Chapter Text
Gus holds up a hand and slowly uncurls his fingers, one by one. Then he counts backwards. One, two, three, four, three, two, one. It looks so easy, rudimentary. But in reality it takes a lot of coordination, managing to move your fingers at regular intervals and breathing at the same time. How does one do that? By the time the second finger gets put back down, Hunter’s still inhaling, and he should be halfway through an exhale. When he tries to repeat Gus’ trick, not only does he wheeze, but he’s also whistling through the gap in his teeth. It requires a mastery of breathing he truly doesn’t have, and if he had, he wouldn’t need that trick, would he. His sternum is once again made of stone that crushes all the air that tries to enter his chest. Except, haha, actually it’s made of wood or somebody else’s bone, or perhaps something even more horrifying, and his lungs are not his, and there really is a stone in his chest, but you know, a bit to the left. So his metaphors are really inaccurate, good thing he hasn’t shared them with anyone. That would be so embarrassing, playing fast and loose with grimwalker anatomy, Uncle has raised him better than this. Raised him as in “raising crops.” Because, you know, he’s part plant? Or, or, wait, he’s got a better one: “raising the dead.” Get it? That’s hilarious. Hysterical.
Sadly, Flapjack doesn’t appreciate Hunter’s sense of humor, just glares at him disapprovingly.
But Gus’ trick helps. A little bit.
It’s not like it changes anything. Belos is still looking for him. The Day of Unity is approaching, they can’t stop it, the human is apparently missing along with the Owl Lady and her rat, and, and Hunter’s still a knockoff of another knockoff. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the ground opening up under his feet, the corpses reaching out and trying to drag him down so that he joins them, identical among the identical decaying facsimiles. There were no hands, no corpses back there, not really. There was nothing there. But his imagination provides a lot of extremely helpful details in case he ever wanted to go to sleep again. It’s great, truly. Cool stuff. Vivid, meticulous, each time more horrifying than the last one. The rotten flesh, the gaping eyeholes, the maggots, the teeth falling out, just. Perfect. So detailed. Seriously, no notes.
But when he opens his eyes, there’s Gus now. And the Captain, and she’s not always smiling, but when she does, it’s kinda … nice. There, he said it (well, not out loud). There are dimples in her cheeks, and he might find them aesthetically pleasing, sue him.
Nothing about it is easy, and it seems like he keeps finding new ways to screw up things he wouldn’t expect to be possible to screw up. At one point, he instinctively kneels down when one of the Hexside teachers address him. He flinches involuntarily at sudden movement, and there’s that time when he knocks a cup out of the Captain’s hand by gesturing too enthusiastically. The cup breaks with a crash, and, instead of trying to clean up the mess, Hunter’s hands shoot up to cover his face from the blow that’s not coming. The Captain looks at him as if she were about to cry, and that’s somehow even worse. He mentions a perfectly normal thing about his life back at the castle, like having a place where you hide food scraps in case you fail at something and everyone’s forbidden from giving you any meal for a few days. Or being able to stitch yourself up, which is like one of the most basic skills one needs to have. Suddenly everyone goes quiet, pointedly ignoring him or, even better, giving him concerned looks. Then someone changes the topic, and they carry on as if nothing happened, but Hunter can see from their expressions that he has said something alarmingly wrong. He has no idea how to fix it, but he knows that a few more mistakes like that, and they’re going to lose patience.
The Captain insists that he’s not her subordinate, not anyone’s. Very well, so that should mean that he still maintains his status as the Golden Guard and the authority it gives him, at least for the moment. And yet it seems like they expect him not to yell at the others, and to ask for things nicely instead of giving orders. It’s more challenging than he would have expected. His first few interactions with the students go really poorly, even though the scouts would have never complained. Hunter doesn’t really like it. Either you give orders or you’re ordered around by the ones above you. Without that, it all just collapses into pure chaos, the kind he has been witnessing for the past week. The Captain says they’re all equal here. That’s an unusual idea, and it’s not entirely true. There are clearly hierarchies, based on age, talent, wealth, popularity, and, apparently, fashion sense. A number of other factors come into play: the track one has chosen, their clubs and extracurricular activities, the sports team they support, the band they are listening to, and the length of the period over which they have been listening to it. Sense of humor, physical prowess and/or attractiveness, self-confidence, self-awareness, lack of self-awareness, being new here, knowing everyone, having siblings who are well-liked. Being in one track or studying multiple tracks, but the first ones who got into multiple tracks are nerds, and the last ones are posers. In theory, everyone’s wearing the same uniform regardless of species or gender, and the only difference manifest in their appearance comes from their choice of the track. In reality, there are little markers of one’s status and affiliation, the earrings, the footwear, the hairdos. It turns out that it matters who has been invited by whom to the last Grom. It should be silly, but it’s brutal.
