Author's Note- This is the first time I have ever published Spring Awakening fanfiction, and I am very nervous on how this will be received. Really. Because I am personally unimpressed with this (I feel like such an amateur writer [which I totally am] because I'm such a newbie to Spring Awakening in general, so what right do I have to be writing fanfiction for it? It's presumptuous of me to even attempt it!) but I'm posting it just to give it a shot (and because I already said I'd respond to Chalcedony River's Christmas Challenge on a review I left. See? I already committed.)

And away we go…..

It was Christmas Eve, and though Martha's family had never been big on the holidays, this time of year she and her mother made some extra effort to cheer up their dreary home. The kitchen and small dining area was filled with the smell of her mother's soup cooking. The house was warm, and all the windows were closed against the freeing wind outside. Every year, their home was tidied and the somber mood was lifted by the baking and homemade decorations.

Martha set the oil lamp down on the table, then placed her carefully constructed cylinder of colored paper around it. She had cut out little stars, and now the light shone through them, casting the images onto the walls, brightening up the room.

"Mama, look!"

Her mother turned from the pot she had been stirring with a smile. "That's very nice, Martha. Such a resourceful girl!"

Martha smiled at the rare praise. She knew it was only the Christmas holiday that put her mother in such sweet humor, but the kind comment was appreciated. How odd- the same holiday that put her mother into such a merry mood put her father in poor spirits. He went about cursing, muttering about overpriced coats, complaining about the snow and cold drafts that the wind let in, and lamenting over the lack of hunting game during the cold season.

"And don't you be expecting any sort of expensive gifts!" He had growled, pointing to his daughter. She had shaken her head, casting her eyes down and muttering a silent, "No, father."

He was gone this evening though, having promised his wife a fir tree to provide their meager home with some more Christmas cheer. Frau Bessel had beamed and kissed him on the cheek as he left.

Martha had watched him go, wondering at the almost-smile her mother had somehow managed to get on his face. He never smiled at Martha.

She was kneeling by the table still, admiring her lantern, when she thought to glance out the window. Dark had descended, and she knew her father would be home soon. She stared uneasily into the darkness outside and caught her mother doing the same thing. She wondered if her mother was thinking the same thing she was, feeling the same sensation of vague sickness in her belly, fearful and alert. Apparently not- her mother just forced a smile and continued preparing the soup.

"Your father will be home soon," She said pleasantly, not looking at her daughter. "Why don't you go to your room, study some Bible verses? If you practice, you may read to us tonight. I'm quite certain your father would like that."

Martha bitterly wondered if her would ever father liked anything she could do. He was never proud of her. He never acknowledged anything she did unless it was a mistake for which she'd be beaten. All the same, she nodded and retreated to her room. She pulled the worn Bible off of her dresser top and sat on her bed. She lay back, flipping through the delicate pages, searching for a suitable for Christmas Eve. Then her eye caught something. Startled, Martha flipped back to the page, frowning slightly, her eyes widening as she mouthed the words silently.

Leviticus 18:17 Thou shalt not…

She read it over, then once more just to be sure.

At first she was puzzled and disbelieving. Martha had always accepted her father's treatment of her before. She didn't question his rage or the painful night visits. She had accepted that things were different in her household, for whatever reason. Surely her mother would've said something if her father's behavior wasn't right.

But this… this was the Bible. The word of God, and there was no way to misinterpret those lines. She read them again- just to confirm that she hadn't misread them- and felt a flame of joy in her chest.

Martha knew what passage she would read tonight. She was reading the section for the third time when she heard her father arrive.

The door slammed shut, and she heard her father's voice downstairs. Her mother hurried to greet him.

"Darling! But where's the…"

"Can you give me some damn room!? I'm bringing it in!"

"Of course… I didn't mean to…."

There was the sound of her father dragging in the tree, and Martha could hear her mother shuffling around him, hovering and nervously clapping her hands together.

"Oh, it's lovely, it's just- Martha! Martha, come see the lovely tree your father brought us!"

