Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

• • •

The rain here is cold.

He's just lost everything — his home, his family, his whole life's purpose — but the only thing Hunter can focus on is how strange it is that the rain here doesn't boil like it does back in the demon realm. Instead, it prickles at his skin like a thousand tiny shards of ice, chilling him to the bone. Funny how something so cold can still feel like it's burning. He's almost thankful when he finally starts to feel numb — if only the sensation could extend past his skin.

The Nocedas' living room is bright, warm, and cozy; a striking contrast to the torrential downpour outside. Hunter isn't used to being fussed over, comforted, hugged. The only people who have ever hugged him are currently sitting in this room, and each one has felt monumentally different from the other.

With Gus, it's friendly, almost familial — the closest thing to a brother that Hunter has ever had (and didn't know he'd wanted until it was already his.)

With Willow, it's…more than friendly (and even just admitting that sends a wave of heat curling up the length of his spine.) Willow's hugs are comfort and thrill in equal measure, warmth and coziness, and fire and electricity all wrapped up in one.

Camila's hugs are something entirely different. Something he thinks he must have always craved from his uncl— from Belos. Something he thinks he might have started to want from a certain coven head who'd kept his secrets and given him a lifeline when he'd needed it most, a tether to the ones he now considered the most important people in his life.

Half of them here, huddled in the living room with blankets wrapped around their shivering shoulders, steaming mugs of soup clutched in their trembling hands, sniffling and sobbing as they recount every horrible detail to Luz's mother and the basilisk Vee. Half of them trapped in the crumbling ruins of the only place he's ever called home, at the mercy of an insouciant child god…if they're even still alive.

Darius, please wake up.

Hunter shoves the memory deep down, blinking back tears. Of course he's still alive. He has to be. And when this is all over, when they're back home in the demon realm, maybe…maybe he can have that, too. What Willow, Gus, and Amity have with their fathers. What Luz has with her mother.

"I've secured a cottage on the outskirts of town, close to Hexside. It's small, nothing like what a little prince who's grown up living in a castle would be used to, but there are two bedrooms. One of them is yours, if you so chose to—"

Hunter has never agreed to something so fast in his entire life.

The corners of Darius's mouth quirk up in a fond smile.

"Keep your friends safe. The human in particular will need all the help she can get. And Hunter—" Darius pauses in the doorframe, fixing Hunter with that same careworn expression he's often caught Eda casting at Luz and King whenever she thinks they're not looking. "Please don't forget to look after yourself, too."

• • •

Chapter Text

• • •

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.

• • •

Chapter Text

• • •

Not wanting to stray too far from each other that first night, the five of them set up camp in the living room, sleeping bags and spare blankets strewn across the threadbare carpet, Flapjack, Clover, Ghost, and Emmiline huddled around their unhatched sibling in a makeshift nest on the couch.

Luz and Amity had been the first to fall into an uneasy sleep, the two of them snuggled up together in the same sleeping bag, arms wrapped tightly around one another, Amity gently cradling the back of Luz's head, carding soothing fingers through her hair as she'd timed her quiet sobs to the crashes of thunder raging on in the storm outside.

Next had been Gus, followed swiftly by Willow, the two of them curled up on either side of Hunter's chest, reaching across the space between his ribs to lock their fingers together, palms pressed right over his heart.

Hunter is the last one still awake, dark red eyes staring a hard line into the hazy blue darkness closing in around them, terrified that at any moment, a pair of cold blue eyes will take shape in one of the shadow monsters that jerk and writhe across the ceiling as the wind shivers through the trees. 

He's no stranger to insomnia, but this one's got a sharper flavor than he's used to, fear and paranoia ramping up to the point of paralysis. He lays there for what feels like hours, muscles so rigid he can barely breathe, lumps of old worn cotton digging into the small of his back through a well-loved patchwork quilt spread out underneath him, arms wrapped protectively around the two people he loves most in this world or any other, struggling to coax his body to match the calming mantra they'd taught him.

Breathe in, 2, 3, 4. 

Breathe out, 2, 3, 4.

Of course, now is the time it chooses to stop working its magic.

He's about two seconds away from gently extricating himself from his friends to go and raid the cabinets for the human realm equivalent of a sleeping potion, when Willow nuzzles in closer, soft hair tickling the underside of his chin, wild and loose from her signature braids, and all at once, a heady mix of scents overwhelms Hunter's senses. 

