darlingng01

Big content warning for transphobia and generalised bigotry.

Brooke awoke with a satisfied purr. The bed was warm, the blankets were soft, and there was a comfortable weight pressing down on her. It took her several more minutes to finally recall the previous night, and then several more after that to put two and two together to realise what was likely going on.

She cracked one eye, then another, and finally the other two at once when she remembered she had them. Yup. That’s a Sarah. Laying on top of her. Looking like the cosiest girl in the world. The fact Brooke had been idly rubbing her back and brushing fingers through her hair may have been contributing. 

A part of her knew the traditional reaction was to freak out and blush and flail about, but she was just a bit too cosy to really consider it. Wings made for an excellent blanket apparently, and the skin to skin contact was just plain nice. She wasn’t even turned on! Which she’d definitely have to analyse later, but in the moment, she was happy to just enjoy-

Then her alarm went off and Sarah went flailing and fumbling off the bed, blushing and sputtering as she tried to explain away what had happened. The whole thing set Brooke giggling, and after a bit more bright red sputtering Sarah finally joined in. 

Once they had both finally settled down Brooke took the opportunity to put the other girl’s mind at ease. “Listen, it’s fine. We were comfortable and happy and no one got hurt, so I don’t see any reason to make a fuss. Let’s just get dressed and head down to breakfast and absolutely not tell our parents about this.”

Sarah nodded along, growing more energetic at the last comment. “Yes, definitely absolutely not… by which I mean let’s do that, which is not telling them.”

With her blush remaining unabated Sarah stood and made her way to the door, turning to give an awkward little wave before rushing out and back to her room. Brooke was almost positive Miss Zwavel was going to catch her, but what could they do? Change in the same room?

… She let the thought bubble about for a bit as she got changed into a long skirt and a soft turtleneck. No, as much as she’d appreciate the audience it probably wouldn’t be good for Sarah’s health. Though that wouldn’t stop her from teasing the poor girl with the idea later.

Getting dressed didn’t take long, and soon enough Brooke was making her way into the dining room with no Sarah in sight. She was just about to sit down and greet the pair of mothers when three heavy knocks echoed through the house. The trio looked at one another as Miss Zwavel stood up. Clearly none of them were expecting anyone.

By the time Miss Zwavel had put on her disguise and made it halfway to the front door their unruly visitor was knocking again. Three big, heavy, knocks. Something in the back of Brooke’s mind cringed at the sound, a primal fear settling in even as she failed to identify the source. From the look on her mother’s face she wasn’t the only one feeling it.

The sound of the door opening had barely begun before it was drowned out by the roar of a belligerent man. “You will return my wife and son this instant you godless heathen! I will not have you tainting their immortal souls with your filth!”

Brooke shrank in on herself, shaking as he continued on, yelling over any attempt by Miss Zwavel to talk him down. Memories flashed through her mind without rhyme or reason, only connected by the legacy of rage her father had left her with. Tears filled her eyes as she shuddered, gasping for breath. The world around her grew dull and distant, her inhuman features losing sensation as her extra eyes went blind. It was like she was being crushed back into the shape he demanded of her, the phantom itch of hair crawling across her skin driving a spike of agony through her mind.

She needed to hide, needed to get away, needed to escape. She stumbled to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind her barely making a sound through the fog. She stumbled to the side, hitting the wall with her shoulder. She barely felt it. She needed to run. She looked around the room for a path of escape, only for her eyes to land on the foetal form of her mother. Curled up in a ball, hugging herself as she cried.

A spark. A hint of something besides fear. The ache of all she’d lost. The dulling chill abated, pushed back by the growing flame of indignation. The memories continued to flash through her mind, but little by little her response changed. Rage. She raged against the fear that crushed in on her, against the injustice of the world her father would have her live in, at the life he would have her mother lead. 

She was still terrified, she still felt the primal fear urging her to run and hide or beg for forgiveness. But she couldn’t let it control her, if not for her sake, then for the sake of her mother. She gripped her pendant and growled out the command word, barely feeling as her inhuman features were folded away. She knew she wasn’t okay, that she was still in the clutches of panicked unreality, but for once she refused to flee. For once she was going to fight.

Every step was a struggle, every inch forward a fight against herself. She moved through the hall like a dreamspace, where every step seemed to only draw her further away from her goal… and yet she reached it. Her heart hammered in her chest as she arrived at the door, and found herself looking down on the tomato red face of an angry bigot.

Seeing a new target for his rage, Mr. Bernard turned his attention to her, eyes bloodshot and full of frenzy as he spoke. “And you! You sinful bastard of the poison fruit! You will not corrupt my boy any longer! Bring me my son! Bring me Jonathan! You have no right to-”

“You have no son.” Her voice cut him off with such an icy chill that he simply stopped and stared, dumbfounded.

“You have no son. You never had a son, and while you may have had a daughter, you certainly don’t now. I’m eighteen. You can’t control me anymore, and if you ever try and lay a hand on mom again I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The man bristled, his fury reigniting the moment she stopped speaking. “Who do you think you are?! How dare you speak to me like that! You’ll shut your mouth and bring me my son or I’ll make sure YOU regret it!”

Brooke scoffed. “Who do I think I am? I think I’m the daughter you could have had if you weren’t a blind idiot!”

Unbelievably, he actually got the message. Brooke was genuinely impressed as she watched realisation settle in his eyes. “J-Jonathan? Jonathan is that you?”

Brooke was about to correct him when he wheeled around on Miss Zwavel. “You pervert! You monstrous godless groomer! Paedophile and deviant! Look what you’ve done to my boy! Wh-what have you done to him?! How much of this can be reversed?!”