There are so many intricacies, and Hunter has no idea how to navigate around them. Everyone insists on pretending there is no invisible structure governing all the social relations, until you make one bad move and suddenly you’re offending someone whose status is clearly higher than yours. It shocks him to learn that the Captain isn’t the most important student at Hexside. Well, that’s just stupid. It doesn’t make any sense. What’s the point of hierarchies if the best ones don’t end up at the top?
Hunter offers to beat up Boscha to establish dominance, but the Captain just gives him a nervous laugh. The Blight girl takes him seriously, though. She says there’s a better way. She loudly wonders where could have Boscha been during the entire fight with the scouts because she hasn’t seen her back then. And somehow that does the trick.
Hunter needs the rules spelled out. In was so much easier back in the coven, everyone had a rank, you could just tell by their uniform. Yes, the higher-ups were trying to assassinate each other, but having spent twenty hours among Hexside students, Hunter thinks he would find that kind of honesty refreshing.
But, as previously stated, the breathing thing helps a bit. And of course it was the Captain who has taught Gus how to do it.
.
It’s also the Captain who basically carries him on her back as the draining spell takes hold. He shouldn’t be so pathetically weak, he should have been used to pain by now, and yet his knees buckle the moment it starts. It doesn’t even make sense. What is the spell draining away from him if he has absolutely no magic of his own?
He spends the entire fight useless, he has no idea why he’s even there. The moment he sees Belos, he’s just paralyzed. He snaps out of it briefly when he sees the Captain or Gus in danger, but that’s it. And when Uncle addresses him, he just stands there, frozen, clutching Flapjack’s staff so hard it almost breaks. He’s not sure how he stops himself from throwing up when he sees what the Collector has done. Perhaps he should consider the whole thing anticlimactic, more of a travesty than an actual fight, but the squishy sound keeps playing in his head on repeat. And if that wasn’t enough, he gets to hear it all over again in real life while everything is falling apart, and one by one they all step in the puddle to get to the portal. He does too, though hesitant, and this time the sound is even more sickening because it’s Uncle, the man who has raised him, clothed him, cared for him, how dare they, why would they disrespect him like that, how can they be this inconsiderate? How can he be participating in this sacrilege when it’s Uncle squelching under his heel, on his soles, splashed onto the shank?
So there’s no use for him, not really. All this time Hunter’s just … there, someone who needs to be pushed to take even one step so he doesn’t slow the rest of them down.
And it’s not that much different after they’ve gone through the portal. He’s the oldest one, the soldier, tactician, commander. He knows how to search for immediate threats, how to take care of injuries, how to proceed with caution in an unknown territory. He knows how to stand guard while the rest of them sleep, sprawled on the floor. He’s ready to defend them and to lead them to victory. The problem is, there isn’t anything to conquer, anyone to overthrow. Not here.
He isn’t doing so well in the human realm. None of them are, and Hunter has no idea what to do about it. There’s losing a loved one (not like he would get that anyway), but how do you even begin to deal with losing an entire world? Luz is in denial, pretending they’re going to find a portal back in the next few hours and they need to be ready and have a plan. The Blight girl just sort of goes with it, humoring the delusional human to such an extent it’s becoming absurd. Gus refuses to eat and won’t stop sobbing. Willow, on the other hand, won’t stop bustling around to acknowledge what they’ve been through, too busy making sure everyone is fed, clothed and ready to sleep at a reasonable hour. Titan, at one point she tries to shoo Hunter off to the sleeping bag. As if he intended to fall asleep ever again, given what his dreams have looked like as of late.
