AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you for your patience while I corrected the strange formatting in my original upload.
"Paternity" was originally written circa 1998 and posted on the fanfic boards at www gargoyles fans dot org. The story is a joint venture between M.C. "Stormy" Pletsch, aka WarlordFil, and Amy K. Cyrway. It's set in Cyrway's version of the "Gargoyles" universe. If anyone out there is curious to read more about the Outklaws, you can visit the org and search for Amy K. Cyrway (Artemis Prime).
I'll be up front—this story is heavy on the OC's. I'm posting it here for three reasons: it's a prequel to the Clone Wars saga I hope to post after this story is up, it's got canon villains, and I think it's a pretty good stand-alone story, despite its age.
Now for the arse-covering part of this note: Demona, Brooklyn, Macbeth, Anton Sevarius and the other Gargoyles characters are property of Walt Disney/Buena Vista and are used without permission, not for any personal profit but purely out of tribute to an excellent animated series. (Doesn't Macbeth belong to William Shakespeare, technically?) Wagner, Aashlee, Rommel, Eva and Johann Sevarius are property of WarlordFil--Pity Me. All other characters are property of Amy , save Iris, who was created by Jenny DeSalme, and to the respected creators of each individual member of Clan Winslow (save Bob, who dropped off the face of the planet). The Outklaws were a joint brainstorm by Amy K. Cyrway and Donika D. Doyon. (Phew!)
South Park and all characters belong to Comedy Central, "One" was written by Metallica, and "Fight for your Right to Party" was performed by the Beastie Boys.
And, of course, STRONG LANGUAGE warning (It's about Outklaws, come on now), some violence, and a few mature themes...PG-13, people...
PATERNITY
Paternity, Chapter the First
AUGUST 1999
From the desk of Richard S. Wagner:
I don't usually keep a journal. Too damn much evidence.
So why the hell am I writing all this down? I know damn well I'm just going to burn it as soon as I'm done. Personally. Ensuring every page is reduced completely to ash.
I'm an assassin. Got a problem with it? Don't blame you...so do I.
But I have to do it. I've lived a pretty fucked up life but even getting transmogrified into a human--well, I've still got my wings, and I still sleep by day, but a human for all intents and purposes--even that wasn't as much of a shock to me as what I found in the backwater town of Winslow, Maine. I've got to make sense out of all this shit somehow.
It all began with my...what the hell is he, anyway? My best friend...maybe my only friend. Caligo.
***
Two cries echoed through the roomy house--one, the deep growl of an awakening gargoyle, the other, a human cry of pain blending into a feline shriek--as the sun set over Waterville, Maine. Almost drowned out by the louder noises was the shrill piping of hatchlings.
Her transformation complete, Demona continued her progress down the hall. Her daughter, Lilith, squirmed in her arms. The wingless hatchling did not turn to stone by day. She had been fussing before sunset, and, while she had settled down to watch Demona's transformation with wide eyes, she was now squirming again. No doubt she was hungry.
"Iris! Dinner!" Demona called.
The mahogany-skinned Grecian hatchling scampered out of her room, still yawning a little, and tagged downstairs after Demona.
Demona grumbled to herself as she heated some food in the microwave with Lilith playing about her feet and Iris banging a melody on her plate and glass with a spoon. She remembered the good old days, when feeding the hatchlings meant bringing down a fleeing deer or boar. Fresh meat, warm blood, the night wind under her wings. Now it was Tupperware and Saran Wrap. As she placed the food before her hatchlings, Caligo came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.
"You've been looking concerned these past few nights, my love," Caligo said.
"I worry," the azure female said slowly, "about Demonika's egg." Her eyes traveled over the two little girls. "It won't be raised properly, like Iris and Lilith."
"Your daughter's egg?" Caligo repeated. "How come?"
Demona thought carefully before responding, turning away from the young ones. "Clan Winslow and the Outklaws live in an old farmhouse. During the day their only defense is an elderly human woman. There are Quarrymen active in Maine and if they were to find out where the clan lives, that woman would not be enough to fight off a gang of hammer bearing thugs during a daylight raid."
Caligo frowned. "It is their choice where they live. We cannot force them to move. Surely they will care for the hatchling to the best of their ability."
Demona sighed. "That's another concern." She looked at Caligo out of the corner of her eye. "Have you ever actually met them?"
"Aside from my encounter with...Winchester, I believe his name was...no."
"They were heavily influenced by humans," Demona snarled, pacing the floor. "They are not proper gargoyles. They are completely absorbed by human culture, human beliefs, human ways of life."
"My love, you have also taken on some human practices." He gestured to the kitchen with its modern appliances, to her briefcase open on the table, to her car parked in the driveway.
"But I do not THINK like a human! The Outklaws are nothing but humans with wings. They have no idea what it means to be a gargoyle!"
