until they come, but I can't be right at your side."

Brooklyn sighed and gave her one more nuzzle before he pulled away. "I get it." He didn't like it, but he definitely understood.

"You're going to be just fine." Demona said. "I'm going to tell you something, and I'm only going to say it once. I'm proud of you, Brooklyn. But the next time you see me, we'll be enemies again."

Brooklyn wished it didn't have to be like that, but he knew that was just the way things were. Demona cared for him, yes, but she was still proud and angry. She still hated humans. She couldn't ever be a part of a clan who dedicated themselves to protecting humans. It just wasn't who she was, and Brooklyn couldn't change her.

"I know." Brooklyn said. A slight smirk crept onto his face. He gave Demona a mischievous look. "Then I wish I would never see you again." That way, he would never have to see her as an enemy.

It was childish logic that he knew wouldn't really work, but his words had their intended effect. She tilted her head back and laughed.

"You haven't changed one bit." She said. "I hope you never do, though I will probably say otherwise come tomorrow." He knew that as well. He would just have to hold on to the memory of tonight, and even last night. That was the Demona that he loved and missed. That was how he wanted to remember her.

He wanted to talk to her more, but he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes. He turned and saw two figures in the sky, coming from Manhattan. His clan. They were coming. His heart lightened, but at the same time it sank. He was going to go home, but it was also time to say goodbye.

"They're coming." Brooklyn said. Demona looked towards the distance with a frown.

"Yes, they are." She turned back to Brooklyn, squeezing his shoulders. "Xanatos is going to help you with your wings. I don't care if Goliath doesn't trust that man. Go against Goliath's words if you must. I won't let his pride be the reason why you don't glide."

Brooklyn blinked. He was going to be able to glide again? That didn't seem possible, but Demona and Xanatos both had a tendency to accomplish the impossible. Brooklyn didn't trust either of their morals, but they got results. Maybe it was selfish and potentially harmful to get such a life-changing favor from Xanatos, but Brooklyn really wanted to be in the sky again on his own two wings.

"I'll sneak out and do it if I have to." Brooklyn said. Demona smirked. Her hand lingered on his shoulders for another long moment before she turned and leapt off the roof, gliding low and ducking around buildings to stay out of sight. In a matter of moments she was gone.

Brooklyn took a deep breath and rubbed his chest. He looked back towards the sky and smiled when he saw Lexington and Hudson. By the ancestors, had he missed them.

Lex dove in, tackling Brooklyn as he came in. Brooklyn laughed and held onto his brother. He could already tell that Lex never wanted to let him go again. Hudson landed a moment later. He looked like he just wanted to say how pleased he was that Brooklyn was okay, but then Hudson's gaze landed past his shoulders and he looked ill and furious. Brooklyn fidgeted, knowing that Hudson had just seen that he really wasn't okay.

"What did they do to you?" Hudson's voice was quiet. From anybody else, Brooklyn would think that it was pity. He knew that Hudson understood. Brooklyn shuddered as he realized that he had no idea how bad he looked. He knew he was missing his wings and talons, but after what Matthew had done to him last night he probably had a lot of scars.

"How bad is it?" Brooklyn's voice shook. He wasn't a vain person, and he'd never judged people for having scars, but he was a little scared of going the rest of his life with visual reminders of the torture he'd been through.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Lex pulled away from him and took a step back to get a good look at him. His eyes widened in horror. "You're hurt."

"I'm not in pain." Brooklyn assured him, but Lex' eyes burned and nearly glowed with raw fury.

"You're hurt." Lex growled. He hadn't even seen Brooklyn's wings yet. Lex grabbed onto Brooklyn's hand, his own hands shaking as he looked at Brooklyn's missing talons. "Who would do something like this?"

"I would like to know the same thing." Hudson said. "I would also like to know if you were conscious when your wings were taken from you."

"His what?!" Lex screeched. He dropped Brooklyn's hand and turned to see his back. He roared in fury when he saw Brooklyn's stubs. "I'm going to kill whoever did this! They're dead!"

"He's already dead." Brooklyn said. Hudson gave him a concerned look, but Lex looked satisfied. Brooklyn felt a little bad that he was relieved about Matthew's death as well. It wasn't because he thought the man deserved it, though he definitely did. Brooklyn was just glad that he didn't have to be afraid of getting hurt anymore.

"I-I'll tell you guys everything." Brooklyn said. Everything except for Demona's involvement. If they knew she had been there, they would find a way to blame her, and Brooklyn didn't want to hear that. "Just…later. Right now can we go home?" Brooklyn asked. The night was still so young, and he was exhausted. "Please?"

Hudson sighed deeply. "Alrigh', Lad. We'll get you home." He easily lifted Brooklyn into his arms, holding him as easily as Demona had. "You're going to be okay."

"Yeah." Brooklyn muttered, and he actually believed it. He'd completely lost hope yesterday. He'd been seconds away from giving up completely. Demona had pulled him through, and now he felt like he could do the rest of it, just because he knew he wouldn't have to fight alone anymore. He'd have his clan with him.

"Where is everyone else?" Brooklyn asked. He didn't need everyone here to hold his hand and coddle him, but he wanted to know that they were okay.

