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“Thank you pretty,” one of the men said -, the one with greasy blonde hair and beady eyes as he looked Gretel over, those eyes taking in everything from her plain braided hair to her too big dress like it was something he had a right to.
“You’re welcome.” Her smile was tight and her voice only a little mocking as she sat down the men’s drinks and she backed away – still facing them - tray held firmly to her chest. She heard their taunts and jeers as she reached the bar and her hands tightened before she sat the tray down. She told herself they were just trying to get a reaction from her. She was young and they thought they could push her around because of that. She couldn't afford to give them quite the reaction she’d like. The Peterson’s have been very patient with her, they had only sighed in disappointment over the last tray she’d bashed aside the head of a filthy customer with wandering hands who thought she’d just squeal and scamper away.
Gretel had long since stopped being the type to just run away.
The town had been grateful when her and her brother wandered out of the woods, covered in blood and telling the tale of how they’d killed the witch by cooking her in her own oven. The town had lost so many children over the years, unable to find a house that never revealed itself to their eyes. They had given the siblings new clothes and food, but not much else. Nothing that had really counted in the long run.
It had been old man Peterson and his wife to welcome them into their small inn, to give them a room that they could have used for travelers. Gretel and her brother helped around the inn and in turn they were fed and had somewhere safe to sleep at night. They were even allowed to keep the money slipped to them as tips, but only if Gretel did her best not to break the cookery upside the heads of the customers.
“I’ll take over there lass.” Mr. Peterson handed her a wet rag, nodding to the sticky bar and Gretel inclined her head, grabbing it and getting to work.
She reaches for the mugs to take them to the back to wash when there was a crash from the dining room and a woman's scream. Gretel dropped the rag she was holding, running towards the noise and cursing the skirts she wore for bunching together as she moved.
“Hansel,” she breathed out throat clenching in fear and rushed to her brother’s side. He was crumpled into a pile on the floor, eyes dazed and broken plates and food surrounding him. She slipped through it, not caring about the food staining her dress. Gretel placed her hand over his forehead, dread filling her at how clammy his skin was.
Mrs. Peterson moved out of her way and was already shuffling people aside as Gretel slipped an arm around her brother's waist and hefted him up to his feet. Her muscles strained but she got him upright, letting him lean heavily on her.
She glared at the men who stepped forward to help and wrapped her arm tighter around her brother, feeling him curl closer to her and try to walk. Haltingly, they made their way up the narrow stairs, his breath hot against her ear as she pushed the door to their room open.
There was only one bed, the most that could be offered to them from a couple who barely made enough to keep their own business running. Gretel lowered Hansel onto it and pulled a familiar key out of his pocket, pushing aside the bedroll half under the bed until she found a narrow box. She unlocked it quickly and pulled out an old syringe, filling it with the clear liquid from a bottle that was running low.
“I’m okay Gretel,” Hansel slurred trying to push himself back up, “there’s not enough, shit must've forgot again.”
“Shut up,” she bit out a little harsher than necessary, jamming the needle into his leg and feeling satisfied as he tensed. She pushed the medicine in and watched as his breathing evened out. “We talked about this.” She was already placing the syringe back into the case, locking it up quickly and stuffing it under the blankets where her brother slept at night. “You can’t skip injections, you could have died.”
Along with horrifying nightmares and the gratitude of a town that had been terrorized for years, their time in the witch’s sweet cottage had given her brother something they told was a sugar sickness. Whatever money they were able to make on their own went to getting the medicine Hansel needed to stay alive. Which meant nothing if Hansel couldn’t remember when to take it.
“I know.” His eyes opened already looking clearer and he sat up determined, “I have to go clean up the mess I made.” She pushed him back down on the bed, curling around him to keep him resting and his hand curved around her back holding her close for a moment.
“No, you don’t. You need to rest.” She pushed the fear back and tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted at how close of a call that had been. “Just, sleep please.”
He closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his head against her side. “Okay, for a little bit. Can’t afford to stay long though, still don’t have enough for the next batch.” That he was listening to her without complaint was more than enough evidence that this had been a bad episode.
