I'm gonna wait out past the shadows
And breathe the bitter taste
I'm gonna drink the lonely down, the lonely down
Let the current take me over

Until The Levee

Chapter One

Night bleeds blue sky black with a blush of red dusk at the horizon. The Earth, forever trapped in a dichotomous love affair between night and day, turns away from the sun to favor its cosmic opposite. There is only a sliver of her, the curve of a celestial archer's bow concaved by shadow. The spray of stars around her act as a mirror of the city lights below. Manhattan spires rise like they ache to puncture the very heavens, halted only by human limitations - all except for one, the Eyrie building, which disappears above the clouds.

It is here that what remains of the Wyvern clan awakens.

Stone skin showers from renewed gargoyle flesh in an explosive transition from slumber to consciousness to the tune of a fatigued growl softening into a yawn. Goliath stretches, rolls his neck to try and release the ever building tension accumulating there, knowing full well that it will not make a difference. One hand threads four taloned claws into a mane of black hair peppered gray at the temples, shaking dust of stone sleep free. The other hand comes instead to his face, rubbing at two still closed eyes, then pinching the bridge of his nose between them. He takes a long, deep breath, wings extending on either side, and releases the breath from his mouth in a cloud of warm steam that curls like smoke toward the sky.

Another winter is sinking its icy fingers into the heart of Manhattan. For a moment, Goliath's mind trails to the coming holiday season, having grown familiar with the human custom of family gatherings and gift giving over the past twenty-two years. He is transported instantly back in time to their very first Christmas, the memory as vivid and as sharp as if it had happened only the night before. The memory is red and green: he sees Elisa, young and spry and arms full of boxes wrapped in bright paper. There is the trio wearing matching stocking hats. Bronx, chewing happily on a meter long bone with a red bow tied in the middle, and Hudson -

A surprised jolt ripples through Goliath like a large stone dropped in water. He jerks, whirling with the sound of air caught in his wings, searching the stone column beside him with a knot of panic in his chest. It immediately unwinds with a sigh of relief when he finds Hudson right where Goliath left him, leaning his weight onto a cane gripped in one hand while the other fingers the hilt of the sword at his hip.

Hudson's eyes, one scarred yellow and the other eclipsed with white, are turned skyward, in search of a moon he hasn't seen in nearly two years, and will never see again.

"You know," Hudson says, as if continuing a conversation that had never been interrupted in the first place, "It's nights like these when I miss my dear friend Robbins."

A slow, sad smile touches Goliath's lips. He steps down from the center pillar and comes to Hudson's side. Hudson turns toward the familiar sound of Goliath's feet on stone and extends a trembling hand for his aide. Goliath takes it firmly and lowers his elder carefully from the column back to the flat surface of the castle turret, only releasing him when Hudson's balance is assured by the cane.

"I miss Jeffrey as well," Goliath says. In his mind he sees the man with his loyal dog sitting across from Hudson, drunk as pirates, red in the face and swapping the same old stories over and over again. The memory warms his heart for a moment, only for a chilly winter wind to chase it away.

Goliath realizes he has no idea what happened to Robbins' dog.

"How long has it been now?" Hudson sucks his lower lip over absent teeth in thought. "Can't be more than a year."

There is strain in Goliath's face that he's thankful Hudson cannot see. "Almost three, Hudson," he says, as gently as he can.

"No!" Hudson barks, a flicker of confusion and anger building in the space between his white brows. Blind eyes search a field of darkness for something to contradict Goliath's truth. "Three years since Robbins died? Can't be. Feels like I just seen him ..." His shoulders sag so deeply that Goliath fears he might sink right to the floor. Just as suddenly his face cracks into a wide smile and he guffaws with laughter. "That ol' bastard never even saw me! Blinder than I am now, wasn't he?" Hudson slaps his free hand against his knee. "Oh, he would have liked that one, wouldn't he?"

Goliath smiles. "I believe he would have. Let's go find Broadway for breakfast."

"Ah, breakfast. Could do for some of that coffee Elisa is so fond of ..."

Goliath leads Hudson by the elbow down a set of spiral stairs but once they reach the corridor Hudson huffs and tells him to leave him be. Goliath does, walking with his wings clasped at his breastbone, matching Hudson's slow shuffle in stride.

