Chapter Text
“Soldier, keep on marchin' on. Keep on, keep on, keep on marchin' on. Keep on, keep on marchin'. Soldier, keep on marchin' on. Head down 'til the work is done. Waiting for that morning sun; soldier, keep on marchin' on. Soldier, keep on marchin' on. Soldier, keep on marchin' on.” - Soldier, Tommee Profitt and Fleurie
Wake up, wake up, wake up, Hunter told himself. He was dreaming, he knew he was, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying.
Belos was behind him somewhere. He didn’t know where exactly, but he was there, Hunter could hear his footsteps. He could hear Belos’s rasping breath; the same rattle that used to worry Hunter so much, the same reedy noise he’d make right before demanding a palisman.
Hunter was running through the palace corridors, all of them too long and too dark. Every single corridor and room was flooded with blood. He didn’t dare look down again, but he could feel it, sticky and warm and clinging to his legs. He’d fallen once and ended up drenched to his waist, it coated his arms. Even so, he couldn’t afford to slow down, because Belos was right there…
And then he heard a scream, coming from below the blood.
It sounded just like Hunter himself.
“HELP!” the voice screamed. “HELP ME!”
And then, “HELP US!”
More voices picked up the call. “HELP, PLEASE HELP US!”
Arms, bone pale and rotting, rose from the blood. Two pairs, four, ten…Dozens upon dozens of arms, all grabbing at Hunter, dragging him down.
“Stop!” he screamed, trying to claw them off, trying to keep running. “Get off me!”
“HELP US!”
Just ahead of him, one Grimwalker emerged entirely from the blood. He wore a tattered golden uniform and his mask was cracked in half. Half the skin on his jaw was missing, revealing his skull and teeth.
“What makes you so special?” he demanded of Hunter. “Why did you get to live?”
Hunter didn’t know. He didn’t have an answer for that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, useless as it was. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
The clawing hands forced him to his knees. The blood wasn’t that deep, they shouldn’t have been hidden under the blood, but the Golden Guards reached up as if from the depths of the boiling sea.
A cold, gauntleted hand landed on his shoulder.
“There you are, Hunter,” Belos said, falsely pleasant, eerily cheerful. “What made you think you could run from me?”
Hunter woke up screaming. He nearly fell off the bed entirely, just barely managing to grab the edge and keep himself off the floor. He screamed and, this time, it wasn’t a wordless wail or pleas for Belos to stop hurting him. This time, it was-
“MOM!”
Camila had already been running down the stairs, he could hear her footsteps. She burst into the basement and, in the blink of an eye, she was crushing Hunter against her and holding him tight.
“Girls, go back upstairs,” she told Luz and Vee.
“But-!” Luz began to protest.
“Mija, please.”
Reluctantly, his sisters left. If Hunter knew them at all, they’d be lurking by the basement door.
“It’s okay, Hunter,” Camila said gently. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”
Ever since it hit him that he wanted to call Camila Mom, Hunter had been trying to think of ways to do it. Mostly, he’d imagined casually dropping it in conversation. No big deal. Just a “Thanks, Mom,” or “See you later, Mom.”
He knew Vee had asked Camila if she could keep calling her Mom, once the truth of her identity was revealed and Luz came home. Camila, of course, had said yes. Luz quietly told him, numerous times now, that Camila wouldn’t be angry, or upset in any way if Hunter called her Mom. She already introduced Hunter as one of her kids.
And, yeah, Hunter knew that, but he’d never had a mom before (literally, as it turned out) and he didn’t want to make a mess of it.
He hadn’t imagined screaming for her after a nightmare like this. Wasn’t that for much younger kids?
All the same, he found himself clinging to her, trying to get his breathing back to normal. She ran her hand through his head, quietly instructing him through his breathing exercises.
“I’m here, mijo,” Camila said. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”
Sometimes, safety was still a novel concept. But he trusted Camila, he believed her.
And that was a novel concept too.
Once, when Hunter was six, he overheard a pair of servants whispering together. They were saying the little prince must surely be the old Golden Guard’s son; they looked so much alike and the old Golden Guard was Belos’s much younger half-brother, or so the rumours went.
