.

Crimson Claws

36.

Warren felt so lost. So infinitely alone. When it came down to it, he had no one to hold on to or at least lean on. He hadn't even had that when his parents had been alive. Of course, his mother had told him what he could do and it had helped. But she had always been too dependent on help herself to really be a mother. And his father? Well - did his not being there make it harder or easier? Hard to say. At the moment he couldn't say anything more. That's how he always felt when Zizi had one of her bad days. She had so many bad days. More and more. He was slumped on the floor in the hallway next to his sister's room, not feeling confident or strong enough to hold himself up on one of the chairs. The floor was hard and cool - that was good.

"Warren?"

Warren wiped away tears and looked up. Yes, then there was this. The necessary evils. Tonight's guard looked down at him emotionlessly. asking, demanding without opening his mouth. Why words - they both knew what the deal was. You had to keep allies warm. Even if it was unpleasant.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to be defiant and whine and say he couldn't do it anymore. Could no longer do it. That he needed a break just for tonight. But that wasn't how it worked.

"Jeah, I'm coming."

He struggled to get to his feet as the guy had already disappeared into the storeroom. Their storeroom. Tonight he didn't even have to sneak around female nursing staff. In the nurses' room, the male caregiver looked up from his computer as Warren shuffled past, nodded at him and he nodded back. Necessary evils. This guy would come to him for his share too. They were all so greedy. But he had made them greedy so whining was probably useless.

He closed the door behind him. Neither the guard nor he bothered to turn on the ceiling light. The pale light through the frosted glass window was enough. Warren saw enough. He didn't want to see any more. The adult stood before him like a wall. Which Warren didn't like. The walls felt like they were getting closer and closer anyway.

"Kneel," he said, and the man sank to the floor.

Warren stepped up to him, licking his lips to collect saliva. He hated this place. He was disgusted with himself and the men he was giving it to. For Zoey, he whispered to himself in his head. For Zoey, For-

"I want more," the guard said, and Warren glared at him even though he could barely make out his features in the semi-darkness.

"Your daddy gets more. I want more too from now on," said the adult kneeling in front of him. And the way he said it made it clear that Warren clearly didn't have him in his clutches enough yet. Warren took a deep breath. They always wanted more at some point. Sooner or later, every advantage he took from these people was like a noose around his neck. Like it had been with his mom and she had only had to work with his dad. What good was such power if it disempowered you like that?

In the corner, in the deepest darkness where the weak light from the window didn't reach, something was moving. Something massive. The guard didn't see it, he had this part of the room at his back.

Warren narrowed his eyes.

"The video will go public. You should have left me alone."

Instead of the figure commenting or lunging at him to shut him up, only one arm stretched forward. A four-limbed claw-armed hand made an encouraging gesture. To continue. Waiting. Waiting for his turn. Warren closed his eyes in suffering. Wow, he didn't think a Gargoyle would be so hooked on him after the first session. Maybe he'd be useful as an ally and he'd stop sniffing around after him in his various guises, but Warren didn't see any good in this rather private moment being observed by an inhuman stalker. On the other hand, what did it matter.

The human in front of him tilted his head.

"What?"

"Nothing to do with you. Open your mouth."

The guard put his head back, opened his mouth like a man dying of thirst. Warren felt the shame creep over him. No one should ever watch this. And again - what did embarrassment matter here? Once more his eyes flicked to the black shadow.

"Watch carefully. That you know how it works here," he said tiredly and coolly, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out the small plastic box containing alcohol swabs, sterile needles and a lighter. Since all the needles were already cleaned, Warren wasted no time fumbling around, pricked his finger and lifted it over the guard's mouth. The guard immediately grabbed it and sucked harsh on his finger. Warren hissed because of the brutal grip on his wrist, because of the teeth on his finger.

"Too much!" he spat, but the massive shadow, its upright form now blocking all light from the window, tore the man away from him. Glowing white eyes were now the only source of light. Warren stumbled back, coming to sit on a cardboard box of delivered supplies, still a little spooked.

"That's enough!" the deep growling voice of the gargoyle Goliath commanded the yipping adult, but the latter just stared at him, his pupils tiny as pins.

"Let him go," Warren himself ordered and the gargoyle obeyed as expected, stumbling back, blinking at him in bewilderment until the light in his eyes faded. Warren stood up and approached the human crouching on the ground.

"Look at me," he ordered the human, who obeyed. He had taken too much and would be completely useless for the next few minutes; he would probably have quite a headache and withdrawal symptoms for the next few days, which would be as much physical as mental. But Warren had a few moments that he would use to tighten the noose. Around both their necks. Warren put as much sternness and unmistakability into his instructions as he could. As always.

