signed_sabrina | (no subject)

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Once a month, Sabrina sleeps at Leviathan, for her turn on the weekly overnight shift. It usually falls on a weekend, but she's leveraged her assigned shift last Friday night for tonight, a Tuesday. She expects no trouble; winter break has already started, and the solstice has passed. Nothing in the store seems particularly likely to escape; nothing has tasted human flesh so far as she knows.

When she bundles herself onto the air mattress in the back, after setting out all of those little projects that require someone to be here overnight-- some of them, she suspects, needing a magical presence nearby to develop-- Sabrina really, truly thinks that the worst of her problems is that she has to be awake at 5:30 for a morning shipment of particularly fragile teeth.

She falls asleep quickly, with Salem a warm and comforting weight against the small of her back.

Her phone alarm goes off at 5:30 as planned, but even as Sabrina rubs her eyes and reaches for it, something feels off. Why is it so far away? Is Salem feeling particularly large and lumpy beside her?

The next few observations come quick-quick-quick. Her phone is too big, and it doesn't recognize her face. The hoodie she's stolen from Charlie and the pajama bottoms she's stolen from Rosie are also too big, and she ends up in a tangled mess on the floor, panting and unsure.

Moments later, when she's keyed in her passcode and is using the camera to look at herself, it comes together. "Fuck," she says, and winces at the small, piping voice that comes out. "What am I, five?"

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Sort of an emergency is still enough of an emergency to make Marcus worry, so when Sabrina texts him early in the morning -- he's been awake for about fifteen minutes already and has a mug of tea in hand -- and asks him to come to Leviathan, he gets into the truck after whispering a quick goodbye to a still sleeping Dan.

He doesn't speed exactly, although he worries less about the posted limits given how early it is. By the time he gets to Leviathan, he's convinced himself she's trapped by some flesh eating creature or other, though he should really know better, and Marcus raps on the door of the shop sharply, peering inside.

"Sabrina?" he calls.

Sabrina emerges from where she's been piling books like a small staircase to get on top of the counter with the registers. Though she's managed to charm the pajama bottoms to fit, her magic had fizzled out a little after that, and the hoodie hangs like a dress that's too big.

"Hi," she says, making a face at the sound of her voice. "It's me. Something happened, and I'm sure it'll pass any time, but I've got a shipment of teeth coming in soon and I don't think the delivery guy is going to let me sign while I'm like this."

Can she sign? How's her motor control like this?

"Your sort of emergency is that you need me to sign for teeth," Marcus answers, staring at possibly the sweetest thing he's ever seen, Sabrina smaller than he's ever seen her dressed in a too big sweatshirt and pajama pants.

"Oh, you've at least a week like this, duck," he tells her, trying hard not to grin and failing utterly. "At least you remember Darrow and all the rest of it. I certainly didn't when it happened to me." And he had been a sullen, angry thirteen-year-old. Sabrina is much younger than that.

"Can I pick you up? I really want to pick you up."

"I may be five," Sabrina informs him, "but I still have a job, and the job means a tooth delivery. They'll let you sign. They aren't exactly the most..." She can't find a word to replace legal and so she doesn't. "And a week?"

Maybe it's a little whiny, considering she remembers when this has happened to other people, but a week seems like an absolute eternity.

"I might be six," she acknowledges after a moment, and then, after another moment, she lifts her arms up, stepping forward to allow Marcus to lift her up.

"Five or six is still too young for a job," Marcus answers as he crouches and lifts Sabrina up onto his hip, grinning at her. "But I'll sign for your teeth and then I think we ought to find someone who can take over your shift for you. I don't want you staying here on your own like this."

She's far too young, even if she isn't really. Someone is bound to take advantage of that.

"You're adorable," he says. "I'm allowed to say that, right, as your father? You're absolutely the cutest thing I've seen."

"I'll text Sage and Sunshine," she answers, and though she always thinks it sounds like a cleaning service, they're a lovely queer couple who are particularly likely to cover Sabrina's shifts. "I can still text." What might pass for any of her usual sass is just a bit wavering right now.