In the beginning Hudson was hostile to any attempt at assisting him, even when it was clear that all of his sight was gone. The cane is still relatively new in Hudson's hands, his grip not even worn into its handle, but after a nearly crippling fall a few months prior it became clear that pretending he was as agile as he'd been twenty years ago was not only foolish, but dangerous as well. Hudson had become more docile since, especially after Broadway returned to the castle to live full time as his round the clock caretaker, but every day seems more and more dim as Hudson's mind wanes under old age.

Goliath's jaw tightens at the thought. He wills it away as they pursue the corridor. Shafts of moonlight crawl through arched windows, bleaching their skin white as they pass through them.

"Where's Angela?" Hudson asks as they turn a corner. "She's not been here the past couple nights."

Goliath is encouraged by Hudson's moment of clarity and wishes he could lie to his closest friend to make the moment a warm one. "I do not know. Visiting with one of her friends, I am sure."

"If we're really unlucky, she'll take after her father," Hudson teases, smiling crookedly. "And she'll fall in love with one of those humans."

Goliath's face falls. The back of his fingers brush Hudson's left wing, signaling a coming turn, and Hudson follows.

"What's with you, lad?" Hudson sticks an elbow into Goliath's side. "Awfully quiet." Hudson's steps abruptly stop. One hand flies to his heart and squeezes. "Did something happen to Elisa? Did I forget - ?"

"No, no, Hudson." Goliath puts his hands on Hudson's shoulders to calm the older gargoyle's sudden shaking. "Elisa is fine."

The hand at Hudson's heart unfurls with a deep sigh of relief but his face remains warped with concern.

"But she can't walk." His eyes turn toward the floor, searching for a memory he didn't know he forgot. "That did happen, didn't it?"

Goliath swallows hard. He nods, remembering that Hudson cannot see him several seconds later. "Yes. That did happen. She was injured while she was working, remember?"

"Yes." Hudson's brows struggle to meet over his nose. "She fell. Why didn't - why didn't one of us catch her?"

Goliath's eyes close tightly. Because I was not there, he thinks, the words burning the back of his tongue, but he does not speak them. He sees Elisa, for the second time, lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life. He sees her family crying over her, for the second time, only this time Goliath is in the hospital room instead of standing outside the window. He sees Broadway falling to his knees as the doctor explains that, because of a previous spinal injury, she cannot fully recover.

He shakes the memories away. Swallows thickly and opens his eyes again.

"Broadway probably has breakfast ready for us. Let's not keep him waiting."

Goliath hates shifting gears on Hudson so quickly, as if he is trying to trick a child, but he is relieved when Hudson softens and nods, falling into step again toward the dining hall. When they reach it they find two cups of steaming coffee already waiting for them, as well as two tall stacks of toast and an open bottle of jam.

Broadway emerges from the kitchen just as Goliath has pulled out a seat for Hudson, who reaches for his coffee, misses twice, and then finally clasps the warm mug in his hands. Chipped talons click on the ceramic and the old man smiles to himself as he brings the mug to his lips.

"Be careful," Broadway says, arms crossing as he leans in the threshold of the dining hall and the kitchen. "It's fresh out the pot."

"Ah, hush," Hudson scoffs, forming an 'o' with his lips and easing his breath across the surface of the brew. "Hot bean water never hurt a gargoyle."

Broadway chuckles and shakes his head. "Suit yourself. Eggs and bacon'll be ready in a minute." He meets Goliath's eyes across the room and his smile touches his eyes.

Goliath mirrors the gesture but his mind is too troubled with other thoughts for it to be as genuine. Even though the trio had started adapting to more traditional human clothing nearly ten years ago, Goliath still isn't used to seeing their kind dress in this way. Under Broadway's apron he wears black slacks held up by a leather belt, and a long sleeved, navy blue shirt that buttons all the way to his neck, specifically tailored to accommodate for the extra appendages at his back. Usually he also wears a hat and a long coat, gifts from Matt Bluestone and Elisa respectively, but since returning to the castle he's kept to a more casual appearance - casual in human terms, perhaps. As far as Goliath is concerned, pants and a shirt still scream P.I. Broadway to him.

