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You stepped out of the gas station, slouching your sore shoulders as you relaxed in the familiarly biting cold of the midnight air. Your nose involuntarily scrunched at the faint smell of cigarettes in the air, but you shook off the uncomfortable feeling as you sat down.
Leaning back against the brick of the building, you put down your wrapped hot dog and steaming cup of coffee to rifle through your bag and take stock. You winced as you felt the movement, as small as it seemed, pull at your skin, irritating the bite marks littered along your body. You hoped none of them started bleeding again.
Focus, you reminded yourself. You left in a hurry, and you needed to take stock.
Two long-sleeved shirts, a pair of shorts to wear under your long skirt, three pairs of underwear and socks, and a thinner jacket than the heavy cardigan you currently had on. You still had your thin blanket, a flashlight, a lighter, and your notebook for school. Digging a little more, you thankfully found the travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner you kept in there, along with an old bottle of floral-y perfume you swiped from your mom a while ago.
Thank the gods everything was still there. Just for good measure, you patted yourself down to feel for your wallet and ring of house keys in the pocket of your cardigan. Now everything was accounted for.
With the short-lived relief that everything was as in place as it could be, you placed your bag next to you, picking up your hot dog and unwrapping it. Trying to maintain some semblance of self-control, you ignored your growling stomach and ate slower than you would if you weren’t in public, occasionally taking a sip from your still steaming cup of coffee. You grimaced at the bitterness of it every time you took a sip, but you drank it anyhow, deciding it’d be more embarrassing to go back in, much less going back in just to get creamer and sugar. It warmed you up all the same, even if it tasted gross.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and you thought nothing of it for a second. Then, it stopped, so fast it bobbed a bit. Then, completely ignoring the filling stations, it quickly turned and pulled into the parking spot right in front of you. The bright headlights directly on you made you squint, grabbing the strap of your bag and pulling it over your shoulder while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Even if the people in the car weren’t complete creeps, their headlights directly on you skeeved you out enough to want to move as far away from them as possible.
You grabbed your coffee cup, your prosthetic fingers at weird uncomfortable angles while holding both the half-eaten hot dog and the cup at the same time, but you ignored it as you stood up and prepared to walk away, or even run if there actually were creeps in that car.
The car’s doors opened and footsteps followed behind you, and you geared up to actually run away, but it was a familiar voice that stopped you dead in your tracks.
“Wait! Flurrence, wait!”
…Baella’s dad?
It was both of her dads, you realized quickly. Wingston was the one that called out to you, but it was Barktholomew who stepped in front of you when you froze. Your friend’s dad, a familiar face you just saw hours earlier, rested one of his hands on your shoulders, the other coming up to cup your cheek and tilting your head up so he could look at you, “Hey hey hey, honey, slow down for a sec. What’re you doing out here? I thought we dropped you off at your house a bit ago, what happened?”
You stood in stunned silence, not knowing what to do and not having enough brain capacity to decide. They shouldn’t have been here. They dropped you off at your home an hour or two ago, and they should have been at their own home, sleeping or even just relaxing, not here. Not worrying about you.
You barely considered running before you feel your coffee cup and hot dog being gently taken from your hand, replaced with a leathery, clawed hand holding your prosthetic one. Looking down, then having to strain your neck to look farther down, you saw Wingston, almost equally straining his neck to look up at you.
It was always weird to you, to see an adult so short, but the vampire bat’s height somehow never affected the authoritative but comforting air about him. You locked eyes with Wingston, and his pinched expression smoothed into a calmer one as he nodded.
“Let’s get you inside, okay honey?” The vampire bat began, gently tugging your hand to guide you to the car, “It’s cold out here, you’ll get sick.” Barktholomew followed his husband's words, turning you around and ushering you to the car while he kept his hands on your shoulders, walking close behind you.