Martha crept out of her room, clutching the Bible in one hand. "Yes?"

The tree was lovely, perhaps a bit too bushy for their small living room, but it fit well enough. Her father stood with his back to her, adjusting the tree to fit in the pot her mother had placed for the stump to be placed in. He finally stood back, crossing his arms as he studied it. He was evidently pleased with himself, and her mother was fluttering around him with praise.

"So strong! I can't believe you carried it all the way here, it's just beautiful, isn't it?" He flapped a hand for her to move away.

"Where is the child? Where's- ah." Herr Bessel turned and saw her. He gazed at her, not smiling, with his eyes unexpectedly neutral. "There you are! What do you think of the tree, girl?"

She just looked at it, the dark green bright in their room, the smell fresh and clean, the sticky sap oozing near the bottom of the tree. She nodded quickly.

"Isn't it nice? Martha?" She hated the pleading in her mother's voice, the tight way her mother spoke, always to appease Herr Bessel.

"Yes. It's very nice, Father." She spoke faintly.

"Well come up, take a look! What's wrong with the damn child?" His voice was loud in the room. They were crowded in there, the small space made even more cramped with the tree. Martha stepped forward, and he put a hand on her back, playing the overly affectionate father tonight. She flinched when he touched her, but they all pretended not to notice.

"It's very nice, I just…" She backed away from him, the Bible still held to her chest. His arm fell away from her back, and he frowned at her.

"What's wrong with you?"

She couldn't believe he had the nerve to ask her that, now that she knew how wrong he had been treating her all this time. He was the one in the wrong!

"Come now, the soup's ready. Let's all sit down now. Martha? Martha, come sit- oh look, show your father the nice light you made. Isn't it clever?"

Herr Bessel turned to the covered oil lamp. He grunted, then reached out a large hand to pick it up. "Its just paper."

Martha's hand pushed his away, and she moved the lamp, protectively covering it with one hand. "Don't touch it."

"What's the matter with you?" And he was laughing, pulling her towards him. He put one overbearing arm around her shoulders, and she felt herself smothering under his weight.

Something in her snapped, and Martha stepped away from him, pushing his arm away fiercely. She stared at him, and felt something stirring in her breast. It wasn't fear- Lord knows she had felt that often enough- and it wasn't pain. It wasn't the love she tried to feel for her parents, like a good daughter, and it wasn't the numbness she'd tried to condition herself to. It was anger.

"Don't touch me!"

He glanced down at her with irritation. "What did you just say?"

Martha didn't respond, but stared back at him with a defiance she'd never before shown. Now that she was allowing herself to feel anger, it was consuming her, fueling her.

"Don't you touch me."

"Martha, I don't know who the hell you think you are, talking to me like that!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, giving her a good shake.

"Leviticus!" She said in a voice that didn't sound like hers. He looked at her, confusion mixing with anger on his face. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

"What did you say?"

"Leviticus, 18:17." She heard her mother gasp slightly, but ignored the sound. Apparently Martha wasn't the only one familiar with that verse. Martha tore herself out of his grasp, and when he made no move to grab her again, she went on, louder, "Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of a woman and her-"

"Shut up!" He realized what she way saying and he moved towards her, but she backed away, continuing in her raised voice. "Of a woman and her daughter, for they are near kinswomen and it is wickedness!"

"What the hell do you think you're saying!?" He barked, face reddening. "Stop it, you stupid girl, shut up!"

"It's the word of God!" Martha cried, bringing the Bible from behind her back. She held it before her like a shield. "You went against the word of-"

The force of his slap sent her reeling, and she fell to the floor. Martha didn't cry- she rarely cried- but she screamed like she never had before. She used to take his beatings silently, letting only a soft whimper out before biting her lip and taking it as best she could. But now, after her suffering was confirmed by the Bible itself, she could scream. She was finally justified in doing so.

It was wrong, what he did to her. It was wrong.

"Don't you speak that way to me! Ever!" he roared, drawing back his foot to kick her.