Pulling her phone back out of the huge pocket on her front, she does so.

Round, dark eyes peer up at Marcus, and she finally smiles a little. "You're my dad," she agrees. "So you're allowed to say it. I'll make a list of who's allowed to say it." Salem meows nearby, and she sighs. "Just be glad you didn't get turned into a kitten."

"That's a good point," Marcus says to Salem, toting Sabrina around the store as he waits for the delivery of teeth. "And it's lucky you remember who you are and everything about Darrow. When it happened to me, I had no idea where I was or who anyone was and I was a very angry thirteen-year-old."

He grins, remembering, although it hadn't been at all fun at the time.

"I was very mean to a lot of people who didn't deserve it, but in my defense, I was quite frightened. I didn't trust anyone."

Sabrina allows herself, after a moment, to wind her arms around Marcus's neck. She can remember Ambrose carrying her around like this, her most reliable chariot at this age, and she can remember, with a bit of a pang, wondering what it would be like to have her father carry her.

Well, now she knows.

The thought is a bit sudden and overwhelming, especially when paired with Marcus's words. She hides her face against his shoulder. "Because nobody treated you right back then," she says, and after a moment, with a stubborn quaver, "I would never forget you."

"No, they didn't," Marcus agrees. There had been a lot of anguish carried over that for a very long time, sometimes even now, he knows he hasn't let go of it all, but the people in his life have helped him come a long way toward it.

He smiles at Sabrina's pronouncement and then presses a kiss to her forehead. "I know you wouldn't, duck."

At the sound of a knock on the front door, Marcus turns and sets Sabrina down to sit on a table, then goes to retrieve the teeth. The teeth. He can't quite believe that, but he signs for the delivery and a few moments later the door is locked up once again.

Wisely, Sabrina stays exactly where she's been put, Salem flowing into her lap like a feline seatbelt. She knows she's not trying as hard to hang onto the normal, grown-up Sabrina as she would for anyone else, and it's a strange prospect.

The box of teeth is heavier than it ought to be, if one's imagining how much teeth ought to weigh, and Sabrina peers over at it. "That should stay sealed up, for a lot of reasons." Among them, plausible deniability.

She sits, swinging her legs for a moment, before blurting, "You really think it's going to be a week? Like through Christmas?"

"Just tell me where to put the box, duck, and I'll leave it there," he answers, knowing if she's telling him it ought to stay sealed, it's probably for a good reason.

"It's usually a week," he adds as he takes the box back toward the storage room where he assumes Sabrina is going to want him to leave it. "Seven days, I think, more or less. That's how long it was for me, how long it was for Neil and for Angela, when she was still here. I'm not sure I know anyone else it happened to."

But it had been a week for the three of them. That doesn't make it a guarantee it'll be the same for Sabrina, but he's willing to bet it will be.

"Behind the counter," she says, though she's now thinking about the week ahead of her. "I suppose that changes things for the holiday, right? I'm glad I don't really have other parties lined up." The idea doesn't seem awful, though she's a bit worried about ruining plans with Charlie or Rosie.

That's not something she's addressing here.

"It might be nice, though," she finally says, "to celebrate the family part of the holiday. You could probably even take me into church without busting out the windows." After all, while she'd had magic at this age, she hadn't been through any sort of Dark baptisms or awakenings.

It makes Marcus chuckle as he puts the box where she's told him, then he comes back around the counter and picks her up again, settling her on his hips. She's perhaps a bit too big to be carrying around like this, but he's never had his chance, not with any child, not with Sabrina. At the moment, he rather doesn't want to let her go.

"We can celebrate as a family without having to go to church," he points out, holding his hands out for the keys to the store so he can properly lock up. He's taking her home now. Or maybe out for pancakes. "I don't think Dan or Neil or Kat are especially interested in going to church either."