And then there’s the glove incident.
The third evening in the human realm, Luz and Mrs. Noceda go out to get supplies. Prompted by the ridiculously shy basilisk, they raid the closets in the meantime, looking for anything other than pajamas they could wear. Hunter snatches the gloves out of the Blight girl's hands.
“Hey! What the heck!” she yells at him.
“I need those more than you do.” He shrugs.
Gus and the Captain give him a strange look.
“No you don't,” the purple-haired girl protests. “It's cold in here, my hands keep freezing.”
“Tough luck, Blight,” he mumbles, already going through the drawers and looking for something he could carry as a weapon. He swats his hand at Flapjack who yanks at his hair in reproach. Mean to friends! Stop. Friends help!
The Blight girl bares her teeth at Hunter. It's more intimidating than he cares to admit. His hand jumps to the gloves tucked behind his belt protectively.
“My hands get cold. It’s a circulation problem, and it’s always been like that. I need those. Look, I have goosebumps right now!” She shows him her forearm.
“Sucks to be you, I guess,” Hunter just says, and goes back to looking for sharp objects. There are none.
“I was the one to find them. And they're for girls.”
“So what?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.
“So they're going to be too small for you anyways!”
“Naah,” he dismisses her with a wave of the hand. “Those are Luz's gloves, not a girls’.”
He thinks he hears Gus mutter “Oh snap” under his breath.
“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Amity asks with the kind of politeness that borders on threatening.
“Just that her hands are freakishly big,” Hunter says casually, opening the next drawer. It’s full of bras, and technically they could be used to strangle someone, but they wouldn’t send the right message.
“They’re not!” Blight’s face turns a ridiculous shade of red, and Hunter would make fun of it, but he notices her getting ready to draw a spell circle. He wants to grab Flapjack’s staff. The cardinal is suddenly on the other side of the room. Oh, so now the palisman has decided to react to the swatting from before. “You take that back.” The girl seethes.
“Fine, then.” Hunter shrugs again. “It’s your hands that are freakishly small.”
That seems to placate the Blight a little, though not entirely. She lets her hand fall, but she still looks angry. “Not too small to kick your ass.”
“Let me get this straight,” Hunter speaks with fake cheerfulness. He has no idea why he’s trying to infuriate Blight, but he carries on. “So what you’re saying is you use your hands to kick? That would explain a lot.”
“Hunter—” He hears the Captain. “Amity—”
“No, you’re right.” Amity scowls at him, completely ignoring the other girl. “Allow me to rephrase. I use my hands to hand you your own ass. For further information please look up Eclipse Lake.”
Somewhere in the background the Captain and Gus exchange alarmed looks. The basilisk girl must have vanished at some point, expert at steering clear of conflict.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hunter says with a forced calm, pretending to examine the contents of a sock drawer. His hands are trembling, why are they trembling? “But I believe I left Eclipse Lake with the portal key.”
“Because I let you!”
Hunter turns around and finally faces the girl.
“You let me because I didn’t give you any other choice,” he states matter-of-factly. “So tell me, Blight.” He flashes her a smile. “Who was the actual winner?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Amity asks, her entire frame taut lines and ire.
Way to go, Hunter. Perfect survival skills right there. All you needed to do was keep your mouth shut. The Blight girl looks ready to attack him with everything she’s got, and this time the threat must be serious because Flapjack suddenly appears next to him, already morphing into a staff.
“I can’t believe it! You’re actually proud of what you’ve accomplished back there, aren’t you!”
Hunter isn’t, but it’s not like he’s going to admit it at this point.
“You— you’ve left us at Kikimora’s mercy the moment you had convinced me to give you a chance! A scout threw me into a precipice, did you know that? And if that wasn’t enough, you’ve threatened Luz, and now you’re bragging about it! Here, of all places!” The girl gestures to Luz’s room and the closet full of Luz’s clothes.