“We will.” She promised and watched as his breathing evened out and his face relaxed. He always looked so tense and it made her angry that he could never truly relax. She brushed her hand across his arm, not knowing if she was trying to sooth him or herself.
“Dear,” Mrs. Peterson pushed at the door her white hair pulled back from her face, she was leaning heavily on the broom in her hand. She looked exhausted and Gretel slipped quietly from beside her brother to lend an arm to the woman. “We’re getting busy again, I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”
“I know,” Gretel closed the door to their room behind her and looked at it making sure her brother didn't try to follow. “I’ll be right down.” The woman nodded and shakily started making her way down. Gretel followed at a slower pace, her eyes absently scanning the flyers on the wall. One caught her eyes, the yellow paper crisp and thick from the press. The word REWARD scrawled largely across the top and the words jumped out at her. Gretel reached forward and ripped it off from where it’d been nailed.
~*~*~*~
“What time is it?” he mumbled struggling out of his blanket and looking over at her, the confusion growing. “Why are you dressed? It’s still dark out.” The sky was just starting to lighten from outside their window but darkness still covered the town.
She was already tossing him his clothes. “Get dressed.” She slipped on her jacket and tossed him the leather one he prized, one of the gifts from the town. At the time it hadn't meant much to an orphan who hadn't even had a place to sleep. That had changed and it had held up well over the years, patched but still serviceable.
Hansel slipped on the clothes, pulling the jacket around him last and accepting the bag she was already passing to him. He slung it over his shoulder and it dangled close to his hip. They never left without an emergency supply of his meds. Her fingers slipped into his and she pulled him out of the room and down the stairs, both of them being careful to avoid the steps that creaked.
“Gretel,” he tightened his hand around hers, trying to slow her down, “c’mon, what’s going on? Where are we going?” She was already pushing him out the back door and handing him the flyer she had ripped off the wall.
“To the woods, near the old well.” He read it as she disappeared into the small shed attached to the inn.
“Gretel, this is about a witch?” His hands were clenched around the paper and he was already folding it to stuff in his pocket as he followed her to keep her in sight.
“I know,” she said as she came out, handing him one of the Petersons’ axes. They were old but reliable, used to cut the firewood that was needed to heat up the Inn and the food that was cooked. She had the other propped across her back, her arm straining at the weight but staying steady. “If we hurry we should be able to make it back in time for the breakfast crowd.” She was once again pulling Hansel in the direction of the woods and he followed.
He didn’t speak until the trees of the forest had swallowed them up, his voice soft. “Gretel, are we hunting a witch?”
Her hand tightened on the axe and her hair was a wild mess tied behind her. “Yes.” Her eyes scanned the forest, still dark even though the sun was already rising.
“Why?” he asked, his voice not accusing, only curious.
“I asked around last night, three children have already been taken. The first was found near the river yesterday, her body was split open and her insides were removed. The miller’s boy said he heard screams near the old well. The girl found lived near there.”
Silence stretched between them and Gretel’s confidence started to weaken. She had to do this, but she couldn’t do it without Hansel.
His fingers tightened around hers before he let of her hand. Gretel took a deep breath and let it out in relief when she felt him quicken his pace to walk beside her. “Okay,” a dangerous grin twisted his lips and Gretel returned it grimly. They'd talked about it, had read of ways to protect themselves, and had asked questions from strangers about how to kill witches. There had never been a chance to make it a reality, any stories that reached them came from too far and they needed the money they made to buy Hansel's medicine.
Gretel and Hansel both stopped smiling when they reached a clearing, the sight of the crumbling well reminding them why they were there.
“Well, what do we do?” Hansel asked as they looked around.
“I have no idea.” Gretel breathed out searching for some kind of clue as to where they could find the witch. It had to come from somewhere to steal the children. There was no gingerbread house in sight to point the way, but there had to be something.
“A little old for my taste,” a voice said as a chill crept up Gretel’s spine the voice behind her raspy and low. “But I’m not one to turn down a gift, especially when it delivers itself to me so nicely.” Gretel spun around; Hansel tensed behind her and tried to hide her shock at the creature before them.