"I'm always welcome here."

"Yes."

"I'm always allowed to see my sister."

"Yes."

"I'm allowed to go wherever I want."

"Yes."

"You pick up letters or messages to me or my father and give them to me."

"Yes."

"You let me know if anyone asks about me or Zoey."

"Yes."

"I always get food and money when I ask for it."

"Yes."

"Zoey doesn't have my skills and you leave her alone."

"Yes."

"Everyone I bring with me belongs to me and has the same rights."

"Yes."

"You will obey everything but you will not remember any of this in front of others or you will no longer get anything. And you will NEVER again take more than I give you."

"YES!" the man replied with almost desperate urgency. He was sweating and trembling profusely by now.

Warren nodded grimly. "You have ten minutes time out, then return to your post," he said, snapping his fingers, causing the human to collapse in a twitching heap.

He stiffened in a way probably rarely painful for a child when a huge hand placed itself on his shoulder. He was so tired of it. Now this too.

He let out a shuddering breath and blinked to banish the painful pressure behind his eyelids. No time and no moment for tears. That wouldn't serve him.

"Okay, get on your knees and let's get this over with. But you're not getting any blood. It's -"

"We should talk," said the deep voice, which despite sounding pleasant made Warren think of something that could grind gravel. Surprised, he turned his head and looked up. Because the gargoyle wasn't kneeling.

"I gave an order," he croaked a little forlornly. God, if this guy wasn't under his influence. Of course, he'd only had him targeted a few times very vaguely and only once directly, but there should be SOME kind of docile response. In the near-darkness, the figure looming over him seemed to be smiling. At least that's what his voice sounded like. Warren was getting scared.

"The petrification seems to be hindering your gift somewhat. I can feel myself wanting to follow your words. But - it's not a compulsion."

"Oh," Warren breathed. "I hadn't thought of that."

If he had thought it was discomforting to use his powers, it was nothing compared to facing someone who knew about his powers and whom he still couldn't control. Goliath (Grant). What was he supposed to do?

More meek than he had been for a long time and feeling like a naughty child again in an unpleasant way, he grasped at straws.

"I - I have the video. If I disappear - if something happens to Zoey-"

The gargoyle grumbled but it didn't sound angry. More like ... some kind of inherent gargoyle sigh.

"Just talking, Warren. We have a stalemate." At Warren's puzzled expression, he elaborated. "That means we're at a dead center in our conflict and we need to talk. Just talk. You're pale, I think some fresh air would do you good. Let's go outside."

"In this form?" Warren asked and the gargoyle chuckled.

.

.

-A few minutes later, Warren was on a bench in nearby Central Park, Grant Turnbull next to him. Warren had gotten a Coke and the disguised gargoyle was sipping an iced tea from a can - which Warren thought was kind of funny because someone that huge, whether human or gargoyle, shouldn't be drinking something so sweet and droll. Then again - what was the go-to drink for giant famous gargoyles he was extorting in passing? In addition to the drinks, Goliath had taken a round, tall metal canister out of the bag he had been carrying, but didn't open it.

"Thanks... for the flight," Warren commented, not knowing what to say. So he drawled. "Zoey would have loved that, she thinks you guys are cool. I'm sure she's already quizzed Ms. Elisa about her uhm... boyfriend?"

"I'm sure she has," Grant said, his smile doing something captivating with his face. And his eyes were warm and Warren wanted to move closer to him, but this wasn't a get-together that was about his comfort. It never was, was it?

"I think..." Goliath said slowly and softly, visibly weighing every word, "-it would do us both good to play with open cards."

Warren snorted in amusement and shook his head.

"You don't have many cards I don't already know. What do I get out of the deal?"

"A sympathetic ear. Maybe someone to help you without you having to manipulate them into clearly dubious and brittle servitude with your talents," Goliath replied without sounding the least bit miffed at Warren's snottiness.

"I don't want to use those powers to serve you. I'm no one's tool," Warren whispered, noticing how his finger ran over the sharp edge of the can's drinking hole. How easy it would be to cut himself. Enough blood and he could flick it at Grant, even as a disguised gargoyle - just the smell of his blood, just the prospect of it, sent some of his servants into drooling obedience.

"We both know that's not true, I saw your face in the storeroom. This expression did not stem from the elation of power but from powerlessness and sorrow. And I don't want to exploit your ... gift for my own benefit. Rather, I want you and your sister to live without you having to use it."

Warren stared at the current-human with wide eyes. Before he blinked and looked to the side, embarrassed.