She’s got a point, but backing away now would demonstrate weakness, and showing vulnerability is never a good idea. That’s like the second lesson during the entire scout training, it’s literally the basics. He straightens his back and tightens his grip on Flapjack. Lacking any convincing argument, he once again waves his free hand dismissively at the Blight girl, and it quickly becomes obvious that he was successful at making her blood boil.
“I let you get away with the key because I felt sorry for you. I pitied you, Golden Guard,” she snarls.
“Oh, but I thought you’ve just said you did that because you were intimidated,” Hunter says. Maybe this time he could stand a chance. “I’m afraid you need to pick one. There are gaping holes in your testimony, Blight.” He was new to palisman magic back at the lake, now he has more experience. And who knows how magic works in the human realm anyway.
“Oh, let me guess, Golden Guard.” Amity begins to draw a circle in the air, and it’s a big one. “You’re an expert at testimonies, eh? A lot of experience with interrogating witches for your uncle, am I right? Were you there for their petrification as well, or did you just watch their palismen die? Was uncle proud of you when you brought them in? Did he praise you enough?”
Hunter sees red. He grits his teeth and assumes a fighting stance, the feel of Flapjack’s staff in his hands suddenly not giving him much comfort. Is he supposed to be hearing his own heartbeat? Yeah, probably. “I don’t know, Blight. Was your mommy happy with you when you tried to get your human dissected?” He spits. Oh, this is low, but it’s not like he’s going to stop now. He’s not the one who has crossed the line. “Yeah, I’ve heard about that! Was she as pleased with her darling Mittens as back when you were bullying the Captain? Or was making Willow’s life miserable the achievement of your lifetime and you couldn’t live up to the expectations after that?”
He’s actually thankful when the Captain, unable to stand it anymore, jumps in front of him, howling, “SHUT UP! Both of you! Shut the hell up!”
It seems like the flowerpots on the windowsill are shaking. The Blight girl rears back due to pure surprise. Hunter just does what he’s told for once.
The anger seems to leave the Captain’s frame in an instant. She smiles sheepishly, and Hunter thinks it’s the bravest thing anyone has ever done. “Sorry, guys,” she says, as if she had anything to apologize for. “You’ve made Gus cry. What you’re doing is not helping anyone.”
“I’m not crying,” Gus protests, clearly crying.
Hunter’s stomach clenches with guilt, though he doesn’t understand why. It’s not like it was his fault. “I didn’t start it!” he says defensively.
The Captain looks at him with something akin to disappointment, and the knot in his stomach seems to tighten for absolutely no reason. “You kinda did,” she says quietly.
“Couldn’t you just share?” Gus sniffles.
Rrright. It was about the gloves.
“I … need those,” Hunter mumbles.
“So do I! I will not be bullied into freezing,” Amity replies.
“So I’m supposed to be bullied into having no gloves? Hard pass.”
They stare at each other in silence. None of them seem to be backing away.
“Look, I’m sure Mrs. Noceda will buy another pair if you ask her,” the Captain says. “So what you’re arguing about is just a temporary solution anyway. There are so many sweaters in here, some of them with really long sleeves. Wouldn’t that be enough?”
“No,” Hunter and Blight say at the same time. It appears the whole thing has turned into a matter of principle for the girl. And Hunter … well, Hunter just needs the gloves. He has to wash the ones he’s wearing at some point.
“Okay, so back to Gus’ idea. How about you share, then?” the Captain asks without much hope in her voice. “Amity wears them for two hours, and then Hunter wears them for another two in turn?”
Hunter actually considers it for a moment, just because it’s the Captain who’s asking. But then he remembers what that would entail. “Nope,” he decides finally. “Not gonna happen. I need those at all times.”
The Captain knows better than to ask him for a justification, and Titan, Hunter didn’t know she could get even more amazing, but here she is.
Unfortunately, Blight doesn’t have such reservations. “Why?” she asks.
“I just … need them,” Hunter says awkwardly, refusing to meet her eyes.
“What for?”
His breath hitches a bit. He stares at the floor, mouth dry and hands fidgeting. And then, as if the situation wasn’t embarrassing enough, his body, completely independently from his will, decides to bolt for the door.