The witch was smaller than the last one, and just as cracked and wicked. Younger though, eyes burning red and lips matching as she stared at her and her brother. Her clothes hung in ragged rags around her, once what could have been a beautiful dress was now torn and covered in filth. She slinked towards them eyes burning brighter and Gretel straightened her spin, eyes narrowing and held the axe tighter. Her face looked like broken plaster and her hair was a black mess of branches and gunk.
“Come and get it then, bitch.” Hansel breathed out fearless and the witch moved almost too fast for Gretel’s eyes to follow, electricity crackling around it. Gretel launched herself forward, axe coming up only to be caught up by claws digging into her shoulder and tossing her aside like she weighed nothing. Her back hit a nearby tree with a crack and her head jerked, slamming on the ground as she fell. She could feel blood matting her forehead and dripping down the side of her face.
Her nails dug into the dirt as she heard her brother scream out and she forced her arms under her body, pushing up onto shaky feet as she watched those same claws raking down Hansel’s shoulder, tearing open leather and cloth and skin before tossing him to the ground.
The axe had fallen beside her and Gretel picked it up, breathing out as she steadied her feet and aimed. It flew true, burying itself into the rotting flesh of the witch’s arm. The woman let loose a shrill scream in the air, eyes blazing as it turned from her brother to face her.
“I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart girl, after I make you do the same to your boy.” Blood matted its lips as its other arm shot out, the gnarled wood in her hand pointing at Gretel. The witch advanced on Gretel and the electricity that had been trailing behind the witch shot out. Gretel didn’t even have time to move as it hit her, the air burned with it but as it touched her skin it dissipated. The witch’s smirk twisted and dropped, disbelief widening her eyes and arm still outstretched uselessly. Gretel watched the way her wrinkled skin tightened and the air crackled around her again, just as ineffective as before.
“Having some performance anxiety,” Gretel felt empowered. “I’ve heard that happens when you’re of a more advanced age.” She moved, forcing the witch to follow her as she put herself between it and a dazed looking Hansel.
The witch hissed, then launched herself at Gretel who didn’t even regret her taunt as her body slammed against the ground for the second time that day. Pain shot through her and she pushed it back, arms up defensively as the witches claws tried to reach her face. The skirt around her legs hindered her movements and Gretel kicked out, hearing something snap as the witch grunted, before renewing its assault.
The witch dug her claws into Gretel’s arms, dragging up and Gretel screamed out in pain digging her own fingers into the witch’s rotting skin as Gretel tried to reach for her throat to strangle it. Except, even she knew you couldn’t kill a witch that way. What they had been able to learn told of how fast a witch could heal, even from blows that should be mortal.
Light had broken through the trees as the sun rose more fully and it glinted off metal as an axe buried itself into the witch’s neck, pulling it halfway off her shoulders. Hansel held one arm close to his side and the other held the now dripping axe, his face bloodied and enraged. The weight slackened off her and Gretel kicked the creature aside.
Hansel reached down and Gretel wrapped her fingers around his, letting him pull her to her feet both of them wincing.
“I’ll finish it.” She offered blood dripping down her arms. Hansel nodded, stepping back and handing her the axe.
The witch gurgled, body twitching on the ground as she still tried to move. So, that at least had been true. The blow would have killed anything else. Gretel filed it away for the future, knowing it would come in handy.
“Now who’s tearing whom apart.” Gretel lifted the axe and brought it down hard, despite the pain shooting through her body. The head rolled away and the creature stopped moving, dead.
She slumped against Hansel, his hand wrapping around her to help hold her up. Both of them were bruised and bleeding. Gretel started to laugh, burying her head in Hansel’s shoulder and she felt him shake, he was smiling as he kissed her forehead hands checking her deftly for any further injury.
She pulled back waving off his concern, already looking for the other axe to bring back to the Peterson’s. “We need to find something to wrap the head up in.” She found the axe, hefting it up and wincing at the crack down the side. “If we bring it back we can collect the reward.”
“Okay,” Hansel was still grinning, slipping out of his ruined coat and heading to the head to wrap it up.