"My mom always said her own mom and before that grandma's dad could do so much better. Great-grandpa even with men and women, not just one sex or the other. He tricked himself and his whole family with blood, sweat and tears out of Sachsenhausen - that was a prison for Jews in Germany- and made the Nazis pay for everyone's passage to America. But with every generation ... I think that skill just gets lost little by little. Fleeting, fragile, whatever you call it. But isn't it like I want to do it! I HAVE to do it!" he defended himself and the thought crossed his mind that every criminal makes excuses like a petulant child.

Was this a good cop-missing bad cop interrogation before he was thrown in jail? What kind of punishment was there anyway for someone who manipulated dozens of people, basically stole from them and who ... had done other things. Would he even be sent to a normal prison or a research institute? Even if his gift wasn't strong, it was very useful in the eyes of certain people. His mom had told him to be careful. Take advantage of others before they take advantage of you.

"What's going to happen to me now!" he exclaimed more shrilly than he meant to, panic rising. A large paw that shouldn't feel so reassuring and comforting was gingerly placed on his head.

"I have no intention of having you locked away. I have no intention of turning you over to anyone, if that's what you're thinking. Provided we're open with each other from now on. Let's start here. That's a small price to pay, isn't it? Talking to each other - as equals."

Warren felt himself smiling up at him, probably rather wryly.

"I am a child. Adults don't consider me their equal. Anyone who talks like that is lying."

"Try me," Grant replied with a cheeky grin that also morphed Warren's smile into something less painful.

"I'll start," Grant offered (Warren had by now decided in his head to always call him Grant as a human and Goliath as a gargoyle), stretching out his legs, which were now in nice shoes that he had also brought with him. The rest of his clothes had been tailored from the start so that he could slap inconspicuous strips of cloth in front of his wings and tail hole.

"Now that I have seen your skills at work, it is much clearer to me how you have been able to control me. Let me guess. Saliva in the water you brought me. I hope only saliva. And I'm assuming ... at some point you brought every male employee in the facility something to drink - thoughtful as you are. And it got easier from there. You probably gave me commands like: 'Reveal your biggest secret on camera.` Which is why I removed the stripe from under my tongue and became human. And you told me to play this ... uhm infamous role in this video and then go to Times Square in a daze and wake up there."

Warren felt embarrassed heat in his face and ears, lowering his gaze to avoid looking at his victim.

"This transformation was really a surprise. How does it work that even your hair gets shorter when you transform?"

"One of my nephews is a bit magic. And his teacher thought it was amusing. So he paired it with the stripes. It would be much more useful if shoes appeared on our feet. But we all refuse to push the boy into performing his spells. Apart from the fact that it can be dangerous ... no one should feel valued just because they are useful to others. That is not the way of the Gargoyles. About the video-?" Grant said with a smile in prompting. He had, of course, recognized the cheap attempt at distraction. Warren yet again avoided looking at him, his short-nibbled fingernails holding his attention as he scratched at his cuticles.

"I thought the - the video was gross myself. But adults react strongly to things like that when it looks like children are being hurt. I ordered Mr. Murray to tell me what we should play to make you look really bad. He even said I shouldn't wear any underpants on the video but that was too crass for me. I mean, I'm not stupid, I know what's sexual and what's not and - no, that would be too bad."

"Ahhh the good Mr. Murray. Yes, as an actor he certainly had a notion. And he played the father really convincingly. What was his instruction from you for that?"

" He ... should ... just be a good father. Gentle and lenient but um, with fair rules. And hugs! But the hug was weird for me. But he played it well. That's why I chose him- even though he sometimes forgets my orders not to do drugs if I don't see him often enough to manipulate him. I mean- that addiction was there before me- hard to beat."

Grant nodded understandingly, and the mild, compassionate look he gave Warren tightened the kid's throat. Warren wasn't even surprised that his counterpart knew that this man hadn't been his father. He rubbed his shoulder and scraped his shoes in the gravel. They were already a little scuffed - he would ask one of the men under his influence for money to - no! Grant had implied he would only let him off the hook if he stopped. But how was he supposed to survive? How was he supposed to be there for Zoey? Everything here was unpleasant and forced. But ... It felt good to talk somehow. To confess, even if there was no absolution.

"You're lodging with him?" Grant asked, and Warren bared his teeth and spat:

"I will not set foot in a place of one of my thralls!" then shrank under Goliath's surprised gaze. "I mean uhm- that would make me too vulnerable- too tangible. I mean- they're dependent on me but what if they become so i-impervious to my commands that they overpower me... and shackle me and ... all my bodily fluids work ... more or less good- but blood the best. What if they uhm tap me and-"

"Thralls'" Grant repeated thoughtfully, probably partly to pull the boy next to him out of this terrifying spiral of thought. "I've read that before. The servant of a vampire?"