They don’t follow him. Even Flapjack leaves him alone. Half an hour later, when Hunter gathers enough courage to go downstairs and peek into the living room, he sees Amity sitting in front of the TV, her hands hidden inside long sleeves. He has won.
She was right, though. The gloves are way too small for him.
.
The interactions with humans are … difficult as well. Mrs. Noceda takes him to a place she calls “supermarket” to help her carry the groceries—he’s the oldest one after all. She tells him to get a gallon of milk in one of the stalls, a simple task that requires absolutely no skill except for acting casual, not getting lost, and not yelling “HEY, YOU” or pointing an accusatory finger at the person he wants to ask for directions.
He gets into a shouting match with a man trying to offer him samples of something called cereal. Then he proceeds to try to disarm a person who attempts to sprinkle him with perfume, and finally he insists on carrying everything Mrs. Noceda has bought to the “car” himself, until he just yanks the bags out of her hands forcefully. The look she gives him makes him go numb and drop one of the bags. The vegetables roll in every direction, and when he drops to his knees to pick them up, he starts shaking so hard Mrs. Noceda grows worried. He ends up in the vehicle, panting while she looks for the potatoes he has spilled on the concrete.
Perhaps he hasn’t been doing so well for a while, even before the human realm. He didn’t have the time to think about it back then, not really. Now it’s like the floodgates have been opened. He draws in a shuddering breath. He tries to count to four and then back. Somehow without the Captain or Gus it’s not working.
“Are you alright?” Mrs. Noceda asks him suddenly, and he had no idea she was already in the car with him. Hunter yelps, jumps up in panic, and his head collides with the roof. A string of obscenities and blasphemy follows, and he should be apologizing, he should have been already apologizing five minutes ago instead of acting like a petulant child. But he’s fucking up so badly he’s unable to stop his outburst until he physically clasps his hands over his mouth and bites into a glove. What escapes his mouth now is a giggle, and it’s probably the most inappropriate response in the entire history of witchkind.
He finally manages face Mrs. Noceda, his teeth still sinking in the leather so he doesn’t burst out in hysterical laughter. She gives him an appraising look, her brows slightly furrowed.
“So I guess that’s a no,” she finally deadpans, making a slight movement in his direction.
Hunter, suddenly miraculously free of the weird urge to laugh, squeezes his eyes shut. When the blow doesn’t come, he forces himself to open them just to see Mrs. Noceda’s expression morphing into the same look he’s seen on the Captain’s face once. He needs to act now, he needs fix it, to say something, anything while he’s still breathing at all. He can’t run. If he runs, he can rely on his legs only, while he leaves the human in a vehicle that moves at least ten times faster than he can. From the strategic point of view, not a very sound decision.
He removes the hand from his mouth, sucks in a shaky breath, and straightens his back, the training and the survival instinct finally kicking in.
“Mrs. Noceda, I apologize,” he says, and instantly winces at the high-pitched note he hears in his own voice. “I do realize that this behavior is unacceptable, and I am ready to face whatever punishment you see fit. I am terribly sorry for my actions back there and for the outburst you have just been forced to witness.”
She stares at him in silence. Too little, too late.
“You have been so very kind to us, taking us in and feeding us. Please believe it was not my intention to repay you this way. My only wish is to help you and assist you in any way possible, and I promise such outbursts will not happen again.”
She keeps staring at him, and if it goes on for even a minute longer, he’s going to lose all of his composure again. Uncle would have said something by now, would have punished him, and Hunter could be on his way to repay the debt. He clenches his fists so they don’t tremble, and tries to calm down. Inhale, hold, exhale. Repeat. The human has every right to be furious with him, let’s at least face it with a shred of dignity.
Or not.
“Mrs. Noceda, I’m so, so sorry,” he stammers instead of shutting up and accepting whatever punishment she’s going to choose. His ears flatten, and it’s just pathetic. “I can be better, I really can! I know it doesn’t seem like it, and I have given you every reason to doubt me, and I apologize for that, but I can be useful, and I will try harder. This won’t happen again.”