“...I’m made for snow, m’not gonna get sick from the cold.” Was the best your buffering brain could come up, trying to distract both Baella’s dads and yourself from the situation. For good measure, you brought your other hand up to squeeze around Wingston’s, and you watched as he shivered against the cold of the metal surrounding his hand. He looked up at you with a side eye and a grimace, but it wasn’t scary. It just made you erupt into breathless giggles.
Unbeknownst to you, both adults seemed to relax under your laughter, Wingston’s expression softening for a second before he turned to open the door to the back seat and held it open. His tone didn’t carry the angry bite that your parents’ did all the time, especially when you even laughed near them. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Get in the car, hun.”
Your short fit of giggles died down as you climbed into the car, almost leaning into Barktholomew’s hands as he gently guided you into the seat. The car was smaller, your bigger size making you fold into yourself almost uncomfortably. You felt like you stepped into a clown car. When you got as situated as you could and looked back at Barktholomew, if the barghest thought the same thing he didn’t show it. He just smiled at you softly, and waited for you to buckle your seatbelt before he closed the door for you. Then, he got into the seat in front of you, next to Wingston in the driver’s seat.
The air became tense as the vampire bat started the car, slowly backing up and pulling out of the parking lot. You ignored it, only ducking as best as you when Wingston looked behind him to pull out.
Instead, you let your mind wander with the question of how someone as short as Wingston could realistically drive a car.
Granted, the shorter car probably helped, though he probably didn’t have the advanced seat settings most modern cars had. You vaguely remembered hearing that their car was made in the 80s, and it really looked like it. It didn’t even have a normal seatbelt for the middle seat next to you, just the over-the-lap one, and it even had that old car smell your grandparents’ one had.
Distantly, you could hear somebody talking, asking something. You could vaguely hear it, but you figured it probably wasn’t directed at you.
Maybe he had those pedal extenders? If he did, you couldn’t see them from here. Wingston’s seat did seem to be padded a bit with a pillow so that he could have more height while sitting, but you had no clue if getting someone to raise the seat itself would even be possible, much less affordable for an old car like this. He looked really close to the wheel, almost hunched over it with his long arms bent. You wondered if that affected something like the airbag deploying.
A hand suddenly held yours, and a claw tinged on the back of your hand. You looked up to see Barktholomew turned around in his seat, staring back at you with expectant eyes and knitted brows. Your face heated up, realizing that he was the one talking before, and he was trying to talk to you.
“Are you okay, honey? You hurt anywhere?”
Your shook your head before you even could find your words, though you couldn’t even speak anyways with how your throat closed up at the seemingly genuine worry. The barghest watched you for a second, and only when he looked back up at you with a strained expression and a nod did you realize you could have just told him everything. You could have been the attention seeker your parents said you were, probably could have even cried as you told him about what they did, what they’ve always done.
You should have. Why couldn’t you?
Gods, everything in your body hurt. You thought the cold was supposed to help with pain, so why couldn’t your frozen body make itself feel better?
Barktholomew nodded again, just as you refocused. “Okay, that’s– that’s good. Is it safe for you to go home right now?”
You stayed silent then, too, and it only took you a couple seconds of looking into the barghest’s glowing eyes before you looked down, a weird melt of emotions swirling in you. Mainly guilt, for what you didn’t exactly know, but also a horrible mix of the heat of shame and the biting cold of sadness.
It wasn’t, not right now. Maybe tomorrow it would be, but right now ? No.
You should tell him that. But you couldn’t. But you still couldn’t just lie to him. You’d taken too long, anyways, you basically handed him the answer on a silver platter.
Your feet tapped against the carpeted floor of the car, feeling your whole body tense up and shake in restlessness. Barktholomew quickly but gently reached around and brought his other hand over the hand he was already holding, trying to get your attention, but you couldn’t look at him again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, honey. You’re okay, we’re not gonna be mad. We’re trying to help. We’re not gonna be mad about something like this.” After a pause, and you still not answering, he sighed and continued, “We’re gonna get you back to the house, and you can get a shower and some real food in you, that sound alright? We’ll figure it out after that.”