"I'm not a vampire. The others are! They always want more so I can keep control. But thrall is a better word than others so why not. My mom called it that," Warren muttered.

"Uside-down vampire," Grant mused, remembering Mr. Ezra's words.

"Yeah, or that," Warren whispered, sheepishly, before continuing. "Uhm, about the video again. I'll delete it. I just wanted to scare you into leaving us alone. It was a prank - sort of. I like pranks - well, I used to like them when I was kid enough to do them. But ... i think even if i wore underpants ... Adults imagine their share. That ... uhm- sorry."

"Thanks Warren. I'd appreciate it if you could delete it. This video. If it goes public. The acceptance of my family, my clan, all of my kind and even the safety of our human friends - everything would be at risk. It could lead to a new genocide of all Gargoyles."

Warren jerked his head up and Goliath didn't want to explain what genocide was. But Warren knew.

"Like in your book!" he said as horror crept over his features. "That - I didn't want that. Oh God. Sorry," the child whispered. He couldn't stop the hiccup in his throat or the swiping of his hand against his nose. Grant put a hand on his shoulder, and Warren might not realize it consciously, but he leaned into the touch. When was the last time he had been touched in a real, honest way (apart from his sister)? A touch that didn't demand anything.

"It's okay, it's okay. I believe you," Grant confirmed softly.

"I read... your book in the library. That the humans killed your clan. And yet you went on. That ... How?"

"I was not alone. I had others who needed me - just like you have Zoey. They needed me and I needed them at least as much. We all kept going. I held on to Hudson and the trio and even Bronx. And they relied on me. We tried to fill the emptiness inside each other. It always hurt and it always will. But grief that you share becomes ... bearable. I had a clan to be there for. If I had fallen apart like I wanted to - my sons would have had no compass to guide them. They lost all their other fathers and mothers in one night. They all lost their childhood that night. ... When do you think you lost yours?" wondered Grant gently.

And Warren crumbled. He broke into helpless, breathless sobs, and though he tried to force the tears not to spill with clenched fists rubbing his face, they did. He welcomed the huge arms that embraced him and pulled him onto a warm lap. He wrapped his arms around a broad neck that he almost couldn't grasp despite the human shell, smelling stone dust and eternity on this being that was as good as it was gigantic, even through the tunneling despair and snot.

Yes, Warren was more powerful than he realized. He had perhaps dozens of Thralls spread across the city. He was thus connected and his command and his needs were met in dubious ways only a child could devise. If he grew more into his abilities, became more nefarious - he could become the god of his own cult. But Warren wasn't nefarious. And he didn't wanted to be, wasn't yet broken and hardened enough by his misfortunes to be.

But what Warren Hill kept going wasn't real. The men (obviously he could only control men) didn't know him, didn't want to get to know him on their own, only gave him what he demanded. But never what he craved. They were just puppets who temporarily did his bidding. They helped him to maintain an illusion. Where in truth he was all alone. Nobody cared about him. At the latest when his sister died.

"I want to be a child so much," Warren whispered. Words that struck Grant painfully.

"I know. I know, little warrior. Sometimes fate has other plans. Plans that put us to the test and are so bitter that we think it will tear us apart - sometimes quickly, sometimes agonizingly slowly. Loss hurts. Loneliness hurts. We all have the ache to belong, to connect with others in a real way, to be recognized and loved. But if you only push others away, you will never find the true allies and friends you deserve."

"I don't deserve anything. I have ... not done many good things. Maybe it's my fault Zoey is sick. Maybe it's my punishment. Everything."

"No! The people who should have protected and cared for you, you and Zoey, failed you. No amount of time or healing will ever change that. But ... if you allow yourself to give others another chance-. People who aren't under your deceptive ban. Maybe they'll surprise you."

"Or they'll leave and betray me again."

"You'll never find out if you don't reach out to them first. You're afraid to trust others after you've been hurt so many times. But just as there are people who hurt you, there are those who want to help you. Who are on your side. Trust requires faith and involves risk. It's not fair that you carry this burden of reaching out to others first - all the burdens on your young shoulders are not fair. But it is what it is and only you can decide when or if you ever trust ... and love again."

"You said -"

"Yes?"

"That you helped each other. To fill the void."

"Yes," Grant stated, feeling sorrow welling up inside him. He had told the truth because the boy in front of him had earned nothing else. But Goliath's loss, though numerous, was not comparable to Warren's. Precisely because of that truth:

"Who fills my void? When Zoey is no more. No one will be left."