She holds up her hand, her palm open. Despite everything he has promised himself, he flinches, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Good thing the car sit backrest doesn’t allow for scrambling back, that would be embarrassing. But apparently all the human was trying to do was signal him to stop making a fool of himself. So he stops.
“Hunter,” she says finally. “Do you often have trouble breathing?”
“What?” he says intelligently.
“Trouble. Breathing. Does that happen often? Or is it the first time?”
She has noticed. Of course she has. Now it’s going to be much more difficult to convince her he can be of any use and worth keeping around.
“First time,” he wheezes out, hoping that the lie isn’t too obvious.
It probably is, Mrs. Noceda must have noted it before. Hunter’s familiar with that trick, though it’s embarrassing how long it took for him to realize what was happening. She already knows. It was a test, and his answer was not supposed to provide her with any information but tell her whether he would respond truthfully. And Hunter’s blown it, now he won’t be able to fool her because she knows he’s going to lie to her.
She sighs. Hunter notices that for some time she has been moving very slowly, deliberately, as if to avoid startling him. That’s even more terrifying. He’s been to the forest, he’s seen a predator approach its prey.
“Okay, Hunter. What you’re going through right now is called an anxiety attack,” she says gently. “Or perhaps a panic attack, I don’t know. I think it’s a mild one, but it’s still unpleasant. I am not going to tell you that what you’re feeling is not real. I know it feels very much real, and that’s the only reality at the moment.”
He just blinks owlishly.
“What I am going to tell you is that you’re going to be alright. It doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will pass, okay?”
Hunter doesn’t understand what’s going on. It must be some kind of a trap, but he has no idea what the human is trying to accomplish with it.
“I think I have an inhaler somewhere in my fist aid kit, it’s not going to fix it but it may help you a little. I will look for it, okay? In the meantime, try to breathe slowly. Spread your arms a bit, this way your lungs can expand more easily.”
“I know the drill,” he says before he can bite his tongue in time. Mrs. Noceda gives him a look that clearly communicates “first time my ass,” but she doesn’t say anything, rummaging through the compartments in the vehicle. Hunter does what he’s told. If he has one talent, it is that.
Finally, Mrs. Noceda comes up with some weird human contraption. She slowly explains to him how to use it, and then even demonstrates it. He repeats her gestures carefully, and whatever the thing sprays into his mouth, it is disgusting. After a moment she offers him some pills, saying those are antihistamine drugs—as if that word was supposed to hold any meaning for him—but their side effect is making people sleepy, so he could take it if he’s okay with that. Hunter guesses she expects him to swallow these pills, and he does so before she fishes out a bottle of water he was supposed to wash them down with. They sit in silence for a moment, Hunter really trying to get his breathing under control, though the damage has already been done.
Then, for some unfathomable reason, Mrs. Noceda starts rambling about her patients and their owners. Then she jumps to telling him what she plans to make for dinner for the next three days, and then she proceeds to describe to him the recipes in excruciating detail. He nods dutifully, and she starts to recapitulate her favorite book. Hunter catches her looking at him with a worried expression every few minutes, but her voice doesn’t change at those moments. At first he manages to calm down a bit (inhale, hold, exhale, inhale, hold, exhale), but as Mrs. Noceda’s ramblings go on, Hunter finds himself growing more and more nervous.
Finally, she stops. For the first time in forever she looks at him directly. “It’s not working, is it,” she says.
Hunter has absolutely no idea how to react to that statement.
“I don’t really know how to talk people through it, so I thought I could just try to make you focus on something else,” Mrs. Noceda says, and she sounds almost guilty. “Perhaps it should have been the other way around? Hunter, would you tell me about your favorite food?”
He gapes at her.
“Bread is … fine, I suppose,” he manages after a while.
“And other things? I don’t really know much about what you used to eat back in the demon realm, all I know is that there isn’t much you can eat here. So perhaps you could tell me more about your food?”
Oh. Of course!
“Actually, I have been working in the kitchen for quite some time back at … back—” He falters. “When I was younger,” he finishes lamely, his breathing shallow. “I believe I would be able to cook for everyone here, although I would require a set of separate recipes for you and Luz. I apologize, I did not fully memorize the ones you were discussing. Still, I believe I’m up to the task.”