Mint, basil, chamomile tea, honey, autumn-ripened apples, and freshly-turned earth — all the things he's come to associate with being uniquely Willow. He doesn't know how she does it, how she always seems to know exactly what he needs when he needs it, but the effect is instantaneous, tension unraveling all the way down to Hunter's bones.

Without thinking, anxiety-ridden brain chasing the giddy rush of serotonin, Hunter buries his nose in Willow's hair, breathing her in to the count of four, and exhaling on a deep, contented sigh that accidentally tickles Willow's nose, causing her to giggle in her sleep and snuggle in even closer, lips pressed against the jumping pulse in Hunter's throat. 

Just a few moments ago, he'd been shivering from the suffocating chill of the freezing rain outside. Now, his whole body feels like a furnace, full-body blush warming him from the outside in.

He closes his eyes and lets the soothing scents envelope him, lets his mind wander to the closest thing he's ever felt to a happy place — the two of them sitting side by side in the middle of Willow's magnificent homegrown garden, happy to listen as she rattles off the names and uses of different species of flora.

And if, just moments before he drifts off into the first peaceful sleep he's had in weeks, Hunter leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Willow's head…well, at least no one is awake to tease him for it.

• • •

Lightning forks through the sky in jagged lilac streaks, followed by a crack of thunder so loud Hunter can feel it rumbling through his ribcage like the roar of a wild animal. He wakes suddenly, violently, both spaces beside him empty.

For one brief moment of all-consuming terror, Hunter worries that he's been abandoned, that they've all decided they'd rather not associate with a pale imitation of a genocidal tyrant's long-dead brother, and were merely waiting until he'd gone to sleep to give him the slip; or worse, that they never existed at all, that he simply dreamed them all up in some kind of isolation-induced psychosis as a means to make himself less lonely, and that any minute now, he'd wake in that cold, dark castle, back under Belos's thumb—

Until his surroundings start to come back into focus, and he glances around the darkened living room, clocking the cuddle puddle of palismen softly dozing in a corner of the couch, Luz and Amity curled around one another just a few feet away, Gus rolled over onto his other side, clutching the little stuffed giraffe Luz had grabbed for him from her bedroom, and Willow—

Wait.

Where is Willow?

Hunter bolts upright so fast he gives himself a head rush, spots bursting across his vision like a bokeh blur, soles slapping the kitchen tiles as he frantically searches the darkened house for a sign of her — when he sees a sliver of light coming through a crack between the frame and the front door, and follows it to find a familiar figure perched on the topmost step, just out of reach of the rain.

Hunter breathes a sigh of relief, padding forward to take a seat beside her, hardly caring that his cozy cardinal socks are getting wet. All that matters is that she's here, that she's safe. She doesn't startle, almost as if she'd been expecting him, offering him a weak, flickering smile before turning back to gaze out into the misty landscape, hugging her knees a little tighter to her chest.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Willow shake her head.

"Me neither," he says with a small shrug. 

"Thunder," he adds, offering up an explanation as to why he's still awake at this ungodly hour, conveniently leaving out the part where he nearly had a heart attack when he woke up without her. 

"How about you?" he asks, gently nudging her shoulder with his own in what he's been taught is a friendly, comforting manner. He hopes he's doing it right.

Willow's lips part in reply, hesitating around a dozen different opening lines, before evidently changing her mind about speaking altogether, and merely shakes her head again.

Hunter turns to look at her, startled to find those normally bright green eyes staring back at him with a muted, haunted expression, flecks of rain clinging like tiny crystals to her gold-framed glasses, woven into the strands of her loosely-braided hair.

"Captain," he urges, wanting more than anything to reach across the space between them and pull her close, desperate to bring back a spark of that sunlit joy she always seems to radiate. Sad and exhausted just look so wrong on someone so sweet. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Willow replies automatically, robotically, sounding anything but. She offers him another brief flicker of a faux cheerful smile that doesn't even come close to reaching her eyes, and turns back to gaze out into the rainy landscape.