"You touched me!" She screamed. Hysteria was gripping her, and she could scream as loud as she wanted, and she wasn't afraid anymore. "You hurt me, and you'll burn for that! You-"

His foot made contact with her body, and she curled up, still howling. The blows came, pounding and relentless, and she thought she heard someone else screaming in the background, and at last she felt someone pulling her onto her feet.

"Get out Martha, for God's sakes, get out right now!" It was her mother. Frightened, desperate, she pulled Martha to the door. "Go, out there, now!"

Her mother was crying. Her father pushed Martha onto the snow, about to follow her outside, but her mother blocked him.

"Get in the house!" She spoke sharply to her husband, in a tone Martha had never heard her use.

"Don't you tell me what to-

"Get in the house, or I will tell them! I'll tell everyone how you-"

A slap rang out, and Martha glanced behind her, horrified, but her feet picked her up and were racing away from her house. She saw her mother crumble in the doorway, and her father looked out into the darkness. He couldn't see her. Regardless, he bellowed out into the night, "Don't you ever come back, you hear me? You come back, I'll kill you!"

She kept running, down the lane, tripping over pebbles in the darkness, but picking herself back up. She kept running, past other houses with lit windows and warm living room scenes, with the frigid night air burning in her lungs, until she came to a panting stop, stooping to catch her breath.

It was snowing.

She was kicked out of her home, and it was freezing outside. Part of her was relieved, for she was finally free from the pain and shame and cruelty of her household… but now where was she to go? Run away, live with the wild artists, like Ilse? Martha shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to live such an immoral, untamed life. All she wanted was a decent home.

Martha stopped outside of the last house on the road. Now all there was ahead was the forest. Did she want to run out there, free with the animals? Not quite. Not with the winter air around her, the brook frozen, without any summer berries to eat.

Homeless on Christmas Eve. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt and realization of her hopeless situation sunk in. Still clutching her Bible- she couldn't believe she still had it!- Martha started to cry. She was alone and she was cold, and she could never go home, never ever return to the miserable people who raised her. Martha began crying in earnest, tears hot on her cheeks, the air cold around her body. She didn't even have a jacket.

The door to the house in front of her opened, and Martha shrank away.

"Who's out there?" A woman stood in the doorway, and Martha wasn't sure for a moment whose house it was. Then the woman stepped closer, and she recognized Frau Stiefel.

"No one, I'm sorry, I-" Martha tried to move back into the shadows, but the light from the woman's candle shone on her anyway.

"Why, Martha! Child, what on earth do you think you're doing out at this time of night? It's Christmas Eve!"

"I-I'm sorry, I'll just be goin-" She stammered, aching to get back into the darkness, into the chill night air that hid her under its black wings.

"Nonsense! Come inside, please child, just come inside…" And she took Martha's arm and gently led her into the warm living room. Martha blinked in the light, unconsciously moving toward the fireplace. She crept towards the fiery glow, heat slowly moving in to her body.

"Why were you outside, what were you- do your parents know where you are?" Frau Stiefel suddenly asked.

Martha glanced her concerned face, then shrugged. She didn't know how to respond. The woman frowned.

"But why would you…" She stopped as Herr Stiefel entered the room. His face was grave, his shoulders sunk in. He walked slowly, guilt still weighing on him, and sighed when he sat down at the dining room table.

"Dear, we have company. It's young Martha, Martha Bessel."

Herr Stiefel looked up at her and nodded, looking a bit surprised. "Good evening."

"Merry Christmas, " she murmured politely. Martha had never really forgiven him for the unfeeling cruelty he had once shown Moritz, but after seeing him this way- quiet, somber, withdrawn- she felt sorry for him. The other girls had all talked about him, analyzing everyone's reactions at Moritz's funeral. They had all agreed that Herr Stiefel had shown remorse.

"Let me get you something to eat- did you have dinner?" When Martha shook her head, Frau Stiefel just pursed her lips, her arms crossed as she studied Martha, who began her apologies all over again.