Sabrina lets herself be picked up, knowing that she's also allowing herself to fall into whatever Darrow's magic is demanding happen. After all, hasn't she spent most of her life imagining Edward Spellman, the father who would undoubtedly be proud of his spitfire daughter? Wasn't there some tiny part of her that had wondered what it might be like, as she waltzed in Lucifer's arms, to have some kind of father that was proud of her?

So she lets go of being a grown-up witch and hellspawn, and instead lets herself cuddle into Marcus's hold, tucking her golden head under his chin.

"You know we'd all go to the church if you wanted," she says. "Even Salem. He says it would burn his paws but I'm not so sure."

"Well, whether or not it's true, I wouldn't want either of you having to go anywhere you're not comfortable," he answers with ease as he looks around the store. While God is important to him in many ways, has been a defining influence in his life, Marcus understands his relationship with God is an exceptional one. And God has little to do with the church itself, after all. He just likes how the building feels.

"Is there anything else you need before we get out of here?" he asks. "We'll have to get you something properly sized for you to wear while you're like this."

"My bag is in the back room, with my clothes and a few other things," answers Sabrina. She looks down at the hoodie and pajama pants, flapping the too-long sleeves with visible amusement. "I guess it would be easier to buy it. My magic doesn't exactly feel right. I had it, when I was this age, but it's not going to work like it should. Maybe for a few things."

She's plenty warm enough now, but the first thing that comes to mind is the bright red coat she'd had, a staple item for a very long time. That much, she can recreate.

"Okay," she adds decisively, no less so for being small. "Let's grab my things and go."

Marcus carries Sabrina back into the other room and picks up her bag with one hand, then passes it into her arms. The truck is parked just outside and she's big enough that she can walk, but he doesn't want to put her down just yet.

It's an entirely new experience, getting to hold her like this. Like she's been his all along.

"Breakfast first?" he asks. "I'm sure we could call Dan from the truck and get him to start pancakes and bacon."

It doesn't take Salem's speculative mrrr for Sabrina to understand the reason Marcus doesn't set her down; she's feeling much the same way. Much of the irritation with the change has given over to acceptance, and maybe it would be okay to be a child for a while, to remember what it was like when her world felt so much different. She knows she hadn't appreciated the aunties enough when she was young and wishing for her parents; she hadn't appreciated that they were her parents.

Now she has another shot, with a father that actually loves her, and so she holds onto the bag with one arm and keeps the other around Marcus's neck.

"Yes to breakfast," she says. "And he's not even going to be freaked out." Then, almost hopefully, "Maybe Neil will be."

"Almost sounds like you'd like that, duck," he comments with a grin as they lock up and then head to the truck. With the door open, he slides Sabrina inside, then nods for Salem to jump up beside her as he goes around to the driver's side of the truck.

"Buckle up," he tells her, even though she knows well enough to do so. At the same time he hits the button on his phone to dial Dan, telling him what's happened and asking him to start breakfast. He agrees, of course, easily the kindest and most adaptable man Marcus has ever known, and then he's driving them back toward him.

This time, Rosie has a perfectly reasonable, perfectly ordinary excuse for missing Sabrina's messages when they come through. She's asleep, luxuriating in the laziness of having a break from school and her alarm and everything else, and she slumbers on as her phone lights up in the early-morning dark.

Discovery of the messages comes a few hours later, once she's mostly awake, fumbling for her phone where it rests on her bedside table. She skims the texts, then reads them again more closely, sending a short message to Charlie (??? better get to Leviathan) before letting Sabrina know she's on her way. Emergency is one of those words Sabrina uses for a lot of things, but hardly ever in the middle of the night. Whatever it is, it's not something Rosie thinks she can ignore.

After a quick taxi ride downtown, Rosie stands in front of Leviathan, looking through into the darkened shop with no small amount of wariness. She tries the door, and finds it locked, lifting a hand to knock on the glass once, then twice.

Whether Salem actually knows how to unlock and open doors is a bit of an ambiguous area, but when the door opens for Rosie, it's the cat who greets her, with a worried, almost-yowling sort of sound. From where Sabrina sits, having managed to climb up onto the main counter, she's positive he's just worried it'll catch him too.