He turned on Brooke again, rage in his eyes mixing with disgust and the barest hint of concern. “Don’t you worry boy, I’m gonna get you out of here and to a doctor right away. I know a guy, he’ll get you fixed up even if we’ve gotta get those disgusting meatbags cut off you. I know a camp that helps boys like you. It's almost the holidays, we’ll just get you out of school early and they’ll sort you out.”

Brooke couldn’t take it anymore, too many memories, too much fear, too much anger. She stepped forward and raised her hand. The moment before she struck however a hand grabbed her wrist from behind.

Her father looked at the raised hand with wide eyes, then at the hand holding her wrist. For her part Brooke was stunned, unable to process what was happening. This was supposed to be her moment wasn’t it, her chance to let loose, to get revenge and catharsis? 

She could barely turn her head enough to see the apologetic half smile of Miss Zwavel. “I get it, I really do. He deserves it and so much more… But that’s exactly why I need you to hold back. Use your words, not your hands. I promise, I’ll make it worth it.”

“You- you were going to hit me! You disgusting waste of food and shelter! I raised you! I provided for you! I’m the only reason you’re even here right now and this is how you choose to repay me?!”

With a shuddering breath she nodded to Miss Zwavel. She knew the older demon had something in the works. She knew she should trust her… So she’d settle for words. For the promise of something more later, she’d settle for words.

She turned on him, eyes cold and voice colder. “No. You didn’t. You didn’t raise me, mom did. You didn’t provide for me. I can’t eat money. I can’t wear money. I can’t feel loved and respected and cared for by money. You provided money, but it was mom who turned it into the things I needed. I’m not here because of you, I’m here because of her, and… and because of me. I put up with your shit. I made it through your stupid rants. I endured every moment with you and I made it here despite your best efforts. You crushed the light out of my life every chance you got. You twisted every joy into something to hate. You made life seem dull and grey. Miss Zwavel? Sarah? Mom? They gave me a reason to live again. They made the world seem bright. They gave me hope that the world wasn’t as bad as you’d made it seem. If anyone here’s a waste? It’s you.”

Then she saw the fist coming. It was like it was in slow motion. She was sure she could dodge it… But Miss Zwavel had released her wrist and stepped forward, she was making a show of trying to stop it. Brooke knew that if she wanted to, Miss Zwavel could have grabbed his wrist. But she hadn’t. So Brooke didn’t dodge. She didn’t flinch. She stood her ground and took the hit. She even stumbled back and held her cheek. She didn’t have to fake the shock in her eyes.

Then there were sirens, and flashing lights, and before anyone could really react a pair of police officers were on the scene. What followed was a blur of procedure that left Brooke utterly and completely befuddled. For some reason, the only thing she could focus on as they were taking her father away was the fact they weren’t carrying guns.

When the dust finally settled Brooke was left standing dumbfounded, looking between Miss Zwavel and where her father had just been dragged off in handcuffs. Finally she mustered the energy to actually ask what just happened, though she was sure her words had come out as a barely comprehensible mess.

“Well, as you know I’ve been working on a case against your father, and as part of that I’ve had a few of my trusty officers keeping an eye on him. While this is a bit ahead of schedule it’ll likely  work out better in the long run. It’s quite hard to argue your way out of an assault charge with video evidence and police officers as witnesses. That said, how are you doing? I know you’re still quite tough while disguised but…”

Brooke let out a shaky breath, touching her cheek. “It’s fine, I barely felt it honestly… But… is that it? I… I didn’t even do anything, but it’s over? It feels like… Like I should be the one who put a stop to him. Like I’m supposed to be the one finally setting us free… Instead I just yelled at him a bit while you solved everything?”

Miss Zwavel gave a sad smile as she laid a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “Sweetie, for all you’ve grown up in the past week… you’re still a child. It’s okay to rely on your elders for stuff. Solving a problem like your father? That’s our responsibility, not yours. You’ve got enough on your plate without having to deal with the legal drama. If I can avoid it I’m not even going to have you testify in court, not that I feel that’s likely.”

Brooke huffed, looking away as she blushed. “I’m eighteen, I’m not a kid anymore…”

Sadly, her huff only earned a giggle from the older woman. “Oh darling, your brain hasn’t even finished developing yet. Being a child isn’t anything to be ashamed of. It’s our job to make sure you get the chance to enjoy it.”

Brooke was about to respond when a hand touched her back. As the owner of the hand spoke it was clear she was still shaken, that she was struggling with every word and yet was pushing through. “Sweetie, I know it’s late coming but… it’s okay to rely on your mother sometimes. I know I haven’t proven that much over the years, but I promise I’m going to do better from now on. I love you, and I’m going to do everything I can from now on to give you the life you deserve.”

Her mother had barely finished speaking before Brooke was wheeling around, wrapping her in a hug, and nestling her face in her mother’s hair. She could feel her mother shaking, struggling just to stand there. She could feel the tears soaking into her top, and the quivering of her mother’s lower lip. She really was struggling to hold it together… but she was doing it. Not for herself, but for her daughter.

Part of her was reluctant and frustrated. It wanted to be the hero, the one who faces the monster and saves the day. It wanted to stand in front and take the hits so no one else had to. But another part, a quiet voice she’d spent so long ignoring… it spoke with the voice of that sad little girl who hated sports, begging her mother to let her stop playing them. It looked up to her mother, and it rejoiced at the idea that she was there to save the day. It wanted to be loved, and here she was, feeling it with every word her mother spoke.

She’d always thought she had to be the big strong knight in shining armour… but maybe it was okay to be the damsel in distress. She hugged her mother a little tighter, tears slipping from her eyes. “Thanks mom… I love you too.”