His voice was comforting, his tone soft and gentle in a way you’d never really heard before, and it seemed to be enough to make you comply. It didn’t help with how he was holding your hand, his thumb rubbing against your metal knuckles in a way you’d never remember experiencing before. You nodded, briefly squeezing his hand as you tried to muffle a yawn.
The rest of the drive was a blur. You tried to stay awake enough to at least view your surroundings, but it only took a few blinks until the car was still and Barktholomew was tapping on the window you were leaning on, sheepishly waking you up so you could groggily step into their house. You’d seen the house almost a million times before from hanging out with Baella, but you were barely allowed any time to look around before you were ushered into the kitchen.
Now, you sat awkwardly at their too-small dining table, hunched over as you tried to scrunch yourself together the best you could, watching Wingston huddle over the stove on his stool as he cooked.
It took a awkwardly long amount of time trying to convince the adults that you could just eat any frozen thing in their freezer, and it hadn't even worked in the end. The two insisted that you should have a good, warm meal, and insisted that you choose something for them to cook for you. You chose a small bag of one of those frozen pasta meals, with shrimp and alfredo, and that was what Wingston was making for you.
Barktholomew sat next to you, also watching his husband as he began to hop down from the stool and flitter about the kitchen, dragging the stool around with him. You couldn’t see the barghest’s expression, but that didn’t stop you from eyeing both adults for any signs of anger. He said they weren’t mad, and they didn’t seem mad with the way he was slowly rubbing your back, but the air was heavy and tense anyhow, and it was hard for you not to convince yourself the two were mad. You let your mind wander, trying to distract yourself.
…The lack of accommodations for Wingston in their house was strange to you.
Logistically, and realistically, and any other big word you could come up with, you knew that it was cheaper to just buy a stool or steps to drag around rather than renovating the entire house to make it all shorter for a single person, and ultimately screwing over the other people in the household by making everything too short for them to use.
Barktholomew and Baella were very nice, and would probably take the changes in the house in stride, but it would still be a learning curve because of the difference in height. You supposed it helped your specific situation that your parents were also snow wassets, having to go through the same shedding process and dramatic growth every winter as you do, and having to have a slightly taller living space because of it. You were very used to crouching a lot whenever you were outside of your home during the winter.
On the other hand, you’d imagine that they could just buy multiple stepping stools to place around the house, like those steps that children use to reach the sink that you were supposed to use when you were in preschool and kindergarten.
…No, wait, you could see why Wingston wouldn’t want to do that. The idea of using children’s plastic steps sounded demeaning, even more so as a grown adult. Besides, you thought Wingston seemed like the type to refuse accommodations like that out of pride, maybe even out of shame. His generation practically had large prides and fragile egos built into them, if your parents’ refusal to wear prosthetic limbs during the winter and their scowls at you whenever you wore yours around the house were any example of that. Besides, him and his husband were adults who presumably owned the house they lived in, just like your parents. If they wanted to make renovations and accommodations, they probably would have done all of that by now.
A bowl full of pasta was suddenly placed in front of you, interrupting your thoughts of step stools and house renovations. Wingston sat in front of you, across the dining table. You grabbed the fork from the bowl, pushing your food around and watching the steam rise from the meal as you ignored the adult’s heavy, expectant eyes on you.
After a second of them just watching you play around with your food, Wingston cleared his throat, causing you to look back up at him, “Do you think you’re ready to tell us what happened?”
You felt your mouth clamp up weirdly, and your body moved on its own to escape from having to speak. You only opened your mouth to shovel some noodles into it, in an attempt to make yourself focus on the searing heat invading your frozen body.