To Hunter, only a child and so desperately curious about his parents, the idea brought only excitement. Even then, Belos was always saying that maybe Hunter would be the next Golden Guard, if he proved himself strong enough and brave enough. Loyal enough.
Back then, he thought maybe Belos was saying he could be like his dad. The previous Guard.
So, giddy and brimming with curiosity, Hunter had run to his un- Belos. He asked about the last Guard, if he truly was Hunter’s father.
Belos…Hadn’t been pleased.
Hunter remembered screaming, crying, pleading that he didn’t mean to upset Belos; he’d heard two servants talking and he’d just wondered, he only wanted to know if it was true…
Those servants vanished overnight. Hunter never saw them again. No one did.
Hunter still didn’t know what exactly Belos had done to them, beyond the obvious answer of killing them.
Belos never gave a straight-forward answer to Hunter’s questions that day. He said Hunter didn’t need to worry about his parents; he’d only been a baby when they died, he’d never remember them. It caused Belos so much pain to think of their lost family. They loved Hunter and wouldn’t want him to dwell on the past.
Hypocrite, Hunter thought now, his face pressed against Camila’s shoulder. You Titan damned hypocrite. All you ever did was dwell on the past, or does the name Caleb not ring any bells?
As he grew, Hunter learned to never ever ask about his parents. He had the barebone facts: they’d been murdered by wild witches, using evil wild magic, all in an effort to hurt Belos and leave him alone in the world, to destabilise his regime. Belos personally pulled Hunter from the ruins of his parents’ home; he’d found Hunter still shielded by his parents, wrapped in their arms. He’d only been a few weeks old.
He never told Hunter their names. Hunter used to assume it was simply too painful to think about. Now, he knew that Belos just couldn’t be bothered to think of names for these imaginary people.
Hunter used to imagine, in a guilty sort of way, a father that looked like him. Only, in his vague imaginings, his father was much bigger than him. (Then again, to all children, adults looked like giants.) He imagined a man with short blonde hair like Hunter’s, maybe with the same nose. He imagined his mother had the same stubborn lock of hair and his eyes- or rather, Hunter had her eyes. Neither of them had magic either, so neither of them would make fun of Hunter for being powerless. They’d never call him Half-A-Witch and say he didn’t belong in the palace, that he didn’t belong anywhere. They’d love him anyway.
He didn’t imagine it often. It felt like he was betraying Belos. He felt ungrateful.
Still, he used to quietly mourn what could have been. Then he found out he was a Grimwalker, that he never had a family, let alone parents.
Hiding in Hexside, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep, Hunter found himself mourning his non-existent parents all over again. Mourning what could have been. Mourning what he thought had been.
He was sixteen, the former Golden Guard and former Head Witch of the Emperor’s Coven. He was too old to cry for his parents, for people who had never existed in the first place.
All the same, he’d laid there and wished they were real. He’d wished, the way he’d done as a small child, that they’d magically appear. He’d wished they were alive and well, and they’d come running to find him.
Not for the first time, and not for the last, Hunter wondered what Belos had told the other guards. The first ones knew wild magic wasn’t really dangerous. They’d helped Belos stage the attacks on cities and people. What had he told them, to get them to cooperate? Was Hunter the first one he claimed as family, or were those servants right so long ago; had Belos told the last Guard they were half-brothers, or was that mere gossip?
Had the other Guards wished for parents? For siblings? For a family of their own?
“It hurts every time he chooses to betray me.”
But Belos’s idea of betrayal was skewed at best. For all Hunter knew, the previous Guards just failed one mission too many, or spoke out of turn. “Betrayal” could mean anything from a minor infraction to an assassination attempt.
Hunter wondered if any of the previous Guards had tried to kill Belos.
He held onto Camila, closing his eyes as she continued to run her hand through his hair, and refused to feel bad as he thought, I hope so.
Hunter woke up slowly. Sunshine filtered in through the small basement window, through a gap in the curtains (he’d forgotten to close them fully again) and someone was humming.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Camila said gently.
“Huh?” Hunter blinked groggily. His throat was dry and his head was pounding. His head was on Camila’s lap. He couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed.
Had she stayed here all night?
As if she read his mind, she said, “You seemed to sleep okay. Any more nightmares?”
