Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Sophia, Dorothy, Ensemble
Challenge/Prompt: whatif_au 19: Supernatural AU
Warning(s): AU, Immediately Follows episode The Housekeeper
Word Count: 1,602
Date Written: 16 October 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Dorothy fell silent after her mother’s joke, for once not reprimanding her for being so cruel to family members. She was still looking at her long and hard after Blanche and Rose had been left the room. “What?” Sophia finally snapped. “Do I have something on my face, Pussycat?”
“No. No, Ma. I just . . . I can’t help thinking about what you did back there.”
“Hey, nobody scares my girls but me, capice?”
“Oh, I capice all right,” Dorothy returned, “but all my life, you’ve told me stories of voodoo and other magic. I always thought you were kidding, and the one time, the one time I start to believe in it all, you finally admit that you were making it up all along!”
“Trust your instincts, Pussycat,” Sophia told her, reaching over and squeezing her knee. “They won’t lead you wrong, unless they’re about men. Never listen to them when they’re about men.”
“Ma!” Dorothy whined. “Do you have to get started again?!” When Sophia didn’t answer, she stood. “How about some cheesecake?” she asked and started walking toward the kitchen, where she had a feeling Blanche and Rose were already indulging in the caramel cheesecake they’d bought earlier.
“You three and that cheesecake!” Sophia shook her white head. “One of these days, I’m going to have to slather butter on those doors just to get you three porkers out of there!”
“Ma!” Dorothy cried again, clearly indignant, but her mother’s complaint and name calling did not change her mind or make her stop in any way. She didn’t even glance back at her. If she had, she would have seen how Sophia was watching her with a big, proud grin.
Sophia let her go. After all, her girls could cause little trouble while they were bellying up to cheesecake. She glanced back at the closed, front door with a sneer. “Try to take my girls from me, will you, Little Miss Voodoo Queen?” They had been completely right about Marguerite, but Sophia would never let them know that. She would much rather they believe they had been silly and keep on not believing in magic than to let any of them realize how much danger they had gotten into during the short time she’d been gone for her granddaughter’s wedding.
She shook her head. She’d been gone for only a few days; yet, when she’d returned, her girls had been in so much trouble they’d been about to enslave all three of themselves to a woman was supposed to be nothing more to them a housekeeper! Thank goodness she’d returned when she had or the three of them might have been down on all fours, worshipping that little, skinny bitch! She really needed to refine her spells, she thought, and make it clear to outsiders that this house and its occupants were not to be trifled with. All three were under her protection, and as she’d subtly hinted to the little Voodoo Priestess, if she could do so much harm to Shelley Long to make her quit the best thing that had ever happened to her without ever once laying a single finger on her or coming within fifty miles of where she was . . . Well, it went without saying that she could do a great deal more harm to anyone who was stupid enough to mess with her girls!
She should have put a spell on Stan long ago, Sophia suddenly reflected. She could have made the loser become a success or at least ended his marriage to her daughter a lot sooner than it actually had. But then . . . Then Dorothy might never have met Blanche and Rose. They might never have found this family with which they were now blessed. And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. She was far from being a devout Christian or even a true follower, but she knew far more than the three little hens cackling away in the kitchen would ever know.
She knew magic was real just as she knew the good Lord above was real, and she knew that what made a person good or bad was not only in what they believed but in how they handled whatever blessings or curses with which they had been cast into the world. Her three greatest blessings were definitely sitting in the kitchen behind her, and she had the power to fix them and protect them because of God and what He’d given her and allowed her to learn over the years. Just as she’d learned what she was supposed to learn in order to reach this point in her life, she had also refrained from casting certain curses on certain dickbags and all three of her girls had suffered in various ways in order to bring them here together.
Her eyes turned Heavenward as she considered everything. “Thank you for getting me here in time, Big Guy,” she murmured. She’d fix signs on the house tomorrow, all the way up the driveway and across the front of the house. No one would dare mess with her girls with magic again, and if she did them right and with enough power, the signs would last even longer than she would, protecting them long after her death which, like everything else underneath God’s golden and glorious sun, was inevitable.
There would come a day she was no longer here to protect her girls, and it wouldn’t just be because she was gone for a few days to a wedding or some other event. She would never live forever, no matter how strong her magic was, and Sophia knew that it was largely her magic and her need to protect these three girls that kept her living already. She sighed, suddenly feeling her age, especially after her travel and the silent battle she’d waged against Little Miss Voodoo. Marguerite would never darken her girls’ doors again. They were safe, but it wasn’t because magic wasn’t real. It was instead because magic was very, very real and Sophia was a far more adept spellcaster than Marguerite would ever be that her girls were safe.
She grinned suddenly as she heard Dorothy call her from the kitchen. Maybe she had earned a little cheesecake after all. She got up and hobbled that way and was surprised when the girls cut her a slice and put it before her chair along with a glass of milk that was already waiting for her.
“Boy, I still feel foolish!” Rose exclaimed, shaking her head.
“Of course you do, Rose. You’re a fool after all.”
Rose pouted at her.
“Ma!” Dorothy cried, but Sophia grabbed her cheesecake before it could pull a disappearing act.
“Sophia, Ah’m still surprised at you,” Blanche commented, waving her spoon in the air. “All these years actin’ like you believe in magic, an’ then when confronted with it, you point out that it wasn’t real after all.”
“Blanche, you’re from the South. Your people are almost as talented storytellers as we Italians. Almost,” she added with emphasis before the Southern belle could interrupt her. “You know there’s power in a good story, and besides, I never said I didn’t believe it. I said I’ve thrown out plenty of curses in my time.”
“You did,” Blanche agreed, chuckling.
Dorothy suddenly blasted out a belt of laughter. “Is that why you came up with that line about Shelley Long?!” she exclaimed, leaning forward and almost losing her bite of cheesecake.
Sophia grinned. “Who said it was just a story?” she asked, cutting into her slice.
“Ma, you’ve never even met Shelley Long!”
“Of course I haven’t, Pussycat. That just goes to show how powerful I am. As a storyteller, of course,” she added with a wink.
Blanche chewed more quietly and watched her intently from across the table.
“Ma -- “ Dorothy shook her head in amazement. “The stories you tell!”
“You know you love them, Pussycat, and besides, look at the trouble it got you all out of!”
“It did,” Dorothy agreed with a nod, but Blanche was still watching her.
“Is that all it was, Sophia?” she asked softly. “A story?”
“Of course it was, Miss Priss! What do you think -- I’m a real Witch?!” She laughed, then quickly hid her grin expertly behind another bite of creamy cheesecake.
Blanche laughed, spurring Rose and Dorothy to laugh as well. Dorothy reached across the table and grabbed her mother’s hand. She squeezed it. “And what a storyteller you are, Ma!”
“Your stories could win a prize, Sophia!” Rose put in.
Sophia smiled and sipped her milk. “They already have,” she murmured into the glass. And indeed they already had. She’d been gifted with these three women who could win no physical beauty pageants themselves but whose hearts and souls were the most beautiful gifts with which Sophia had ever been presented. She latched onto her daughter’s hand and drew a little more strength from Dorothy. She needed to be around a lot longer, after all, she was truly going to protect these girls.
“Sophia,” Blanche said, still chuckling, “never change.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that! Does she, Pussycat?”
“No, Ma,” Dorothy said, grinning and completely unaware of the years her mother had just taken from her. “No, Ma, she doesn’t.” She squeezed her hand. “You’re never going to change, and we all love you just the way you are.”
“And that,” Sophia said, poking the air with her spoon, “is the greatest story of all!”