It gave you a strange, painfully warm feeling in your chest as you could feel the heat travel down your esophagus, into your icy stomach. Your chest felt tight, like the sudden heat in your body was spreading to your lungs, and it made you almost puff up uncomfortably. Breathing out through your nose, heavy steam billowed out, eerily similar to whenever your parents smoked, and the tight feeling in your chest thankfully went away. As soon as you swallowed you shoved another forkful into your mouth, steam continuing to billow out of your nose with every breath, and you believed the adults got the message. You wouldn’t speak.
“...Okay. That’s okay.” Wingston’s voice was hesitant but sure, and it almost convinced you all of this really was okay, “Are we going to have the police at our door because your parents think we kidnapped you?”
You quickly shook your head at the question. Your parents wouldn’t care enough to do anything, much less get the police involved. It was just more trouble for everyone.
You felt Barktholomew’s hand rest on your shoulder, your chest tightening when he briefly squeezed it. Wingston continued, “Is there a number that we can use to call your parents, maybe? Let you know you’re safe, at least?”
You shook your head again, more aggressively. You wouldn’t be safe if your parents got a call this late in the first place, much less if they found out their shitty kid was mooching off of and stealing from other adults, and much much less if you were this close to showing said adults the fresh bite marks they gave you, this close to snitching on them. Your parents didn’t need to know about this. They couldn’t know about this.
That was the end of his questioning, it seemed, as they both let you eat your food and blow out steam in relative silence after that. The second you were finished, Barktholomew gently pulled the bowl from your hands, standing up and leaving you with Wingston as he rinsed and cleaned the bowl in the sink. The vampire bat held his hands out to you, palms up, as if he was asking for you to rest your own in his. That seemed to be the right interpretation, because when you did so he held yours gently, rubbing the back of your hand with his clawed thumbs similarly to how his husband did. The sound that his claws made when slowly sliding against your prosthetics gave you something to focus on.
You glanced up, and the vampire bat caught your eye, his expression a strangely somber smile, and you stayed there for a few moments. You prepared yourself for an exhausting 180-degree-turn from the kind and caring attention you’ve gotten, waiting for Wingston to switch to a condescending speech about how you should care more about your parents, how you needed to put the effort in and be more open to them. As if they were alright parents, and you were just some needy, attention-seeking kid who needed to play the victim.
But, he didn’t.
“Do you need to borrow any clothes to sleep in? I’m sure we have some in your size,”
You couldn’t even think of how to respond, Wingston’s simple and casual question throwing you off your rhythm. After a second of stunted silence from you, the vampire bat turned to his husband with the strangely pointed question, “Hey, Barkie? Could you get the– uh, some , PJ’s for them?”
You sputtered, watching Barktholomew light up with strange recognition, and it was only when he stepped out of the room that you found your words, “N-no, no it’s– it’s okay, I have clothes, you don’t have to do that–”
“Nonsense! You’re a guest! Besides, we’d be bad parents if we didn’t make our daughter’s friends feel welcome in our home,” Wingston shrugged casually, humming and smiling at his own words for a second before he let go of your hands, standing up. You took it as a cue to stand up too, following the vampire bat as he dragged his stool over to a cupboard and climbed it to hand you a fluffy maroon towel. “You go take a shower, we’ll put the clothes near the door for when you’re done.”
You just nodded, deciding arguing further would be a mistake, and walked down the hallway as quietly as one could against a wooden floor. The wood was old, creaking with almost every step of yours, but you managed to get to the bathroom without anyone yelling at you to quiet down. You briefly stopped to look at Baella’s bedroom door, the hellhound’s familiar door beside the bathroom.
…How would you even explain something like this to Baella? You’d hidden this from her for so long. You couldn’t imagine how she’d react when she found out you were taking her parents attention away from her like this, much less how she’d react to you blatantly lying to her and mooching off of her like you did for so many years.
You already knew you were a bad friend, but having to stare it in the face makes you nauseous.
Looking away from the door, you entered the bathroom and tried to ignore the guilt churning in your gut.
