Title: From Home
Author: Sarah
Feedback: Love it, please leave it. . .positive or negative
Pairing: TeenAngst!Angel and a few OCs
Word Count: 1860
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Summary: A bit more backstory on Angel for our RP. PM me if you want to know more.
Notes: Co-written by Mel and me, just 'cause we could. Forgive the Babelfish translation, we're both stupid white girls, and decided that even bad Spanish was better than English.
Special Thanks: Thanks Shan, Tiff, Jen, Diddy, all y'all, 'cause I you know I love you and you know why.
Spoilers: nope, none
Warnings: A little violence, swearing.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just put 'em through hell.

"Adiós mama, estoy saliendo," Angel called in the general direction of the kitchen.

((Goodbye, mama, I'm going out.))

The reply echoed back: "¿Ángel, mijo, cuando usted estará detrás?"

((Angel, sweetheart, when will you be back?))

"Un mama más último," Angel called back, standing next to the front door. "Necesito ir antes de que el papa consiga casero."

((Later mama, I need to go before papa gets home.))

Her mother appeared in the kitchen door, sighing in exasperation to see her son standing there in a wig and dress.
"¿Ángel, mijo, por qué usted insiste en usar estas ropas?" her mother asked, touching the front of the straight dark wig. "Usted sabe que encoleriza a su padre."

((Angel, honey, why do you insist on wearing these clothes? You know it angers your father.))

"Mama, hablaremos de él más adelante. Necesito ahora ir." Angel bent down and kissed her mother. "Te quiero,"

((Mama, we'll talk about it later. I have to go now. Love you.))

"Ámele también, mijo," Mama said, kissing Angel's cheek. Angel smiled and went to open the door, suddenly face to face with her father, his key held up and ready to put into the lock. His face changed from surprise to complete horror when he saw his son standing in the doorway.

((Love you too, sweetheart.))

"¡Ángel!" he shouted, angrily "¡Vaya detrás adentro ahora y cambie las ropas! ¡La gente pensará que usted es un mariposa!"

((Angel, go back inside right now and change clothes! People will think you are a faggot(lit. "butterfly")!))

Angel's terror gave way to anger quickly at her father's greeting. "¿Por qué no debo parecer cuál soy, papa?" she shot back.
((Why shouldn't I look like what I am, Papa?))
"¡No hay hijo el mío un mariposa!" Papa shouted back.

((No son of mine is a faggot!))

Angel shook her head, trying hard to keep from calling her father names, especially in front of her mother.
"Papa, nos dejó habla de un este cierto otro lugar, una cierta otra hora," Angel said, her tone low, her composure intact. "No con el mama aquí."

((Papa, let's talk about this some other place, some other time, Not with Mama here))

"¡Ningún mariposa vivirá siempre en mi casa!" Papa's voice escalated, though Angel never thought that was possible.

((No faggot will ever live in my house!))

"Papa, por favor," Angel continued, desperately trying to keep the peace.

((Papa, please,))

"¡Le deseo hacia fuera!" he shouted, "No tendré ningún monstruo en mi
casa!"

((I want you out! I will have no freaks in my house!))

"¿Papa, usted nunca escucha, le hace?" she screamed, all composure gone. "¡Es no solamente su hijo un mariposa, él es un chupaverga, un chaperon!"

((Papa, you never listen, do you? Not only is your son a faggot, he's a cocksucker, a gay prostitute!))

Rosalee was pouring over her history homework, wondering why she needed to
know, or cared really, about the first battle of the Civl War, when the
yelling erupted downstairs. Her back stiffened, her pencil frozen in
mid-air, as she listened. She slowly put down the pencil, closed her
textbook, and crept across the floor to the doorway. Pausing at the top of
the stairs, she continued listening to the angry voices rising. Papa
and Angel...

"¡Le deseo hacia fuera!" Papa shouted, "No tendré ningún monstruo en mi
casa!"

(("I want you out!" "I will have no freaks in my house!"))

The younger sibling immediately tore down the stairs, throwing herself in
the direction of the argument, her temper flaring. Nobody talked to Angel
that way. "Papa! ¡Ella no es monstruo, no dice tales cosas! ¿Cómo pueden
usted ser así que el grosero?"

(("She's not a freak, don't say such things!" "How can you be so mean?"))

"Rosalee Damita, éste no es ninguna de su preocupación. Vaya detrás
arriba," he replied sharply.

(("this is none of your concern. Go back upstairs."))

"¡Es mi preocupación! Ella no es monstruo, papa. Tómelo detrás," she
insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, glancing to her sister before
turning her attention back to their father.

(("It is my concern! She's not a freak, Papa. Take it back."))

"Dije que no es ninguna de su preocupación, hija. Ahora vaya arriba. ¡Y
parada que llama a su hermano le!" he snapped, taking a step towards her.

(("I said it is none of your concern, daughter. Now go upstairs. And stop
calling your brother a she!"))

"Ella es ella, papa. ¿Por qué no puede usted ver eso? ¿Por qué no
puede usted conseguir eso a través de su cráneo grueso?" she cried, her
anger rising.

(("She is a she, Papa. Why can't you see that?" "Why can't you get
that through your thick skull?"))

"¡Rosalee Damita, bastante! ¡Su hermano es un mariposa y él no es agradable
aquí! ¡Arriba ahora!" he bellowed, startling the younger sibling only
briefly before she took another step towards him, her eyes full of rage.