"We have a problem," she announces, as soon as Rosie's properly inside and in her line of sight. "I didn't do anything, first of all, and second of all, I woke up this way." She's still in Charlie's hoodie, which is now massive on her, but she's managed to spell Rosie's pajama pants to be the right size. "Third of all, there's about to be a delivery of teeth, and I need you to sign for them, please."

She's relieved and concerned in equal measure when Salem greets her at the door, his yowl managing to sound both urgent and displeased as he trots a few steps forward. "I'm coming," she says when he looks back at her, the sudden memory of those frogs making her choose her steps a little more carefully in the gloom. Her head snaps back up at the sound of a voice, strangely familiar and unfamiliar all at once--much like the girl in front of her now.

Miraculously, she doesn't burst out laughing.

"I should say so," she mutters, listening to Sabrina run through each issue in turn with an efficiency that suggests a bit of rehearsal and practice. Though, Rosie supposes, she'd have had time for that. "Okay. Teeth first, and I don't want to know what those are for at all, and then..." She waves a hand at Sabrina. "We figure out what's gone wrong here?"

Sabrina allows just a bit of a smile to glimmer through on what's otherwise a possibly pouting face. She really hadn't wanted to explain the variety of carefully wrapped teeth-- though she's not sure it's the reputable supplier today. Please, please don't let it be a mixed box of teeth that needs sorting.

She nods, folding her legs up in front of her, a pose that comes too naturally to this particular iteration of her body.

"All you'll need to do is answer the door and sign my name," she says. "They won't be worried about matching a face. As for the other part, I'm going to guess it's a Darrow thing."

"I suppose if it can turn Charlie into a girl, it can turn you into a child," Rosie muses, her smile coming a little more easily now that she can see Sabrina's lack of concern. If it was magic, it's at least magic the other girl knows, or trusts will solve itself without too much issue. "And I can sign your name. Do you know when they're--"

The question answers itself with a knock on the door, and Rosie looks from it to Sabrina. "Here we go." She opens it, nods yes to the gruff You Spellman? from the man on the other side, then scribbles down something on the delivery invoice that looks enough like Sabrina's name to pass muster.

Small and irritated though she may be, Sabrina can't help the warmth in her chest at the sight of Rosie signing her name. She waits until there's a box on the floor and the door is closed and locked again before she starts wiggling off the counter.

"Thank you," she says, and then grins. "It feels very comforting when you commit fraud for me."

Out of probably nowhere, Sabrina's suddenly wielding a large boxcutter. "Okay, I just need to get a look in here and then we can lock up. Will you help me get back home?"

"Good grief, do not call it fraud," she sighs, leaning back against the now-closed and relocked door and shutting her eyes. For as exasperated as she's trying to sound, she can't help grinning. "No matter if it is true, in a technical and actual sense."

The small thud of Sabrina's feet hitting the ground makes her open her eyes. Even if she knows it's a change in the other girl's body only, that she's just as capable and mature as she would've been otherwise, a small thread of panic runs through her at the sight of someone that small holding something that sharp. She manages to stop herself from reaching for the box cutter, from saying something stern and patronizing like We don't touch sharp things, but only just. "Of course I'll help you get back home," she says instead. "To Marcus's, or should we go to the Kavinskys and see if someone can take us in the truck?"

Rosie thinks for a moment, watching Sabrina slit open the tape holding the box shut. "...you have warned Charlie already, haven't you?"

Click-ick-ick-ick-ick goes the boxcutter as Sabrina pushes the blade out, ever admiring of dangerous things, and she's already pulling out bubble-wrapped packs of teeth, squinting at the labels as Rosie asks her that.

"I warned Charlie. I texted you and Charlie and Marcus, but you got here first." She holds up a particular bundle, and after holding it very close to her face for a few moments, she stands back up. "There, this is the one I was worried about the most. It need to be in the freezer."

She fixes Rosie with a very strange look.

"You know, on account of the chattering."