The bathroom was much larger than yours at home, having a large porcelain tub instead of the skinny, tall, dirty stand-in shower that you had at your home. You supposed it was stupid to be in awe of a bathtub, but the idea of having a bath for the first time in a while filled you with far too much joy. Maybe even with warm water, but that just gave you more of a chance to get sick. But, you argued with yourself, so did the pasta.
Your wishful thinking was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, hearing Barktholomew’s already semi-hushed voice muffled by the wood, “Hey, honey, you in there? I got your PJ’s!”
You just opened the door instead of answering verbally, and the barghest brightened at the sight of you, handing you a folded stack of soft clothes. “These should fit you just fine! And they don’t exactly match, but I didn’t think you’d care too much.”
“No, these are perfect, uh–” You sped through your answer, almost stumbling over your words as you got to your real question, “Hey, would it be, like… bad if I took a bath? I just– I know it’s a lot of water, so I get it if you– you aren’t cool with that,” At the barghest’s expression dropping, you waved your hand in dismissal, “Nevermind, I– I mean, it’s not that important, I just– I dunno, nevermind–”
“Hey, hey hey hey,” Barktholomew shushed you, resting his hands on your shoulders and smoothing over them, “Slow down. Take a breath.” He guided you, breathing in deep and nodding when you followed him, and breathed out with you, “There we go.” After a second, he nodded again, chuckling lightly, “Yeah, of course you can take a bath, honey. I’m probably gonna have to stay close so I can help you out if you need it, but you’re totally allowed to take a bath. You don’t even have to ask that.”
You stayed there for a second, stunned under the careful attention before you found your words, “Um… Okay. Uh– thank you, Mr. Baltazar.”
Barktholomew erupted into surprised laughter, almost a cackle with how sudden and loud it was, making you jump under his hands. He smoothed his hands over your shoulder again as he laughed, quickly pulling himself together, “S–sorry, honey. ‘M’sorry, that just–” He laughed again, loud and bright, “I keep telling you, you don’t need to call me that– that makes me feel way older than I am.” Before you could apologize, he continued, “Again, you can just call me Barktholomew or Bark, okay honey?”
“Uh– okay… Barktholomew…” The name felt weird on your tongue, used to the overly respectful way to refer to adults that your parents drilled into your brain, and the barghest seemed to figure that out easily with the way he chuckled at you.
“We’ll work on it. Go take that bath, ‘kay? You deserve it.” He patted your shoulders, pushing you back into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.
You definitely sat in there for too long.
In your defense, it was a very good bath.
The water, hot at first, had become room temperature around you. Even though you confirmed that you didn’t need your limbs and could slither out of the tub without them, you still decided to leave your arms on so you could clean yourself the best you could, only taking them off when you were finished. The water was murky with a brownish-gray tint, the dirt and grime in your fur freed by your constant soapy scrubbing, and now you just sat there, head tilted back against the porcelain lip as your limbless body curled in the water.
You stared up at the ceiling, mind thankfully quiet as your body felt light, but your trance was immediately broken by a soft knock at the door, and you jumped as you realized yourself.
“Hey Flurrence, are you okay in there? It’s been about an hour, do you need any help?” Wingston asked quietly, voice muffled by the door.
You nodded quickly, then realized that of course the vampire bat couldn’t see you, clearing your throat, “Uh, no! I’m– uh, m’sorry, I didn’t realize–” You unplugged the drain, quickly leaving the murky water to flow down it as you shakily slid yourself out of the tub and onto the mat. Grabbing the fluffy towel with your mouth, you tried to dry yourself off as quickly as you could before your drenched fur could crystalize.
“Oh, no, honey, it’s okay! I just wanted to check if you needed anything, you can stay in there as long as you want!” After a second, he added, “But I do have some chamomile tea ready whenever you come out! Just take your time, and call for us if you need any help!” At his words, you relaxed a bit, and his quiet footsteps trailed off as he walked away.
You did end up having to take longer than you’d like, trying to get your fur dry enough so you can get your limbs back on. After opening and rifling through the drawers with your muzzle, you briefly considered using their blow dryer to speed up the process, but decided against it.