"Willow," he tries again, voice softening around her name as he reaches out to place a gentle, ungloved hand on the back of one of her own, the first time in years he's touched someone without them. Willow lets out a soft gasp, eyes trailing over the series of pale pink scars that twist and curl around his fingertips like tiny rivers, before glancing back up to look him in the eye, the faintest hint of a quiver in her lower lip as he adds, "Come on, talk to me. Please?"

And something about the way he's looking at her in that moment, so soft and pleading, so genuine in his concern for her, makes that last little bit of resolve inside of her snap. One minute she's stoic and silent, the next, she's bursting out crying, shoulders shaking as she hides her face in the palms of her hands.

Acting on instinct, Hunter lurches forward, draping his arms around her shoulders like a witch's wool cloak, marveling at the way Willow immediately melts into him, muffled sobs muted by the fabric of his loose-flowing t-shirt as she buries her face in his chest. Hunter doesn't have a lot of experience with the whole comforting thing, but he does his best, one pale scarred hand coming up to gently cradle the back of her head like he'd watched Amity do for Luz, the other rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades as her cries fade to soft, stuttered sighs.

After a few moments, Willow resurfaces, hands still clutching onto the sleeves of his t-shirt like a lifeline as she sniffles and huffs out a watery chuckle.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," she says, trying for a smile that looks more like a grimace.

"Like what?" he asks softly, wondering why in the world she sounds so self-loathing.

"Soft. Vulnerable. Weak," she replies, hanging her head in shame. "You must think I'm pathetic."

Hunter's brow furrows like a frown. His first instinct is to go on the defensive, to protect his friend against anyone who would dare speak ill of her…but what is he supposed to do when she's the one firing the shots? 

He opens his mouth to argue, to insist that he would never think of her as pathetic, when she starts talking again, and, not wanting to interrupt her, Hunter stays silent, giving her the space to speak her piece.

"I'm supposed to be better than this — strong and wise to protect the ones I love," she recites with a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes at her own foolish optimism. "But inside, I'm terrified. I miss my dads, my home, my life. I have no way back, no way to protect any of them, no way to know if they're safe, or even—" the unspoken words still alive hang in the air between them, catching in the back of both of their throats like swallowed sobs.

Willow shakes her head, squeezing her eyes tight against a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill down the sides of her chill-bitten cheeks.

"I thought I could be good at this," she says in an echo of that day in the holding cells. "But I'm the reason we're stuck here. I'm the one who suggested we go through that portal, and now—"

"Willow," he exclaims, startling her out of her self-conscious spiral with a soft gasp. It's not like him to interrupt her, and even Hunter is caught off guard by the sudden outburst. "I'm sorry, but I just couldn't let you beat yourself up anymore."

Willow stares at him, lips parted in surprise.

"Listen to me," he tells her as he braces a hand on either side of her shoulders, gentle enough to offer comfort, but with enough urgency to drive home his emphasis. "None of us would be here if it wasn't for you, and I mean that in the best possible way. The Collector would've torn down that castle with all of us inside it. That portal was our only way out. We're alive because of your quick thinking. So don't you dare blame yourself for us being stuck here."

Willow lets out a soft, stuttered gasp, awed by Hunter's conviction in her defense. She stares at him for few moments, tears sliding down the sides of her cheeks, before giving him a quick, resolute nod, as if to say, I hear you, I promise.

Hunter returns it with a stiff nod of his own, hands falling from her shoulders with a heavy sigh as he turns his gaze on the surrounding trees.

"And look, I know what it's like," he continues in a softer, smaller voice. "To feel like you've got to put on this false bravado for the rest of the world, pretend you're fine when you're falling apart inside, hide your feelings behind a mask."

Hunter huffs out a bittersweet sigh, marveling at the fact that only a few weeks ago, he'd been honored to wear that golden facade. Strange, how drastically things can change in such a short amount of time.

"I used to think that crying, or being scared, or needing help were signs of weakness, but they're not, they're just a part of being…" he pauses, struggling to come up with the right word. Human? Demon? Witch? Alive? "Whatever I am."

"Grimwalker?" she suggests, casting him a wary look out of the corner of her eyes. 

Hunter turns to stare at her, eyes wide in alarm.

"Gus said he told you I figured it out," she explains with a small shrug, hoping her casual tone will be enough to ease his nerves.

Hunter swallows, Adam's apple straining against his throat.