"Following a lead." Lex said. "Xanatos somehow knew we'd find you here, and he had an idea of where you've been." Lex blinked. "He wasn't responsible for this, was he?"

"Definitely not." Brooklyn said. He knew there was the possibility that Xanatos had hired Matthew, but that just wasn't his style. And Brooklyn didn't want the others to consider that Xanatos couldn't be trusted, because then he would never be able to get new wings from the man. They were going to have to give him the benefit of the doubt this time.

"If Goliath knew you were hurt, he would have come here himself." Hudson said as they went into the air. "He's been worried about ye, lad."

"We all have." Lex glided closer to Hudson than he normally would, risking a collision to be closer to Brooklyn.

"I'm just glad it's over." Brooklyn leaned his head against Hudson's chest. He knew that wasn't technically correct. Even though all of his injuries had healed over, he had a lot of healing to do. He didn't know if he would ever be back to his old self. But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, he was just glad to be going home and to get his family back, even if part of his family would forever be missing.

He saw a flash of blue and he looked around Hudson's down. Below and behind them he saw Demona on a roof, barely visible from the shadows. His heart broke as he smiled and gave a small wave. He thought he was too far for her to see him, but she waved back for a moment before she turned and slinked back into the shadows. She was gone.

Brooklyn was going to miss her, but he was glad she'd been there at all. A part of him wanted to run back to her, but she was right. He needed to stand strong and glide on his own, even if he needed a little help. He needed to fight for the future, not cower and hide from it.

He was going to be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually. Demona had given him all the tools he needed, and he was going to show her that he could use it. He wasn't going to let her down, and he wasn't going to let himself down either.

Three weeks later Demona stood in the tower of the castle on the Eyrie Building. Goliath and his clan didn't know she was there, and that was just how she wanted it to be. She wasn't here for a fight. She was just here to make sure that Xanatos was good on his word.

She'd told Brooklyn a small lie. She'd told him that she would be watching from a distance until he was reunited with his clan. She watched him for far longer than that. She told herself that she just wanted to make sure that Xanatos wasn't going to go back on his word, and that Brooklyn wasn't going to give up again. Really, she just wanted to know that he was okay.

He'd been recovering far more than she thought he would. He truly didn't need her. That was how she wanted things, but it still made her chest sting.

She told herself that when she saw him glide again, she would be able to move on. Normally she watched from a further distance, but Xanatos had kept her updated on Brooklyn's wings, and he was supposed to test it out tonight. Demona had been there the first time Brooklyn had taken to the sky, and she was determined to be there this time, even if he didn't know it.

She stayed in the shadows and watched as the clan gathered in the courtyard, watching as Brooklyn stretched his new wings, moving them around under Goliath and Xanatos' careful supervision. Xanatos had been working on perfecting the wings for weeks, and Demona would give credit where it was due, they looked just like Brooklyn's old ones.

Brooklyn seemed to move them easily. He could spread his wings out, and fold them in. He could even drape them over his shoulders, and from Brooklyn's excited exclamation she could tell that they were lighter and softer than she would think that a machine would be.

Brooklyn spent a long time just moving his wings, getting used to the way they felt. Demona didn't know if Brooklyn did this because he was scared to fly again and was putting it off, or if Goliath was the one who insisted that he be more cautious. It was good for Brooklyn to familiarize himself with his new wings, but sooner rather than later he would need to take a risk and glide.

"Come on, young one." Demona said quietly. "Show me how strong you are."

Eventually Brooklyn moved past Goliath and stood on the ledge. He was tense, but there was also excitement in his eyes. He was ready. Broadway and Goliath looked incredibly nervous, but Hudson was encouraging, and Lex and Angela were hopeful. Brooklyn took a deep breath and spread his wings out. He leaned forward and dove.

Goliath looked like he wanted to dive after him and catch him before he had the chance to catch the wind in his wings. Hudson held him back, though he too looked ready to catch Brooklyn at the smallest sign of trouble. Demona just watched and waited, trusting Brooklyn even as she feared the worst.

A long, tense moment passed before she saw Brooklyn gliding up with a gleeful laugh, catching the wind and gaining height as easily as any other gargoyle could. He was gliding. He was okay.

Demona let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. She could sit and watch Brooklyn just glide and dive all day, playing children's gliding games with his rookery brothers as they joined him in the sky.

She wanted to stay, but she couldn't. This wasn't her life. This wasn't her clan. She didn't belong here anymore, and even though Brooklyn had asked her to stay, she knew that he was better off without her.

Still, whether she liked it or not, Brooklyn would always be her young one. Matthew had made that much painfully clear. She would never stop caring for the lad, but she wasn't what he needed. The best thing she could do for him was let him go and allow him to find his own way. He wouldn't walk her path of hating and destroying the humans, but she didn't think that he would follow Goliath's example of giving up everything and everyone he cared about for the sake of humans who couldn't care less if they lived or died.

Brooklyn was going to find his own way, and Demona couldn't help but be excited to see the gargoyle that Brooklyn grew to be. Even if she had to watch from a distance. That was enough for her.

Demona closed her eyes and forced herself to look away from Brooklyn. He didn't need her watchful care, and she had plans that she'd been putting off for long enough. It was time to move on. She unfolded her wings and glided away from the castle and into the night.