Gargoyles and all related characters are the property of Disney. 
No copyrigth infringement is intended and no profit is being 
made.

This story and all orignal characters are the property of the 
author.

This story isn't my usual style. It's a bit darker, and sadder 
than the stories I usually write. But one day the phrase 
'Gargoyles protect' got into my head and I started thinking. 
What if someone else knows that Gargoyles protect, and 
needed that protection, but had no Gargoyle?

Warning: Implied child abuse.
________

Hammer and Chisel



The room is dark, the only light coming from the small window 
on the far side of the room. The walls are bare, the room 
spartan. A child's bed resting against the wall beneath the 
window and a bureau beside it are the only pieces of furniture 
in the room. A small toybox sits at the foot of the bed, the lid 
open.

In one dark corner of the room, a small figure is huddled. Soft 
sounds of crying can be heard, despite attempts at muffling 
them. Small fingers work furiously at a clump of clay on the 
floor.

The young boy wipes at the tears tracking down his face before 
returning to the clay. It is slowly taking shape, wings spreading 
from the shoulders, long hair flowing down the back. Arms and 
legs hold the rest of the form up, as if the creature it is meant 
to be crouched in readiness to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

The little boy looks up, one hand wiping wet tracks of tears 
from his cheeks. Through the window he can see the sun as it 
slowly begins to set. He has only ten or fifteen more minutes 
before nightfall.

He turns back to the clay with renewed energy, his actions 
becoming desperate, almost fervent as the sun set further and 
the city outside the window became darker.

The sun sets as the boy is still working on the clay. The 
muffled sobs break loose then, tears flowing freely. He tries to 
hold them back, tries to be quiet.

Outside the bedroom doorway he can hear an angry curse, and 
heavy footsteps coming toward him.

He gathers the small sculpture and hurriedly tucks it under the 
bed where it won't be found. "I'll try again tomorrow," the 
little boy vows. "Tomorrow. And the next day and every day 
until I get you just right. Then you can come to life when the 
suns sets, just like the TV said you were supposed to. And 
when you come to life you can stop him. Stop him like you're 
supposed to."

The doorknob turns just as the boy lets the blanket drop back 
down and he moves away from his hidden secret. "That's what 
you're supposed to do," he whispers, so softly no one, 
especially not the man entering the room with a glare and a 
harsh curse, can hear. "Gargoyles are supposed to protect us."


********