"And Demonika's mate? Mauser, I believe you said his name was?"
"He's the worst of the lot," she snapped. "An irresponsible, lazy, drunken, foulmouthed, degenerate excuse for a humanized gargoyle." She sighed in exasperation. "If you were to meet the Outklaws you would understand why they are completely unfit to raise a hatchling!"
A loud clatter behind them was followed by Iris' quiet "Oops." Demona turned to see hamburger casserole all over Lilith's high chair, the table, the floor, and the two hatchlings. In the middle of all this, the phone rang.
The telephone died in the middle of the fourth ring, before the answering machine kicked in. There was a two second pause, and the ringing began anew.
Damn those business calls! Or...if this was some damned telemarketer...
"I'll take care of it," Caligo said, and headed for the living room. Frustrated as she was, Demona couldn't help a smile as she cleaned up the mess.
Minutes later, the girls were fed, the dishes were in the washer, a bottle of wine was chilling in the fridge...and Caligo was still on the phone. She could hear his voice coming from the other room.
Demona frowned. The call was taking far too long for a simple message. If the caller had wanted to speak to "Dominique Destine," Demona would have been called to the phone by now--and neither she nor Caligo ever got social calls. When Caligo laughed out loud, Demona nearly dropped her dishrag in surprise.
Moments later, Caligo strode back into the kitchen. "Who was that?" Demona demanded, gesturing towards the phone.
"An old friend of mine," Caligo said, beaming. "He's planning to drive up our way and I invited him to stop by for a bottle of Asti and a chat about old times."
Demona frowned. "Not a human, I hope."
"No," Caligo assured her, though the briefest flicker of a frown crossed his face.
***
I'd called Cal from somewhere in the Midwest...pardon me if I'm not any more specific. This writing thing is hard for me. I'm still paranoid, I suppose.
Anyway, the important point is that me, my son Rommel, his mate Eva, and my adopted daughter Aashlee were touring the States. Rommel, Eva and I left our home, a Bavarian castle known as Schloss Adler, and went to New Orleans to pick up Aashlee. We decided to cruise the United States in my car...the car I've kept since the war..and while I've got a '98 Mercedes-Benz, the staff car is my personal favourite...
***
A most unusual automobile drove down the roads of Maine a week later...a black 1941 Mercedes staff car, looking as if it had driven right out of the pages of a book on World War II Germany. Its driver appeared human, with a shag of blond bangs hanging down over his right eye. Beside him in the passenger seat sat a gargoyle, deep blue with two braids hanging down her back, the hair so blond as to be almost white. Hooked horns stood out the sides of her eye ridges and her ears had exotic double points. She held out a road map, studying it intently.
The small back seat was also occupied. A white adolescent female gargoyle in a cropped denim jacket, cutoff shorts and a pink tank top the same colour as her hair hummed along to the Metallica song playing in the car's stereo, while a green male in golden armour leaned forward to take a look at the map.
The armoured gargoyle looked over at the driver and spoke in German. "Dad, if you don't mind my asking, what in God's name are we doing driving around the backwaters of Maine?"
Wagner took his eyes off the road to cock an eyebrow at his son. "We've been driving around the backwaters of the entire country. It doesn't pay to take a car as noticeable as mine onto the major highways...especially not with passengers like you."
"Nice try, Vati, but while I've enjoyed our family road trip, I'm sure there are no great sites of interest in a place like..." He squinted at the map. "Waterville, Maine."
Wagner nodded. "You've got me there, Rommel."
The blond-haired, green-skinned gargoyle looked up at the road. "From the way you're driving, and from how often I've heard you say, "Where are we again," I'd be willing to guess that you don't know this area very well."
The blue female snorted. "I'd be willing to guess he's never even been here before," she said in German.
Wagner gave her a mock glare and said, "Actually, I was in this area once, but that was over fifty years ago. Things have changed somewhat..." He switched to English and muttered, "For example, I'm no longer a citizen of an enemy nation..."
The white gargoyle rolled her eyes. "Did you get lost this often back then too?"
Wagner looked back at her with an expression that was half wounded pride and half admission of guilt. "It's the roads," he grumbled. "And the maps...maps of Maine aren't worth crap." He added sarcastically, "Nice to know some things never change."
"One" by Metallica began to play on the CD player, and the white female mimed firing out the window with a machine gun in time to the sounds on the CD. The music kicked in and the blue female grimaced, leaning over to turn it down.
"Eva!" the white gargoyle protested.
Eva shrugged her shoulders and muttered in German. Rommel translated for Aashlee's benefit. "She says she can't take any more of that noise." Aashlee crossed her arms, sticking out her tongue at Eva and receiving a whap upside the head from Rommel. She retaliated by tickling his ribs, reducing the older male to helpless laughter.
Eva smiled. "You'd almost think those two were real siblings..."