Twenty years ago, when the trio would put on human clothes, it was an act of dress-up, a costume to pretend in. For lack of a better word, it was cute. Goliath found it endearing at the time. Now it is something else entirely - the trio are adults by both human and gargoyle standards. All three of them have lives outside of the clan, deeply rooted in human culture, and each in their own way have adapted to fit those new lifestyles, even though it means stepping further and further away from the gargoyle path.

Goliath struggles still to come to peace with this.

Hudson, Angela, and Goliath are the only ones who still wear the traditional gargoyle dress, the same cloths and thick leather belts from centuries ago. Angela was the last of the young ones to dip her toes in the water of human culture. Recently, she's become almost submerged. She's never gone this many days without reporting back to the castle. Goliath is doing his best to respect this - Angela is not a child. He cannot control what she does or who she spends her time with. But Goliath also cannot deny that he had hoped, somewhere deep inside of him, that Angela would have resisted what the trio could not, if just to have one hatchling to continue the old ways.

A familiar ache in Goliath's chest summons the same terrible thought: perhaps this is the end of the old ways.

He doesn't realize that he has beens staring blankly at the empty kitchen entryway until Broadway is suddenly upon him, a gentle hand resting on Goliath's forearm.

"I'm sorry I didn't head up there to sleep with you guys," Broadway says, his eyes and words directed at Hudson but his grip still steady on Goliath. "Bronx and I fell asleep reading."

Hudson chuckles around a piece of toast in his mouth, crumbs tumbling down the front of his long beard. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you weren't the same gargoyle I knew as a hatchling."

"I could say the same thing about you, you know." Broadway is smiling, but it is sad. He touches Hudson at the shoulder. "You were quite the avid reader yourself."

"Wish I still could be. Not that I don't like you reading to me, Broadway. You've got yourself a fine reading voice. But I'd like to read on my own again ... maybe Robbins could teach me that, oh, what's it called? The little bumps that he reads with his fingers." Hudson flexes his fingers in the air. "It's too bad Bronx makes a better beast than a seeing eye dog, eh? Robbins and I could just about be twins then." Hudson laughs, slapping an open palm on the table.

Despite himself, Goliath jumps at the sudden sound.

"I'm going to go check on your breakfast, Hudson. Goliath and I will be right back." Broadway's grip on Goliath's forearm has become firm. "I'll send Bronx in to sit with you."

"That'd be nice. That old dog understands me better sometimes than anyone else ..."

Hudson continues on even as Broadway and Goliath leave the room, stepping into the kitchen where Bronx is lying at the foot of the stove. There is evidence that a bacon strip was either given to him or stolen in the form of crumbs under his paws. At the sight of them Bronx's stump of a tail begins to thump against the floor and his mouth opens, tongue lolling over one side. A beastly smile if Goliath ever saw one.

Like Hudson, Bronx's age is becoming harder to ignore; in earlier days he would beg to accompany the clan wherever they went but now prefers to doze quietly at Hudson's feet. His movements are slow and careful and more than once Goliath has had to carry him in both arms up the spiral stairs to his resting place because the climb is too painful for his arthritic joints. Blotches of discolored skin have started to form around the ridges at his back, typical of a beast in his later years, and every time Goliath looks at him he is reminded of how Elisa's cat looked the day she took him to be put down (a practice of mercy Goliath was unfamiliar with at the time) - white around his nose and eyes, his thin gray body a fragile shell. Goliath said goodbye to Cagney just as the sun was rising, his finger gently scratching beneath the feline's chin when he turned to stone, and in the evening his hand was empty, and Elisa was still crying.

"Go on, boy." Broadway wraps one arm under Bronx's belly to help hoist him to his feet. "Keep the old man company."

As he waddles past, Goliath leans down and gives the beast a good scratch behind the ear with a small smile. He hovers in the doorway and watches as Bronx goes right to Hudson's side and drops his heavy head in the old gargoyle's lap. Hudson smiles, blind eyes blinking with fondness at the beast, one hand smoothing down Bronx's thick neck.

For several moments, neither Goliath nor Broadway speak. Broadway adjusts his apron and tends to the simmering food on the stove. He swiftly flips a series of eggs with one hand and bacon with the other using steel instruments Goliath doesn't even know the names of. He still doesn't quite understand exactly how the kitchen works and at this point he is embarrassed to ask; the stove, for example, doesn't even produce a flame. The temperature is changed by pushing a button. A thousand years ago, Goliath would have regarded it as sorcery, and Broadway a sorcerer. It still seems just as otherworldly in his opinion.