"That was hours ago," Rosie says, regretting that she hadn't seen the messages sooner, knowing that being the first one here means Sabrina had been alone for all this time. At least she didn't seem upset--quite the opposite, as she digs into the box of teeth and starts sorting the contents, Salem observing from the safer elevation of the countertop behind her. Rosie answers Sabrina's strange look with one of her own.

"Do I want to know what the chattering's about?"

"No," says Sabrina after a moment of thought. "I don't think you do, probably. I'll just go put them away. Um, maybe don't look too deeply into the box. I can't promise what's in there or not in there."

She pads off into the backroom again, Salem trailing her after he murrs a bit at Rosie, clearly trying to impart some kind of information. And maybe there's a little more banging around, but both girl and cat emerge victorious within minutes.

"Can you tape it back up? Then we can go."

See, if she keeps focused on business, there's no freaking out. Right? Right.

"None of this is any more reassuring," she murmurs, but she's smiling just a little as she says it. She nods in response to whatever Salem tells her, understanding the tone of it even if the meaning isn't clear, and keeps a respectful distance from the box once both girl and cat are gone.

She remembers the frogs, along with all the other stories Sabrina's had to tell after a particularly difficult day at the shop, and she's not taking any chances.

The pleased, determined expression Sabrina's wearing when she gets back looks odd on that young of a face--but still right, somehow. "Sure," she says, going to the counter and gingerly opening a drawer, holding her breath as she sifts through the contents. The tape gun was knocked towards the back, and it's a minute or two before she's able to extract it. As quickly as she can, she tapes the box flaps back down, adding an extra layer once it's sealed just to be doubly certain.

Frogs and toads of all sorts really do seem to be a problem at Leviathan, though it's something management won't admit to, not to Sabrina.

Not yet.

Right now, Sabrina's focused on how strange it is that while she's certainly got the situation more under control, with Rosie's help-- she's starting to get a peculiar, anxious sensation. She knows she'd been a happy child, if prone to stubbornness and fits of pique, but sometimes the world around her had been just too strange to take.

Her stomach feels like it's flipping over and over and spinning, and she really hopes that the sudden sniffling sound is covered up by Rosie with the tape gun. "It looks good," she says, and unfortunately, her determination not to sound wavering just sounds little and unsure.

"Hopefully it holds," Rosie says, catching the waver in Sabrina's voice just a moment too late. She's seen her sad, and scared, and unsteady before--never mind the appearance she tries to put forth for everybody else--but somehow in this body it's even closer to the surface. Leaving the tape on the counter, Rosie goes to her, bending just far enough to put her arms around her.

"Oh, Sabrina. It's...you'll be alright."

"I know," says Sabrina, but her voice is still wobbly, and she absolutely burrows into Rosie's arms. "I'm sorry, this is probably really weird, and it screws up the holiday, and I'm still me, but I think maybe I feel younger on the inside too."

She sniffles.

"I want to go home, can you, can you help?"

And stay, she thinks, but she's not sure how hard to push there.

Sabrina presses closer, and Rosie holds her tight as she kneels there on the floor, running a hand down her back to soothe her. "It's weird," she says, because she won't pretend it isn't. "But you haven't ruined anything, and it's alright to feel younger than you know you really are." She can't and won't kiss her properly, not like this, but she lays something soft and chaste against Sabrina's cheek and judges it an appropriate substitute.

"Of course I'll help get you home," she says, pulling back to look at her. "We'll get a taxi, and I'll let Charlie know on the way so he doesn't come here and worry."

Charlie has a habit of sleeping light that he developed after one of his mom's stays in hospital. So, when his phone buzzes on his bedside table, he picks it up and blearily reads the message. The word "emergency" sends a shockwave through him and he's up and pulling on clothes before he's even had time to think about it.

He texts Newt on his way to the car and then pulls out of the driveway, making his way through Darrow's streets, still deserted at this time of the morning. When he gets there, finds the door locked, he sends her a text to let her know that he's there and then he waits, his heart thudding in his chest.