"Keep it down and lay low now," Wagner warned, turning the car into the First Rangeway area. "We're in the rich section of town and we've got to be careful."
Aashlee and Rommel quieted down instantly, ducking down as best they could in the cramped back seat. Eva picked up a scarf off her lap and wound it around her head, disguising her horns and ears. Rommel, swallowing the last of his laughter, managed to choke out his question. "You never did tell me why we're driving around the sticks."
"To visit an old friend of mine," Wagner replied.
"War buddy?" Rommel asked, being well acquainted with his father's stories of the men in Jagdstaffel 200.
"Of sorts."
"What's his name again?"
"Caligo."
Eva snorted. "That doesn't sound very German."
"It's Latin."
"Hmm." She looked out the window, then back to the map, and frowned. "This thing isn't very well marked."
"What did I tell you about maps of Maine?" He snorted. "It was the best I could do from what Cal told me over the phone."
Rommel shrugged. "So we look for a mailbox that says "Caligo..."
Wagner started laughing, provoking stares from his passengers. He choked out, "Caligo isn't the sort to have a mailbox..."
Eva tugged on Wagner's jacket sleeve and pointed. "There's the house, according to your map."
The mailbox read DESTINE. There was a car in the driveway bearing vanity plates with the same name. Wagner cocked an eyebrow. "How the hell did Cal get a car?" he muttered under his breath, pulling the Mercedes into the driveway. He turned off the motor but did not move from his seat, carefully scrutinizing the house. "No sign of Caligo."
"This is the house you marked," Eva assured him, double checking just in case.
He looked back at his passengers. "No use in taking chances. You three stay in the car and lay low." They nodded.
Wagner shut the car door behind him. He took a deep breath, ran his hand over the hilt of his Walther PPK, then went up and knocked on the door.
***
It was a red letter night somewhere else, too, about ten miles away from Cal's house. Namely, the Mason homestead, home of Clan Winslow and the Outklaws.
There's no way to say what possessed Sam and Pippen of Clan Winslow to explore the attic that night. A whim, I suppose. Had it struck one night later, my visit to the place would have progressed without incident--but then it would have left so many questions unanswered. Fate's a bitch, ain't it?
***
The night started off routinely enough...several of the young gargoyles downstairs watching a movie, others going about their assigned chores, while Elly prepared her weekly shopping list and the old gargoyle Ben relaxed in a nearby easy chair, reading the newspaper.
"Elly! Look at this!" Pippen cried, lugging a large see-through plastic bag into the kitchen. "Sam and I found them in the attic." She plopped the bag down on the kitchen table, spilling several photographs out the top end.
Elly shook her head. "It's a terrible mess up there, isn't it? There's things that were there when my husband and I first bought the house."
"This was in a trunk way back under the eaves," Sam said, starting to root through the photographs.
Elly stepped forward, and an image in one of the photographs caught her eye, stopping the breath in her throat. "Ben?"
Ben leaned back in his chair. "Hmm?"
"I think you'd better take a look at this."
***
I love Caligo like a brother, but his girlfriend...Mein Gott, what a bitch...
***
Demona looked out the front window and cursed. What could a human want at this hour of the night? She kept silent, hoping he would go away.
"Who's that?" Iris asked.
"Take Lilith upstairs," Demona said, her eyes narrowing. Iris looked as if she were about to protest. "Go!" the azure female ordered, and Iris obeyed, picking up the dark-skinned hatchling.
The blond human did not go away. Instead, he banged again, and this time he called as well. "Caligo!"
Demona's eye ridge raised in puzzlement. Could this be the guest her mate was expecting? She examined him again through the glass. Caligo had said that his friend was not human, but this stranger certainly seemed human to her. However, he knew her mate's name...
Ah well...if this was not Wagner, then he was in for a surprise... She took hold of the doorknob and jerked it open.
He looked up at her, eyes sparkling with vague amusement. "Caligo never told me he had a girlfriend," the newcomer chuckled, and as he spoke, a pair of black wings unfolded behind his back.
Human. He looked *human,* from eyebrows to fingernails to booted feet...but those wings...
She looked again, and then she noticed that his hands had four fingers. The wings were tipped with little hands encased in silver gauntlets, and these too had four fingers as well as a thumb.
The sight of him was disgusting.
"Half breed," she hissed, her eyes growing red with hate.
His blue eyes fixed on her face, hardening, then growing wide. His hand dropped to his waistband. "I killed you," he whispered.
She struck. Her talons gashed the air where he had stood just a moment before... but he was not there. Impossibly fast, he had ducked below her strike and spun around behind her, drawing a handgun from his belt. She was wheeling to leap again, counting on being able to knock the firearm from his hand before he had the chance to aim and fire, when Caligo suddenly arose from the shadows between them.