~*~*~*~
He was already eyeing a large gun on the wall, eyes studying the make as if he was trying to figure it out and Gretel shared a smile with him before leaving him to his perusal. She had another goal in mind.
The old man at the counter watched her approach wearily, taking in the pants she wore with a raised eyebrow. “Looking for something in particular, girl?” he asked placing his pipe down.
“Yes,” she let her own coat fall open a little, revealing the small crossbow she had strapped to her hip. “My brother has the sugar sickness, I’ve heard you have items specific to treating it.” The man straightened and coughed. She might still be young but she was no fool.
“I do,” he was unlocking a cabinet behind the display, pulling out a deep -wooden box.
There was a warmth at her back and Hansel’s voice was soft in question. “Gretel?” They had agreed to only spend the reward on necessities before they looked at supplies. A small amount had gone to the Peterson’s in thanks for putting them up as long as they had. Gretel knew they hadn't really been able to afford it, losing the room had cost them money they'd needed. She also knew one of the early victims of the first witch they'd killed had been their only daughter. The rest of the money had gone to clothes and food while they had traveled to this place Gretel had found. The only other purchase had been the customized crossbows each now wore for the purpose of their chosen profession. They'd had to return the axes.
The merchant opened the box, the syringes inside silver and more far more durable than anything they’d seen. “The serum inside lasts longer than the local medicines, this button here depresses it faster and it won’t break if knocked around.” He pointed to the tip. “I have a good supply; it’s pricey but I am reliable on this.”
Gretel trailed her fingers across them; there were at least a dozen in the top row and she could count at least four rows. It would be more than enough, especially if it lasted longer. She kept her face blank, turning away from the display in front of her. “I was also told you had a watch that acted as a timer?”
His eyes narrowed in appreciation and he closed the lid, turning and coming back with a smaller box. “You have been well informed.” He opened the lid and turned it to her. “You set it after taking the first injection, it will tell you when the next needs to be taken.” He closed that box, placing it with the other and telling her the price.
Hansel’s hand tightened around her wrist as he tried to pull her aside. The price was steep, but not as much as she had expected. They had enough, barely, but they did.
“We can’t afford this.” He seemed torn.
She was already reaching for the money at her waist. “We can,” she said as she handed over the money to the man and Hansel let her take his as well, watching as she counted out the rest and pocketed what they had left over. It would be enough for a room and a meal for the next couple of weeks.
They left the shop in silence. It wasn’t till they’d gotten back to they privacy of their room and placed the boxes on the bed that Hansel had turned to her,“Gretel…” he started.
“You need it,” she interrupted him, already opening the box with the watch. “So we need it.” She grabbed his wrist and wrapped the watch around it, clinching it tight so it would stay in place. There were enough holes that it could be loosened as he grew. Hansel watched her as she reached for one of the syringes.
“We need something more than a crossbow to hunt witches.” He pointed out; the argument they had before they had left the Peterson’s before he had told her that to follow this path they needed to be as prepared as possible. Just because the witch’s magic didn’t work on them didn’t mean they were safe.
Gretchen passed the syringe to Hansel and he sighed, sitting down and pressing it to his leg. He hit the button the top and winced as it went in. Gretel was already moving to set the watch according to the instructions they’d been given. “In time.” She placed the used syringe in the bottom of the box, to be refilled when needed. “This was more important.” They could afford this now - afford to make sure he was taken care of. There didn’t have to be anymore close calls, she didn’t have to stay up at night afraid of how little was left in the bottle and wondering if he would remember to take it when he needed it.
Hansel’s hands cupped her face and he stared into her eyes. She didn’t try to hide from him, curling her fingers around his hands. He sighed before dragging her close to him with one arm. “Okay, fine. But we’re now running pretty low on money.”
She grinned, reaching for her bag. “I know,” and handed him a flyer she’d picked up while they were on the road; well one of the flyers she’d picked up. The rest could wait.
“A witch in the swamps?" Hansel read face twisting "Well that sounds like fun.” He set his crossbow down beside hers and started fiddling with the watch now on his wrist.