"I'm sorry, you really don't have to-

"I'm not mad at you dear, calm down! I don't mind at all. But really, what mother in her right mind would let you go wandering about hungry, especially on a night like this?" Frau Stiefel demanded as she turned to the stove, preparing a dish for Martha.

"I… I don't know." Martha was quiet, and stared at her hands, clasped on the table. She realized her fingers were trembling, and stilled them, folding them underneath the cloth napkin Frau Stiefel gave her. As Martha began to eat the food, Frau Stiefel gestured for her husband to follow her into the other room. He sat up wearily, taking slow steps across the room, and left the door partially shut behind them.

Martha finished her dinner, then peered around the empty room. There was no tree in their home, and only minimal decorations. It was a house still in mourning.

She felt as though she shouldn't be here- the house was empty without Moritz filling up the space with his awkward shuffles and stammering voice and nervous, shy smile. Martha looked at the front door, wondering whether she should leave now that she had the chance. It was still cold, but maybe she'd find somewhere to spend the night. At this point, she'd even be willing to put up with Ilse and her wild companions if it guaranteed Martha a warm place to sleep. Still, she shouldn't leave without saying thank you. Martha was grateful for the dinner Moritz's mother had given her, and it wouldn't be right to leave so abruptly.

She crept over to the room where the parents were speaking, and paused just outside of the door when she heard her name. She listened as Frau Stiefel went on.

"Not even a coat! It's snowing outside, did you see? And something's wrong with her- I heard her crying outside earlier."

He just shook his heavy head. "What can we do? We're not her parents-"

"And that's another thing. There is something very awful the matter with Herr Bessel. What kind of parent would treat their child the way he treats her? Don't her parents realize how fortunate they are to have her!? How can they treat her so badly?"

She sounded close to tears, and Herr Stiefel comforted her. "Shh… I know how you feel, but is there really anything we can do?"

"There must be something! I am not sending her back to that house-"

"They don't want me back." Martha said, pushing the door open. They both turned to her, taken by surprise. Frau Stiefel was in her husband's arms, but she stepped away to address Martha.

"Wh- what do you mean, dear? Of course they want you back."

"No they don't. Really, my father said he'd kil- he doesn't want me back."

"Well…" Frau Stiefel looked to her husband, whose brow was furrowed. He glanced at Martha a moment, a deep sadness and indescribable sympathy in his eyes. Startled by his expression, Martha looked away, focusing on her shoes.

"Stay here." It was unexpected, and Martha's gaze shot back to Herr Stiefel's face. He looked at his wife, who returned his gaze with a grateful look.

"But are you sure?" Martha was taken aback by this compassionate offer, but didn't know if it would be right for her to accept it.

"Yes. Yes, my child, you must stay the night at least." Frau Stiefel was warming to the idea. "We'll prepare Mor- the spare room for you, and you can stay the night."

"If it's not too much trouble…" Martha was hesitant, but praying that they'd let her stay.

"We offered, didn't we? You can stay the night- longer, if you need." Martha looked into Herr Stiefel's eyes, suddenly fearful of any other possible motives. But no, he wasn't her father, he wouldn't lay a finger on her. There was only genuine kindness in his eyes, and perhaps a wish for redemption. Frau Stiefel's smile reassured her of the safe offer, and Martha let herself be led up the stairs. A hot cup of cocoa, a borrowed nightdress, and Martha was tucked into bed, safe and warm.

And that was how, one Christmas Eve, a new child entered the Stiefel's lives. A child they saved from abuse and fear, a child that saved them from loneliness and sorrow.

Martha had a new home.

Is it me, or did that end abruptly? Forgive me if it did…

Believe me, I hadn't planned on writing a fic like this. I had hoped to write a Hernst-y little holiday fic. But then, the idea for this came along and I decided to risk all and go for it.

-hangs her head with an ashamed sigh-

I know I didn't meet the challenge requirements. I didn't post on Christmas Day. But should anyone be able to overlook that, I'm hoping (please?) for a review? Anyone? Kind, or even harsh words of advice?