Slowly, feeling lost, Hunter shook his head. He sat up, rubbing his forehead.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Camila asked.
“I…Maybe later,” Hunter said. His empty shoulder ached. He wished Flapjack was here. “I just…” He huffed in annoyance. Why did feelings have to be so hard to explain? “I don’t…It was bad. So, um. Later. Please?”
“Later,” Camila agreed. “You feel up to breakfast?”
He hadn’t eaten much yesterday, or the day before. Camila’s gaze was nothing short of pleading.
So Hunter nodded and something in his chest loosened when she smiled at him.
“Good,” she said. “I’m making omelettes.” She ruffled his hair and made for the stairs. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
Just as she reached the bottom step, Hunter decided to take the plunge.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She stopped, turning back to stare at him. Hunter sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look her in the eye and fidgeting with his hands.
Camila beamed, her eyes sparkling.
“Any time, mijo,” she said. Maybe was imagining things, but she seemed to put more emphasis on ‘mijo’ than usual. She practically skipped up the stairs, humming again.
Hunter breathed out and flopped back down onto the bed. Well then. He’d done it. He’d called her Mom and it wasn’t because he was screaming for help.
Suck it, Belos, he thought. I have a mom after all.
After breakfast, he texted Willow. He still had her cardigan. She said he could return it any time; she’d be home all day. She sent a row or rose and heart emojis.
No doubt he’d be in for an interrogation when he actually saw her, but she didn’t bombard him over text.
He had messages from Gus, Amity and King. Even one from Lilith.
I’m okay, he messaged Gus. Tired. Will be seeing Willow later. He knew he was still painfully slow at texting, but at least his grammar and spelling was better when he went slowly.
Call later? Gus asked.
Hunter responded with a thumbs up.
I’m okay, he told Amity. Bet Luz told you everything.
She did, Amity responded. But I want to hear it from you.
I’m okay. Or I will be. Promise.
I’ll hold you to that, she said.
King’s messages were even more frantic than the others’. A whole lot of I’m sorry and That was dumb, I was dumb and Please don’t hate me.
I don’t hate you, King. Never have never will. It’s okay.
You’re alive!
Astute observation, kid.
Shut up, you know what I mean. Are you okay???
Hunter hesitated. Eventually he said, Doing okay. Are you?
I dunno, King said, after nearly five minutes of typing and typing and typing some more. Lilith’s helping.
Good. Camila’s helping me.
Lilith’s message was typical of Lilith: insanely articulate and more like a speech. It was formal, somewhat stilted: Hello, Hunter. I hope you don’t mind, but Amity gave me your contact details. I just wanted to say, I hope you’re doing okay and that your family is looking after you. We’re brainstorming ideas for a proper burial, but the real planning will have to wait for the others to return. In the meantime, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to reach out.
It was followed by a much shorter and simpler message: I’m sorry.
Hunter had no idea how to respond to that one. He started typing a response and deleted it. He started another and deleted that too. He stared blankly at his scroll and wished an answer would just write itself for him.
In the end, he simply sent, Thank you.
Hunter approached the Park household slowly, Willow’s cardigan bundled in his arms. The first time he’d met her fathers, after everything calmed down a little, he’d been terrified. He’d been on the verge of a panic attack, certain they’d take one look at him and hate him.
It was…Kind of the par for the course with adults. They never liked him. Or, in some cases, they liked him now but didn’t for a very long time.
Everyone said you were totally screwed if your girlfriend/boyfriend’s parents didn’t like you.
Instead, Gilbert had cheerfully taken both of Hunter’s hands between his and shook them.
“So this is the infamous Hunter from Penstagram!” he laughed. He made it sound like a title.
Willow groaned, “Dad, stop!”
“What, honey?” Gilbert’s grin was downright mischievous. “You’re always messaging him on there! The amount of times you swore you were going to bed, only to text-”
“Ddddaaaadddd!”
Harvey stared Hunter up and down. His eyes lingered on the scars littering Hunter’s arms and face and Hunter angled himself towards the door. He didn’t need more people gawking at him.
Gus, Luz and Amity told him Harvey was the stricter parent. He’d expected a lecture, instant disapproval, the stereotypical Protective Father Act.
Harvey’s narrow-eyed stare made him expect the worst.