He clapped one hand around Demona's wrist while the other yanked the gun from the newcomer's hand.
"Demona. Wagner. What is the meaning of this?" Caligo growled.
"This is your friend?" Demona demanded angrily.
"What's she doing here?" Wagner snapped with just as much vehemence in his voice.
"She is my mate," Caligo informed the German. He then turned to Demona and said, by means of introduction, "Wagner and I met during the Second World War."
"Your MATE?" the German demanded incredulously. "After what happened in France?"
"What DID happen in France?" Caligo replied, cocking an eye ridge and studying Wagner's face.
Wagner lapsed into guilty silence, which was filled by Demona's accusation.
"He shot me!"
"You what?" Caligo asked...
...just as Wagner retorted with, "YOU were the one trying to kill Cal's contact!"
The grey gargoyle's head swung back to Demona. "You were in France in 1943?"
"I had a score to settle," Demona growled, "and I would have, were it not for him."
She gestured towards the humanlike gargoyle, and in her anger she completely forgot the fact that, had Wagner not shot her when he did, she would have killed Macbeth and herself as well.
Caligo's attention returned to Wagner. "And you did not tell me?"
Wagner's face twisted into a sardonic smirk and he said sarcastically, "Gee, Cal, good news and bad news...I found the love of your life, and then I shot her between the eyes." He snorted. "Not a wise thing to say, considering you weren't predisposed to like me in the first place..."
Despite her hatred for the German, Demona couldn't help but feel a bit mollified at the knowledge that Caligo, in 1943, had told him of his love for her.
"Perhaps your uniform had something to do with it," Caligo replied with a trace of his good humour returning, gesturing towards the Knight's Cross that hung around Wagner's neck.
"Yeah, it's won me lots of friends," Wagner replied, his voice losing its brash sarcasm and lapsing into a quiet mutter. His eyes dropped to the ground and his shoulders slumped, though his hand slipped inside his jacket. Caligo was certain that Wagner had another weapon, which he would not draw unless threatened, but as usual the German was taking no chances.
Caligo flipped the Walther PPK in his hand and offered it to its owner, butt first. "If I give you this back, will you put it away?"
Wagner glared at Demona and nodded. He took the gun and shoved it roughly back into its holster.
The grey gargoyle looked over at Demona. "I am sorry the two of you got off to such a poor start. Perhaps we can make amends over a glass of wine...?" His eyes searched Demona's, silently entreating her to make the first move and invite Wagner inside.
Demona stared right back at Caligo. "If you insist on having this company then I will be going elsewhere," she said coldly, stalking back into the house. Caligo looked after her helplessly.
Wagner drew his handgun, idly examined the barrel, and returned it to its holster.
"Wagner, I am truly sorry..." Caligo apologized.
The German shrugged. "It happens. Another time, perhaps." He thrust his hands into the pockets of the jacket and turned on his heel.
"You need not leave so soon..."
Wagner paused. "No offense, mein freund, but I can tell where I'm not welcome." He nodded back towards the house.
"Are you certain I cannot convince you to stay?" Caligo asked, and the faintest trace of disappointment made its way onto his features.
"No way, mein freund," Wagner replied casually. "But...perhaps..." He turned back to his friend with a wicked grin. "Perhaps you could convince me to let you come along."
***
"It's the clan," Ben said sadly, wistfully, as he let the squares of shiny paper slide through his talons.
"Your rookery brothers and sisters?" Eddie asked. Ben nodded. Eddie, Mercedes and Alexia had abandoned the dinner dishes, which now sat forgotten in various stages of washing.
Mercedes looked down at the pictures, now spread out across the table top. In one image, a male and a female gargoyle held hands and smiled at the camera. The male had a tail just like hers...the female's face looked as if it could be her own...
An odd thought struck her.
"Ben? These are...they'd be..."
Eddie, Sam, Alexia, Pippen, and Elly just turned to look at her.
"They'd be our parents," Mercedes said softly.
Alexia bolted down the stairs to the basement. Sprawled on various pieces of furniture were seven adolescent male gargoyles wearing T-shirts and jeans. They stared idly at the television set. "C'mere," Alexia coaxed.
"Get lost," Mauser snapped, trying to shoo her away as the opening scenes of "There's Something About Mary" came up on the T.V.
"It's really important," she protested.
Smith, irritated, turned his attention away from the TV. "So's this movie."
"Yeah," Wes agreed. "Now are you deaf or just terminally stupid? GET...LOST."
"Fine," she retorted, crossing her arms and turning on her heel. "DON'T find out who your parents were then."
Alexia paused at the doorway, listening to the stunned silence in the room behind her. The TV snapped off and the couch springs groaned as the Outklaws got to their feet.
"What did you say?" Colt asked.
"C'mere and find out," Alexia replied smugly, leading the way to the kitchen.
***