He forces himself to look at Mrs. Noceda. Somehow it seems like his answer is not the one she wanted.
“Hunter,” she says, taking off glasses and rubbing her eyes. “I appreciate it, and yes, I could certainly use some help in the kitchen sometimes. But that’s not what I meant.”
Okay, so once again he’s failed. He’ll get it right the next time. He’ll gather enough clues, and he’ll know what to say before he opens his stupid mouth again. It’s okay. Breathe. It can be fixed.
“Let’s try something different for now, okay?” Mrs. Noceda says. “Sooo. You and Willow, huh?”
“Huh?” Hunter just repeats after her. Now he’s not only wheezing, but it also feels like he’s going to drown in his own sweat.
“I mean, is it official between you two?”
“What is?” Hunter can hear himself sound choked.
“Oh. Okay. Not there yet, eh? But don’t worry, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Yeah, she’s not as obvious about this whole thing as you are, but the signs are all there.”
He just stares at her, eyes wide.
“What?” the woman asks, and she sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.
Hunter inhales sharply, and gathers all of his strength. There isn’t much to gather. “Mrs. Noceda,” he pleads in a voice that is definitely not trembling. “Please. Just please get it over with.”
She gives him an alarmed look.
“Alright, I didn’t know it was such a touchy subject. Sorry!” she says hurriedly. “Okay. So how about you tell me about that bird of yours, Flapjack? How did you come up with this name? Luz tells me there are no pancakes in the demon realm.”
Hunter clenches and unclenches his fists. He gulps, and tries again. “Mrs. Noceda, I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. Just please do it so we can go home.”
“Do what?” She asks, and she must be a great actress because it sounds like she’s genuinely confused.
“Punish me,” Hunter says in a small voice.
Mrs. Noceda’s expression drops. “For what?”
“All of this.” He gestures in the direction of the parking lot, where there are still some potatoes on the ground, and then in his own. He works his jaw silently.
“I’m not going to punish you,” Mrs. Noceda says, bewildered. “Why would I?”
Does he need to spell it out for her? Why is she making it this difficult? Is the confession a part of the punishment?
“Because I have failed to assist you, I have used crude language in your presence, I have made you witness one of my tantrums, I have wasted your time—” he intones, counting on his fingers.
“Hunter. Look at me.”
He really doesn’t want to, but he complies. Mrs. Noceda’s brows are pinched.
“Hunter. You were having an anxiety attack. You are having an anxiety attack.”
“Yes. That too,” Hunter admits, and the fifth finger joins the four he has already outstretched.
“It’s not something anyone should be punished for. Ever.”
Now he’s just confused.
Once again, Mrs. Noceda gives a sigh. “Look,” she says. “All of you have … baggage. You’ve all been through a lot. You’re just kids, and I don’t think even adults should deal with what you had to deal with. I don’t know how to help you, any of you.” Her voice cracks. “But I think you’ve been through more than the rest of them combined.” She hesitates for a moment before she continues. “Those are not fresh scars. And I’m not going to ask you about them, at least not now. Even though I have a feeling that too many adults have failed to ask those questions. But whoever did that to you, they’re not here, okay?”
Hunter just nods slowly. He thinks that’s what’s expected of him.
“They’re gone,” Mrs. Noceda says, and Hunter winces. She must have noticed because she tries to rephrase it. “They can’t hurt you here. And I’m not going to hurt you. I might yell at you if you do something bad on purpose. If you keep being a jerk to Amity, for example. I have no idea why the two of you can’t get along. You act like two completely different people around other kids, and around adults, you know that? But I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m certainly not going to punish you for things you can’t control. Do you understand, Hunter?”
He nods again, though it’s less automatic this time. He considers the human with growing suspicion. “Okay, where’s the catch?” he hazards asking, his ear twitching.
“There’s no catch,” the woman says. Hunter wonders whether her response was too quick or too slow. She sounded perfectly natural, but there must be a way to tell when she’s lying. Everyone has some giveaway, it’s just the matter of finding out what it is. “Why would there even be a catch to something like that?”
