Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Hunter sits with his knees tucked into his chest, back curled against the wall of the corridor leading to the only bathroom in the Noceda household, Gus nestled in at his side.

It had been a long, arduous debate over who got to use the shower first, Willow arguing most ardently for Gus to be able to get out of his muddy, rain-soaked clothes and into something warm, and for Hunter to have just a little bit of comfort for once in his life, especially after the draining spell had nearly— she can't finish her sentence, the rest of her words dying on a dry sob in the back of her throat.

In the end, Hunter and Gus had insisted on letting the girls go first. But maybe Hunter should have argued a little harder on Gus's behalf, glancing over in time to watch as a violent shiver tears through the younger boy's body, head ducked down as he picks at the patches of grass stains and mud drying on the knees of his trousers.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asks with a gentle nudge to the shoulder, feeling a little extra protective over the boy he's come to think of as his little brother these past few weeks, remembering the way he'd sunk to his knees and sobbed when he'd realized that they were stuck here, with no way of ever getting back home.

"No," Gus replies with a bitter chuckle. He lets the blunt honesty linger in the air between them for a few seconds, exhaling on a self-soothing sigh before adding, "But I will be."

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say more, but then quickly closes his mouth and shakes his head. Hunter arches his eyebrows at him expectantly, urging him to try. Gus takes a deep, steadying breath, and turns back to face the opposite wall.

"I, uh…saw something," he says, and Hunter can tell it's taking everything in him to keep the quaver out of his voice. "…when I tapped into Belos's memories."

Hunter stiffens, knowing all too well what's coming. But, for what it's worth, Gus is still sitting by his side, hasn't recoiled in fear or revulsion, so he'll take that as a good sign.

"What did you see?" Hunter encourages him, curiosity burning brighter than his apprehension.

"His name was Philip Wittebane," Gus starts, exhaling on a slow, shaky breath. "He was a human, a witch hunter who came to the demon realm with his brother back in the Deadwardian Era. His brother, Caleb — he was a witch hunter too…until he fell in love with a witch. Philip saw that as a betrayal, so he…"

Gus turns to face Hunter, tears welling in his dark gray eyes. "I saw the dagger, Hunter. Belos killed his own brother, all because he fell in love with one of our kind."

Our kind. The words echo inside Hunter's head, filling him with the worst case of imposter syndrome he's ever felt in his entire life.

"The brother, he— he looked exactly like you," Gus continues in a shellshocked whisper, and the sinking feeling in the pit of Hunter's stomach breaches brand new depths. "I saw a memory of Caleb carving a cardinal palisman — I think that's who Flapjack's first owner was. And when Belos saw you with him tonight, he— he called you Caleb. It was like he couldn't tell the difference between reality and his memories, like he thought you were him. But that's impossible…isn't it?"

Hunter closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill over the edge as he sees it all play out in his mind's eye. He remembers those portraits hanging in the gallery of Belos's mindscape, the ones he'd tried so hard to ignore. Remembers seeing a man with fluffy blond hair and a pointed chin just like his, eyes scratched out on all the portraits, the way he'd looked lying dead in a pool of his own blood in the very last, Belos's bright blue eyes reflected in the blade of the dagger, and a sickening shiver twists its way down Hunter's spine.

"I know you've been keeping something from us — from me and Willow," Gus says quietly, pulling Hunter back into the present. "We wanted to give you your space, give you time to process whatever it is, tell us when you're ready, if you want. But Willow thinks she's got it mostly figured out, and after what I saw in Belos's memories…well, I think that pretty much confirms her theories."

Hunter sucks in a breath that's equal parts horror that they know, and relief that both of them already suspected what he was for quite some time now, and haven't treated him any differently. He feels a rush of affection and gratitude toward both of them, tears prickling the corners of his eyes for an entirely different reason this time.

"It's called a Grimwalker," Hunter exhales on a heavy sigh. "I don't know exactly what that is — whether I'm a witch, or a human, or something else entirely. All I know is that I'm a copy…and based on what you saw, it looks like I'm a copy of Belos's brother, Caleb Wittebane."

He lets the revelation hang in the air between them, waiting for…something, though he's not sure what. Shock? Disgust? Betrayal? Any of the number of reactions he's been imagining in nightmare loop scenarios since he found out what he is, terrified of losing the only people who have ever truly made him feel safe.

Instead, Hunter feels a comforting hand land on his shoulder, and glances over to find Gus looking up at him, lips tugging upward in an encouraging smile. He holds onto that little spark of warmth, uses it like a lantern to guide him through the darkest parts of the forest.

"When I was in Belos's mindscape," he says, swallowing against the citrus-sharp bite of panic welling in the back of his throat. "I saw a whole corridor filled with dozens of golden guard masks, portraits of people who looked just like me." Gold scrollwork frames embedded in the cores of gnarled twisting tree trunks, roots curling like venomous snakes through the eye sockets of a cracked and crumbling mask he used to think was special, custom-fitted just for him, every curve perfectly suited to the sharp line of his jaw, the heart-shaped point of his chin. Turns out, it was made to fit whole droves of people just like him.

The hand on Hunter's shoulder squeezes ever so slightly, a gentle reminder that he's here, that he's safe. It pulls him back into the present, gives him the drive to keep going, each word slowly sucking out the venom.

"When we saw the inner Belos, he told me, 'what a shame, out of all the grimwalkers, you looked the most like him.'" Hunter shivers against the chill of his uncle's cold, cruel words, tearing through him like tiny shards of ice.

"I think he kept trying to recreate the perfect version of his brother," he ventures, filling in the missing gaps with Gus's puzzle pieces. "One who still believed in all the terrible things they were taught to believe about magic, about witches…and when we didn't live up to his standards, he…he killed us…just like he killed Caleb."

Hunter lets out a slow, shaky breath, trying to remember the calming four-count breathing technique that Gus said Willow had taught him.

Willow.

Just the thought of her ignites a burst of hope inside his chest, roaring to life like a bonfire in a snowstorm.

"But Caleb had a wife," Hunter presses on, remembering the portrait he'd glimpsed of two people walking hand in hand, silhouetted in the glow of the setting sun — one a young man with a profile identical to his own, the other a young woman who looked as though she expected to be a mother any day now.

"And I think…I can't be sure, but I think they had a kid before he died? So, I might have ancestors…descendants? This is confusing." Hunter shakes his head, huffing out a bittersweet chuckle. Remembers another portrait of that same young man beaming at a dark-haired woman swathed in a tattered red cloak, warm brown eyes filled with adoration, oblivious to the way his blue-eyed brother scowled at the both of them. But even in Belos's own mind, he couldn't deny that Caleb had been happy.

"I might have family out there, back in the demon realm," Hunter says, a hopeful smile curling across his face for the first time since they arrived on the Nocedas' doorstep. "And when we get back…I think I'd like to try and find them."

The hand on Hunter's shoulder gives him another affectionate squeeze, and Hunter glances over to find Gus mirroring that same hopeful smile, a glimmer of that puzzle-solving, adventure-seeking spark he knows and loves lighting up his dark gray eyes at the mere mention of the word when, which only an hour ago, hadn't even been an if.

"We'll help you in any way that we can," Gus reassures him with a heartening smile, and that tiny tendril of hope inside Hunter's chest glows just a little bit brighter.

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