Sabrina unlocks the door herself, though she lets Salem handle opening it. Her legs aren't long enough to carry her back to the counter, her center of operations at the moment, before Charlie gets in, so she settles for sitting on the plastic stool she usually uses to stock the uppermost shelves.

Once he's inside and she's certain he can see her, she shoves her tiny fists into the front pocket of his hoodie, the one she'd liberated from him some time ago, that currently hangs off her like a cultist's robe, and sighs. "I want to be clear I didn't cause this. I think it's probably one of the things that just happens here. But it's definitely going to be problematic."

For one, though she has the sweatshirt and though she's charmed the pajama bottoms to fit her, her feet are cold.

"Oh shit."

The curse spills out of him before he can stop it because this tiny little girl in front of him both looks (and more importantly sounds) like the girl he loves. Just...smaller.

"Okay," he says. "So it's like...me in the summer. Sort of?"

"I'm telling Marcus you taught me a swear," Sabrina announces, and for the first time since she'd woken up, she's smiling. "Probably won't let me have a boyfriend anymore."

And then she huffs out a breath.

"Yes, I think it's like that. I mean, I hope it is, instead of being some other kind of less identifiable magic. Only it's my age. I think five or six."

"I bet you remember all of your swear words," says Charlie, rolling his eyes, and grinning at her too. "Yeah. You look five or six to me." He sighs, brushing her blonde hair back from her face, ignoring any mention of boyfriends because that? Is not a conversation that he's having with someone this small. "What do you need, Brina?"

"Yeah, you know I do," Sabrina answers, and it's funny, how all the crazy boundless love that he inspires turns to a much more comforting, safe warmth and affection. "All the best ones, especially."

She's quiet for a moment, because what she needs is a very interesting set of conversations.

Maybe, she thinks, it will be easier to tell him about school while she's in this form.

"On a practical level," she says, "I need you to sign for a shipment of teeth that's coming in this morning, maybe in fifteen minutes tops. Then I need to get someone else here and, um, I just kind of want to go home."

"Okay," says Charlie, immediately slipping into managing mode. "Have you got your phone? We can text someone to come and take over. And I can sign for the shipment and then I can take you home and Marcus will absolutely know what to do."

Sabrina fishes her phone out from the pouch of the hoodie, concentrating on texting. Smaller fingers should have less trouble texting, in theory, but she's pretty sure she's lacking some dexterity.

She manages it, though, and smiles up at Charlie, who is always adorable.

"I don't think we can really do anything until it wears off, right?"

"No," says Charlie, shaking his head. "I mean, we can hang out and stuff. But...Yeah. No. Not until you're back to normal." He frowns. "That is what you meant, right?"

Sabrina looks up, eyebrows climbing slightly. "I meant I probably shouldn't try to put my own magic on it, to fix it," she answers. "Like I can't do anything about this." She's still not sure, and it seeps through her definitely higher-pitched voice. "I'm supposed to just put up with it."

And she doesn't like that one bit.

Charlie had definitely misunderstood the question and his cheeks flush darkly. Still, he shrugs it off, and nods.

"Yeah, I guess," he says, resting his hand on the top of her head for a second, a habit he always has, no matter what size she is. "Like when I was a girl. We'll get through it."

Sabrina reaches up to pat his red cheeks, and then, just because it's still very comforting, leans forward until she can wrap her much shorter arms around him for a hug.

"I'm not exactly good at just putting up with things until they get better," she says, though it's not a new truth to either of them. "And it's a holiday too. I mean, definitely not my holiday in a religious or genetic sense... but still."

He curls his arms around her, resting his cheek against her hair as they hug. "I don't think you've got much of a choice this time, Brina," he says. "Have you told Marcus?"

No matter the differences, being held by Charlie still comforts her, and she lets herself cling a little. "I texted about it... kind of," she says, even as Salem leaps up to nudge in for attention. "Maybe that will be nice. I don't think he'll be upset, anyway."

"Marcus?" says Charlie, noticing the way that she snuggles in against him and staying close. "Are you kidding? He'll love you no matter what. Just like me."

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