“What if I break something of value?” he tries.
“Nope. Not hurting you,” says Mrs. Noceda firmly.
“What if— what if I hurt someone on accident?”
“Na-ah.”
“What if I do that on purpose?”
Mrs. Noceda gives him a disturbed look, and it must be the millionth time today. “Why would you?” she asks.
Hunter examines the floor. “I dunno.”
“Do you want to hurt someone, Hunter?”
“Not particularly,” he admits. “But I might. At some point.”
“Well, then we will cross that bridge when it comes to it, won’t we.” The woman shrugs. “I might yell at you. Put you on the dishwashing duty. Revoke your TV privileges, though I think that wouldn’t work on anyone but Luz and Gus. Ground you. Still not gonna hurt you.”
It takes Hunter a second to realize that by grounding Mrs. Noceda doesn’t mean making the ground swallow him whole. But when he does, he just blurts out: “Well, that’s stupid.”
He must have finally said something right because Mrs. Noceda beams at him. “You’re stupid,” she says, chuckling, and for a moment he sees Luz in her place.
Of course, if it were Luz, he’d respond with a simple “no, you are.” He can’t do that with Mrs. Noceda, though it scares him that he almost does. He falls silent, not sure how that interaction should play out. “I'll have you know I have been called a prodigy back in the coven,” he says finally, and it’s a bit pathetic how much pride he finds in that memory.
Mrs. Noceda snorts. "You do realize that those two are not mutually exclusive, right?"
He did not. Everything Mrs. Noceda tells him is odd and counterintuitive. She has the weirdest interrogation techniques Hunter has ever encountered. Which is probably the point.
“Do you think you would feel better back home? With Flapjack, Willow, and Gus?” the woman asks after a moment. The previous questioning has apparently ended, and Hunter doesn’t suppose Mrs. Noceda found the results satisfying.
He really shouldn’t let any of them see him like this, not again. He’s a bit better now, but still. He’s the one supposed to take care of them, and he can’t do that if they know he’s incapable of performing even most basic tasks. A commander is to be the one who doesn’t lose their cool, the calm eye of the storm and so on. And yet he just nods.
“Okay, Hunter. I guess I should have started with that question, eh?”
He just stares at her blankly.
“Are you queasy? It’s a fifteen minute ride back home, do you feel up to it?”
“I think I can make it,” he says, and it’s silly how pleased he is with himself for managing to do so. But he feels like he actually can make it, and not having to lie is a welcome change.
They leave the parking lot, the potatoes still out there. It’s getting dark, though they have headed out to the supermarket in the early afternoon. Hunter’s eyelids are getting heavy, perhaps due to the anti-something pills he has swallowed. When they get home, everyone starts yelling all at once, expecting Mrs. Noceda to resolve some entirely new conflict. She just shushes them, and somehow it works.
The TV is on, and they’re watching yet another human movie. Hunter doesn’t get their appeal, but Gus seems to love them, and thus Luz makes it her life goal to show the younger boy everything the human realm has to offer cartoon-wise. Hunter doesn’t learn whether the marionette finally manages to become a real boy, too tired to stop himself from drifting off on the couch. Flapjack nests in his hair, and everything is just so unbearably sappy.
He wakes up screaming and drenched in sweat. He gasps for air, and it takes him almost an entire minute to untangle himself from the blanket which has been transformed into a death trap while he was asleep. The Captain tries to grab his hand in reassurance, and he yelps in the most undignified way. She moves her fingers back, and by now it’s too late to let her know he actually appreciates the gesture, it’s nice, and if by any chance she’s into the handholding business, then say no more because Hunter would be great at it. Focused, dedicated, and there would be no sweaty palms involved because, you know. Gloves.
All of them are still there, at least for the time being. Sooner or later they’ll grow tired of this. But not yet, not tonight. The Captain once again shows him the breathing trick. One, two, three, four, three, two, one. It obviously must have something to do with having a bile sac because though he fails to perform it by himself, it works every time the Captain or Gus do it.