"And it doesn't…bother you?" he asks, wincing in anticipation. For some reason, it's even scarier having this conversation with Willow than it had been with Gus.

"Why should it?" Willow asks, scoffing like she's offended he would think she'd judge him for it. "Grimwalker, human, witch, demon…does it really matter what we are or how we came into being? You're still the same Hunter I know and lo—" she falters, the faintest hint of a blush tinging her cheeks pale pink in the golden glow of the porch light. 

"You're my friend," she amends, gazing up at him with a look of fierce determination, as if daring him to try and contradict her. "That's all that matters to me."

And now it's Hunter's turn to stare at her in open-mouthed awe, searching for the cracks in her resolve, and coming up completely empty.

"Thank you, Cap—" he starts, but Willow interrupts him.

"You don't need to thank me for accepting you for who you are, Hunter," she says with a look of fond exasperation.

"But you're the first ones who ever did," he says softly, staring down at the collection of jagged scars that wind their way across his pale, shaking hands.

Willow stares at him for a moment, fully appreciating for perhaps the first time since she'd met him just how sad and lonely he must have felt all his life, locked away in that big empty castle with a monster of a man who never made him feel like he was worthy of kindness. 

Before he met them and became the newest member of their little found family. Likely as lonely as she used to feel before she met them — Gus, Luz, the new and improved Amity — but even then, at least she'd had her dads. The closest thing Hunter had ever had to a father figure was now splattered across the crumbling ruins of his old castle (though honestly, being a gross pile of green sludge is an improvement of his character.)

"I want you to meet them," she says suddenly, and Hunter glances up at her, one eyebrow quirked in confusion.

"My dads," she clarifies, feeling heat stir in her cheeks as the imagined interaction plays out inside her head, wondering how badly they'll embarrass her in front of him, tease her for bringing home her first crush. "When all of this is over, and we get back to the demon realm, I want you to meet my dads. I think— I know they'd really like you."

Hunter stares at her for a moment, lips parted in surprise. And then the meaning of her words sink in, and Hunter can't help the big, goofy, blissed out smile that curls across his face at the notion that she'll still want him after this, that she wants to invite him further into her life, into her world.

"I'd like that," he says softly, hoping his voice doesn't shake too much around the swell of emotion rising in his chest.

Willow smiles at him, the first genuine smile he's seen of her since they came through the portal, that little glimmer of hope and happiness sparking back to life in her bright green eyes.

"We'll find a way back to them," he tells her, sunshine smile lighting a fuse inside him. 

"I don't know when, and I don't know how, but we will…and we'll do it together," he says, reaching out across the space between them to offer her his hand. Willow's smile grows even brighter, fingertips skating across the palm of his hand before slotting into place in between his. She lets her head fall against his shoulder with a contented sigh, the two of them perched on the topmost step of the front porch, side by side, watching the rainfall.

"It's kind of nice when it isn't boiling, isn't it?" she says, reaching out her free hand to let a few stray drops dance across her fingertips.

"Yeah," Hunter replies, feeling his muscles unwind as he settles in against her side, rain-kissed hair tickling his nose as he rests his chin against the top of her head.

"Kind of goes in the opposite direction, though, doesn't it?" he adds a few moments later, shoulders shaking in a little shiver.

Willow huffs out a laugh, though she can't help but agree. She stifles another giggle at the involuntary whine Hunter makes when she disentangles herself from him, coaxing her chill-numbed limbs into a standing position.

"Let's go back inside," she says, offering him her hand, which he gladly and eagerly takes. She pulls him to his feet easily, and as always, Hunter is awed by her grace and strength, his own failing him as a combination of nerves and numbness makes his knees buckle the moment he realizes he's standing close enough to count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Willow's nose. Cute, his exhaustion-addled brain shouts at him, adding freckles like brown sugar cinnamon to a long list of unnecessary details he's been unwittingly collecting in his Willow-centric observations.

He lets her take the lead, her hand a warm, soft, anchoring weight in his own as she guides him through the semi-darkness back into the living room, suddenly far more warm and inviting than it had felt all night. Together, they curl up in a pile of blankets close by Gus, the two of them falling asleep cuddled in close to one another, Willow's head back where it belong in the center of Hunter's chest, one hand curled over his heart.

• • •