Broadway is surely the expert here, very comfortable, and while it warms Goliath's heart to see him at home in his surroundings again, it still gives Goliath pause to know that Broadway and the other young ones rarely need his guidance anymore. There is nothing new that he can teach them - if he's being perfectly honest, they probably have much more to teach him than he will ever know.

"Yesterday was such a good day for him," Broadway says, his voice so quiet that it is nearly lost under the bubbling of food frying on the stove. His eyes stare directly at the food but Goliath has the impression that he is not seeing it. "Fairly lucid. Remembered a lot of things accurately. Barely got off track once. And now he's back to this again, thinking Robbins is alive." Broadway sighs and runs the back of his shirt sleeve across his forehead. "I thought he was getting better."

"This evening when he woke, he was under the impression that Jeffrey had passed, but could not recall when it happened." Goliath crosses his arms and leans his back against the kitchen wall.

Broadway stares at him with wide, worried eyes. "He went from that extreme to this one so quickly? Gods." Broadway tilts his head back and sighs with such awful feeling that Goliath regrets saying anything at all. Broadway returns to the food with less enthusiasm than before, scraping the cooked eggs onto a large platter and topping it with long strips of bacon. After the stove is cleared he turns it off with a tap of one talon on the lit panel and then stands there, holding the plate, staring at it but not moving, not saying another word.

"He's going to be fine," Goliath says, but doesn't believe those words any more than Broadway does. "He is old. Old gargoyles forget things. And besides, he was very close to Jeffrey, it was very traumatic for him to lose his friend-"

"Goliath." Broadway finally lifts his eyes. They are sad and heavy and Goliath feels tired under the weight of them. "Don't. I'm not a hatchling. And Hudson is not just old." Broadway looks toward the door, out into the other room where Hudson is mumbling something to a very attentive Bronx. "He's waning. I think he's, he's dy-"

"No!" Goliath's wings snap open, and there is a touch of white in his vision that wasn't there a moment before. When Broadway comes back into focus he sees the younger gargoyle a step back, watching him with something akin to fear. Heart thundering in his ears, Goliath pulls his wings back over his breastbone and clasps them together, averting his eyes. "He is not dying."

Even speaking the words aloud feels like he is asking the universe to challenge him.

Broadway takes a long, steadying breath through his nose. When he speaks again, it is with much more collection in his tone than Goliath.

"I don't know if you've noticed this in yourself, but you have a tendency to deny violently what you fear the most, even when it's literally right in front of you. I could give you some examples, but I'm sure you remember."

Goliath's eyes briefly close. On each eyelid is Hudson and Broadway, twenty years younger, begging him to abandon the castle.

"No amount of denial is going to prevent the inevitable, Goliath. We need to be ready. I think ... I think it might be time to bring the others home."

Something inside of him feels like it is about to break. Goliath places a hand on his chest as if that might mend it.

Broadway says nothing further. He steps out of the kitchen and makes his way back to the table. Goliath lingers in the kitchen a moment more, watching from the threshold as Broadway places the plate before Hudson and hovers at his side, one hand on the old man's shoulder, talking, but Goliath isn't listening. Goliath is staring at Hudson, committing every inch of him to memory, his crooked smile and his kind, wrinkled eyes, even the very scars on his skin.

As if sensing his leader's stare, Hudson's eyes cross the room. Goliath understands, logically, that Hudson cannot see him, but the old man smiles in his direction and Goliath tries to smile back.

It is weak and it quickly falls apart.

A/N: *arrives to a fandom 20 years late with starbucks* oh shit whaddup

so i know all my gargoyles fic is very specifically tailored to my headcanons (poly&queer trio namely) but i hope y'all like it anyway. it's really sad but it's #goodshit

there's gonna be gargoyles smut sprinkled throughout and it's all gay so if that's not your thing, you know. whatever.

the title comes from a joy williams song of the same title. it's super angsty and is the soundtrack of this fic.

i've posted this fic on AO3 and honestly forgot about FF until tonight. whoops. are y'all still alive out there?