(("Rosalee Damita, enough! Your brother is a faggot and he is not welcome
here! Upstairs now!"))

"¡Ella es mi hermana, papa! ¡Usted no puede lanzarla hacia fuera! ¿Dónde
ella vivirá? ¿Qué sucedió al amor incondicional, papa? ¡Cómo atrevimiento
usted! ¡La hacen nada pero sea ella misma!" Rosalee cried, tears beginning
to stream down her streaks. She could hear Mama sobbing behind her, but
her attention was completely focused on Papa.

(("She is my sister, papa! You can't throw her out! Where will she live?
What happened to unconditional love, papa? How dare you! She's done
nothing but be herself!"))

Angel had stayed quiet, stunned into silence by her little sister's outburst, but she couldn't stay still long.
"Rosie, hermanita," she said softly, reaching out to touch her enraged sibling's shoulder. "Don't, sweetie. Think it's best that I go," she continued, looking at her Papa, who seemed to want to look anywhere but at her. "I'll find someplace to go. Been saving money for awhile now. Money he doesn't know about." Angel hugged her little sister. "I'll call, hermanita. Let you know where I am. Love you, Rosie. Mama, te quiero. Papa. . . " She trailed off, struggling to find something to say to him. She shook her head, hugged and kissed her mother and turned towards the door, not bothering to take anything with her but her backpack. She had wanted to leave her parents' house for a long time. The only thing that had stopped her was Rosie. It occurred to her to take her little sister with her, but she knew that her lifestyle was not a good one for a young girl. She wanted more for Rosie. Wanted her to finish school and become something special.

"Angel! Hermana! ¡Te quiero!"

(("Sister! I love you!"))

At first, the tears that slipped down Rosalee's cheeks were ones of
sadness, but they quickly turned to tears of anger. As her sister made her
way out the front door, Rosalee turned on her heel, facing their father
once again.

"Papa! ¿Vea lo que usted ha hecho?" she cried, her voice wavering. The
fourteen year old girl worried endlessly about her sister when she wasn't
at home. She knew exactly what Angel did out there - she wasn't stupid -
and the idea that something could happen to her older sister; that somebody
would harm her, overwhelmed her at times.

(("See what you have done?"))

"Rosalee Damita Dumott Schunard," Papa began, his voice icy, "Arriba. Ahora."

(("Upstairs. Now."))

"No, Papa," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest. "¡Usted no
tiene ninguna derecha el tratar de ella esa manera! ¡Ella es su niño! ¡Su
propia carne y sangre!"

(("You have no right treating her that way! She is your child! Your own
flesh and blood."))

"¡Mi propia carne y sangre no vestirán como una muchacha! ¡No hay niño el
mío un mariposa!" Papa snapped, stepping towards Rosalee, fire in his
eyes. If his daughter hadn't been in a raging state all of her own, she
might have been frightened by what she saw in her father's eyes.

(("My own flesh and blood will not dress like a girl! No child of mine
will be a faggot!"))

The young latina opened her mouth to yell back, when she was interrupted
by Mama's timid, yet strong voice. "¡Por favor, parada! ¡Pare esta
griterío! ¡Pare el usar de estas palabras terribles! ¡No más!" She was
crying even as she spoke, and it was all Rosalee could do to listen to her
mother, stop yelling, and comfort her. However, the girl was too far gone;
all she could concentrate on was making Papa see the error of his ways.

(("Please, stop! Stop this yelling! Stop using these terrible words! No
more!"))

Papa spun towards Mama, his hand raised. "¡Su hijo es un mariposa! ¿Usted
es aceptable con esto? ¿Usted acepta esto? ¡No aceptaré esto! ¡Moriré
antes de que acepte siempre esto, esto, trayectoria repugnante que él ha
elegido!"

(("Your son is a faggot! You are okay with this? You accept this? I will
not accept this! I will die before I ever accept this, this, disgusting
path he has chosen!"))

Rosalee's eyes widened, and she stepped between her parents, holding her
hands in front of her angrily. "¡Cómo atrevimiento usted, papa! Ponga su
mano abajo. ¡Cómo el atrevimiento usted amenaza a mama! No sirves para
nada!"

(("How dare you, Papa! Put your hand down. How dare you threaten Mama! You
are good for nothing!"))

The hand that made contact with Rosalee's cheek barely stung; it was the
shock of Mama's sobs ringing in her ears that broke her heart. When she
finally opened her eyes, she lifted them slowly to Papa, her gaze cold.
His own brown eyes bore into her soul, sending a chill down her spine, as
she waited for him to say something; anything.

"Salga."

(("Get out."))

His words were firm and clear. He paused for a few seconds, before he
continued. "¿Usted desea defender a su hermano? Usted verá cómo él vive.
Salga."

(("You want to defend your brother? You will see how he lives. Get out.
Now."))

The young teenager was stunned at first. Get out? Where would she go? What
would she do? If Angel can survive out there, so can I. Rosalee
nodded once, and turned towards the stairs.

Papa grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the door. "No, niño estúpido.
Usted se va con nada. Salga de mi casa!"

(("No, stupid child. You leave with nothing. Get out of my house!"))

Rosalee glared at her father, pulling the door open in a violent rage.
"Si! Vete al infierno!" she spat, refusing to look at Papa. She paused
outside, holding the door open, and called over her shoulder shakily, "Te quiero,
mama. Te quiero mucho. Estoy apesadumbrado."

(("Yes! Go to hell!" "I love you, mama. I love you very much. I'm sorry."))