After you deemed yourself dry enough, you pulled on your limbs slower than you would’ve liked, but got them on eventually. Then, you threw on the clothes that Barktholomew gave you, finding that they fit almost perfectly, but were still loose enough to let you breathe. They were shades of your favorite color, too. Blue.
Stepping out of the bathroom, you tried stepping through the hallway as quietly as you could again, hurrying this time to get to the living room. When you did, you were met with the couch being touched up by Barktholomew, and a mug being pressed in your hands by Wingston.
“Were you okay getting out? I know you said you didn’t need any help, but I know you can only wear your prosthetics in the water for short amounts of time.” Wingston patted your hands when you held onto the mug, looking up at you and waiting for your response.
“Uh–” you shook your head, wondering how he even knew that, “No, it was alright. It’s– it’s actually pretty easy to get around even without my prosthetics, so that wasn’t really an issue.”
“Well, that’s good! Oh– I hope the couch is alright with you for now? We do have an extra room, but it’s being used for storage.” He said sheepishly, turning to his husband, “We were gonna clear it out soon anyways, right, honey?”
You nodded lightly, just grateful that you didn’t have to sleep on the floor. You never had to with Baella, her being comfortable enough to share her bed with you, but Baella not being around to witness their behavior threw your expectations through the window, leaving you anxious and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It eased your mind a bit that they were still acting like they did when Baella was there, nice and caring as they could be to someone else’s kid.
The two adults seemed to be oblivious of your thoughts, though, just continuing with their preparations. Wingston guided you to the couch, softly pushing you to sit down, and Barktholomew bent down to wrap a soft, heavy blanket on your shoulders. He even fussed over you a bit, adjusting the blanket around you and smoothing his hands over your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do under this kind of attention, but your shoulders stayed down and relaxed when he stood back up.
“We’re gonna go to bed, hun. Our room is right across from the bathroom, so you just get us if you need anything.” Wingston started, pointing around the room, “If you need any more pillows or blankets, they’re in the same cupboard I got the towels from. If you get hungry the kitchen is always open, I’d just advise you don’t use the stove or oven without one of us, and… uh, what else?” He looked up at his husband, who had a fond look on his face.
“I think that’s it, honey.” Barktholomew answered, bending down again to press a kiss to your forehead. You sat there for a second, almost in a daze as you pulled the blanket further around yourself, before Wingston came up to you and cupped your cheeks, tilting your head down to kiss your forehead as well. The vampire bat patted your cheeks gently, only walking away when his husband pulled him back, “You get some sleep, okay, hun? If anything happens, you get us.”
The two adults only left the room when you dazedly nodded up at them, walking away with their own goodnights and leaving you in the silent living room, alone. You could feel your hands shaking from gripping the blanket around your shoulder so tightly.
A horrible but amazing feeling filled you, a weird somber but energizing bittersweetness. You couldn’t even fathom such fondness and care, such love from two parents.
But it wasn’t your parents.
Wingston and Barktholomew made it seem so easy, making sure you ate and bathed and calling you honey and kissing you goodnight, and it just made you wonder how it could seem so hard for your own parents. As far back as you could remember being friends with Baella, you had always wished Baella’s parents were your parents, too, but you had never felt it as strongly as you did now.
It felt like you sat there for an eternity, but you eventually sighed, willing your mind to ignore the warmth and love of it all, and instead focused on the way your body was pulling your mind under, into unconsciousness.
Taking off your prosthetics was easy, but taking the time to put them in a neat line next to the couch instead of tossing them wherever was harder. With your limbs out of the way, you curled up under the blanket as you laid down and closed your eyes.
While the heavy soreness weighing your body down helped tremendously with your exhaustion, what truly relaxed you enough to drift off was the thought that maybe, just maybe, when tomorrow rolls around, you could go back home later, rather than sooner.