A shuddering breath escaped the gargoyle.

"No one?" he breathed hoarsely.

Grant clutched the child to his sternum, cradling him for a long time, letting him cry and sob to the point of exhaustion, tensing with rage at what he'd had to endure. And when he finally answered Grant's question about when he thought he had lost his childhood, it was not one of the answers Grant had thought of. Not when his mother had almost died in the towers. Not when she had come back crippled from the hospital and he himself, barely six years old, had taken more and more care of her. Not on the nights when his parents had argued so loudly that the old landlord had heard them four floors below. Not when his sister had fallen ill and got sicker and sicker. Not when he and his father had come back from shopping to see a body bag being carried out of their apartment. Goliath had three millennia of experience in not letting dismay show. After all, as mentioned, trust required faith in others and always involved risk. He just nodded as he learned the answer to his question, holding the emotionally exhausted child, who apologized dozens of times over and over again, and stroking his hair until he was quiet and numb with exhaustion. An then his question again.

"Who will fill my void? When no one is left? I know, Zoey will die without a miracle. And please- no comforting me with adult lies. I know it. Then how do I fill the void? What ... Who will hold me together?"

Grant - still shocked but not overly surprised by Warren's confession - let him slide off his lap and wipe his snot.

"We'll think about that when it - if it comes to that," Grant finally managed to say. And yet it was the wrong thing to say, even though he had already made the decision in his head as clearly as the full moon shone brightly. Warren's face shut down, was once again frigid and defensive, too old for his age and though he no longer cried, hurt in a way Goliath didn't understand. Because he didn't believe him. Because Warren thought his "We'll think about it later" was a cop-out.

"Warren," Goliath began, a large arm outstretched towards him as he stood up from the bench, his legs visibly unsteady.

"Am I under arrest?" the boy asked with red-rimmed eyes and a stubborn expression. Hands clenched to fists.

"No," the gargoyle replied after a small eternity where they just stared at each other.

"Then ... I'm leaving now."

"I will ... take care of your father," Goliath said, as final proof that he was serious about being more of an ally than an obstacle. Warren needed to learn to trust. Goliath was patient.

Gulping audibly, Warren cracked a weary smile. Patronizing.

"Okay," he said, and walked away. Goliath remained sitting lonely on the bench, emotionally raw and numb himself.

He saw with regret that he had forgotten to mention the silver canister of Broadway's extremely tasty stew he had brought for Warren. In the Dark Ages, clans and warriors who formed an alliance had eaten together. A feast as a sign of trust and to show mutual care. That was what Hudson had done with Prince Malcolm back then. After all, if you can't beat them - join forces with them. That was timeless wisdom. He would not leave this boy to his own devices. Warren Hill would be Clan - even if he didn't know it and didn't want to believe it.

.

.

An hour later, Goliath broke into the Hills' deserted apartment through one of the skylights. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he had to follow the faint scent that he had already recognized as a human during his visit and had written off as a dead mouse. Now as a gargoyle he smelled it more clearly. And it was so much more disturbing.

He found the flap between the shower and the bath, which was barely noticeable because of the wood paneling, opened it and pulled out the heavy black bag. The answer to question he had asked Warren. There were probably more than five layers of overlapping thick plastic, tied bombproof with silver armor tape, and it even held up to his claws as long as he was careful. As he loaded the weight onto his shoulders, the contents shifted with the disturbing sound of rustling pebbles. Warren Hill must have scoured all the supermarkets in the area dozens of times for road salt and rice and shoveled immense quantities into the sacks. After all, rice and salt absorbed liquid and odors. A human corpse could excrete a lot of liquid and odor in more than six months.

No wonder it wouldn't have been an option to stay here even if he had made Mr. Ezra his thrall. With the corpse of his own father, whom he hadn't been able to get out of the apartment. Warren hadn't gone into detail. His father had become too greedy. After the death of his mother, whom Calvin Hill had even supplied on the road with her blood, which she had sent dried in portions to certain locations. Away from her and her children, even if only for a few weeks at a time. That system had collapsed after her death, her husband now a highly addicted Thrall without a master. Warren hadn't had enough blood or power to tame him and get him under control.

But it had only taken one shove when the man had drunkenly gone after his own child, perhaps to shackle him - as Warren had mentioned with terror in his eyes - and let him bleed out. A shove and a sharp table edge. Goliath took off with the remains of Calvin Hill, bedded in salt and rice, to deposit him where Warren and Zoey would never have to think of him again. And in shouldering the weight of the bag, he was also taking the burden off of Warren, that had haunted him for months.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.