Willow edged closer, her own eyes narrowed on her dad. Gilbert quirked an eyebrow at his husband, arms crossed.
Harvey gave a tiny smile and nodded. He clapped Hunter on the shoulder and said, “Good to meet you, kid,” and that was that.
They were both perfectly lovely men, but Hunter still felt tiny as he knocked on the door. He felt drained and he couldn’t get his thoughts straight. It felt like he had a few screws loose.
But he wanted to see Willow. Even if it was just for a few minutes. She’d been in the skull too; he wanted to know if she was okay.
The door opened and Harvey stared down at him.
“Um, hi, Mr Park,” Hunter said, standing up straighter. He held Willow’s cardigan out. “I just- I wanted to give this back to Willow.”
Harvey’s expression was unreadable. He stood aside and gestured for Hunter to come in.
He did, edging past Harvey awkwardly.
“She’s upstairs, son,” Harvey said gruffly.
“Thank you,” Hunter said.
“Hunter?”
“Uh, yes, sir?”
Harvey squeezed his shoulder, his calm mask cracking; he momentarily looked devastated.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Oh, Hunter thought. His eyes flickered down to the colourful carpet. “Neither should Willow,” he mumbled.
“No, she shouldn’t,” Harvey agreed. “But you especially shouldn’t have to see your family like that.”
Now wasn’t that something to ponder?
“Hunter!” Willow quite literally scooped him up with the force of her hug. Hunter dangled awkwardly in the air. Her cardigan was squished between them.
“I’m okay,” Hunter said. “Mostly. Sort of. Are you?”
“Me? I’m fine.” Willow set him down. She didn’t look fine; she looked pale and exhausted. “Well, not fine, I’ve been worried sick. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I…I don’t know.”
As per the rule of her parents, they left the bedroom door half-way open. It had baffled Hunter to no end (they didn’t want the door open when Gus was over! Maybe they didn’t trust Hunter after all?) until Luz, nearly weeping from laughter, had told him why.
Hunter had been left blushing for the rest of the day.
Hunter stared out the open doors to Willow’s small balcony, counting her plants. There were some new ones. One wriggled and waved as if in greeting. Another sparkled like it had been coated in glitter.
Those boys, Camila had said. Your family, Harvey had said.
Everyone else had called them the Golden Guards. Even Hunter had. But with those short, simple words, Camila and Harvey had breathed life into the Guards.
Those boys, not a pile of skeletons.
Your family, not nameless and faceless Grimwalkers.
Why did you get to live? they’d demanded in his dream. And the simple truth was, Hunter still wasn’t sure how to answer that.
He’d lived because Flapjack saved him. Because Flapjack loved him enough to save him. Because Camila loved him enough to dive into the water after him and Flapjack loved him enough to give the last of his life-force and magic to Hunter.
He lived because his family fought for him to live.
I’m sorry, he thought, wondering if they could hear him. I’m sorry no one fought for you when you were still here. But we’re going to fight for you now. I will. We’re not leaving you behind.
He hoped it would be enough.
Willow’s arm carefully wrapped around his waist and Hunter leaned into her. Their hands linked together.
“I have no idea what to do now,” Hunter admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”
“You’re not doing it alone,” Willow reminded him. “We’re going to work together.”
It would be enough. It had to be. Hunter couldn’t handle this alone and he knew it. He didn’t want to handle it alone and, this time, he didn’t have to.
He wondered if there was any clue of the Guards’ names anywhere. Every grave needed a name, right?
He’d figure it out. He’d search every inch of the Isles if he had to.
You’re not alone, you’re not doing it alone.
He had his friends. He had his family; his sisters and his mom. They’d figure this out.
One step at a time.
For now, Hunter let his mind wander, basking in the peaceful silence of Willow’s room. He knew how to cling to every moment of peace he could find, because it never lasted long before.
“We’ll figure this out,” Willow promised in a whisper. “We will.”
We’ll get you out, Hunter thought to the Guards. We’ll get you out of there, I promise.
“After my dreaming, I woke with this fear. What am I leaving when I'm done here? So, if you're asking me, I want you to know…When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. And don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory. Leave out all the rest. Leave out all the rest.” - Leave Out All The Rest, Linkin Park