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.