Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's raining. Big fat raindrops fall from the sky. They're cool, maybe even cold. Maybe that's the reason Hunter is standing here, frozen and staring, like a useless lump of abomination goop. He watches Luz as she opens and closes the door that spat them into this world over and over. 

It's raining. Big fat teardrops pour from the eyes of the youngest witch on this side of the portal. Gus is curled up on the ground, face practically in the dirt. But he doesn't even notice, too busy crying.

It's raining. Uncle–Belos—Phillip used to talk to him about the rain. His voice would get dreamy, softened by the nostalgia of it all, "In the human realm, the rain is cold. You can dance in it, let it cool your skin on a hot day. It collects in puddles on the ground that children like to stomp in."

It's raining, and Hunter is standing in it, and Phillip Wittebane is dead.

Hunter should feel something. Really, he should. But his ears are buzzing and his brain is full and, if he's being honest, he's not sure if he's feeling much of anything at all. 

Gus lets out another sob, jolting Hunter out of his numb state and into action. Hunter crouches down to Gus' level. Robotically, he reaches out a gloved hand to pat his younger friend's shoulder.

"There, there?" he says, trying and failing at sounding comforting.

After a few moments, Gus' sobs peter out. He turns his face towards Hunter. His lower lip wobbles a little, but holds steady. Voice scratchy and tearful, he says, "You need to work on your people skills."

Hunter feels himself smile, a pathetic little thing.

"I know."

...

The walk to Luz's mom's house is silent save for Gus' slight sniffles. Not even Luz, chatterbox that she is, tries to breach it. By the time they get to the little house, they're all soaked and shivering from the rain. 

Luz hesitates before she knocks, taking a deep breath.

"Hey Mom. I'm back!" Luz says to the woman who opens the door, her voice full of an unidentifiable emotion.

The woman at the door gasps, tears filling her eyes. Luz melts into her mother's embrace, clearly holding back tears herself. It's an intimate moment. Hunter looks away.

"Luz, corazón, what happened to you? Oh, bebé, your face…" she brushes her hand against Luz's forehead, tracing the open wound. Hunter marvels at the way Luz leans into her touch. What would it be like, he wonders, to trust someone so fully? It feels unimaginable.

"I'll tell you later, Mamí," Luz promises, "First, can we come inside? My friends–"

Luz's mother gasps again, eyes drawn to the rest of them, "Oh of course, you all must be freezing! Come in, come in. Vee, can you bring some towels from upstairs?" 

A girl who looks nearly identical to Luz hovers in the doorway. She startles when addressed, then nods, disappearing up the stairs next to the kitchen doorway.

"Thank you for having us, Mrs. Noceda," Amity says politely, with a slight bow. She would look just like the Boiling Isles nobility she is if not for the soaking wet hair sticking to the sides of her face and light shivering. 

Mrs. Noceda smiles wanly, "Please, call me Camila."

Mrs. Camila turns her head towards the kitchen, "Give me one moment, the rice needs to be taken off the burner. Thank goodness I used the crock pot tonight, we may not even have leftovers…" she murmurs the last bit to herself.

Hunter shuffles from foot to foot for a moment once she leaves the room. It is unseemly to fidget in the presence of adults, he knows. But his legs are sore from battle and shaky with fatigue. He almost wishes that he could kneel like before, but that is only for–he doesn't do that anymore.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm the tightness in his chest–in for four, out for four–and hopes no one notices the tension holding his muscles taut.

When Mrs. Camila comes back into the room, it's with a large white box that has a red cross on it.

"It's a first-aid kit," Luz says at her friends' curious looks.

Luz's look-alike comes down at the same time. With slightly shaking hands, she passes out the towels. The one Hunter gets is soft, white, and extremely fluffy, and he stiffens slightly when he realizes that he'll probably get stains on it.

Mrs. Camila puts the box down on the small table next to the sofa, opening it to reveal packaged medical supplies. "Who is the most injured?" she asks, voice firm and clinical. 

"That would be Hunter, ma'am." Willow says, pointing to him. Everyone nods in agreement.

Hunter freezes when Mrs. Camila's gaze locks onto him. Her eyes are soft and kind, but he can't help but bristle at the attention. 

"Hunter, was it?" she asks, voice gentle, like she's talking to an injured animal and not some wreck of a thing that Hunter is, "Where are you injured?"

"His arm, Mrs. Noc—Camila," Willow asserts when Hunter doesn't respond. Hunter shoots her a deadly glare.

Mrs. Camila reaches a hand out towards him. It's an innocent gesture, but, scared as he is, Hunter can't help the flinch.

She pauses, "I just need to look at your arm. Is that okay?" she asks.

Hunter stares at her hand. 

"I'm okay, ma'am," he finally says, "It's just bruised." 

He lifts his sleeve up to show her from afar. The bruises are oddly shaped and livid against his pale skin, but they're just bruises. He doesn't tell her about the way his arm aches deep underneath the skin, to the bone, up through his shoulder.

She hums, "Okay. Is there anything else that you need treated?" she asks.

"Nothing that I can't do myself." he replies, allowing himself to relax a bit now that she's not trying to touch him.

Mrs. Camila smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. If anything, she looks impossibly sad.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

"Okay, so who's next?"

...

If there's anything that Hunter knows about Camila Noceda, and there isn't much, it's that she knows when to step lightly. He'd expected her to demand answers from them immediately, about why they were here, about what happened to them, about where they'd come from. But, after giving them blankets and large portions of "rice" with "chili con carne", she had simply told them to get some sleep, and that they could talk more in the morning.

Hunter isn't sure he'll be able to sleep for a few days unless he gets knocked out. He normally likes to sleep on his side, back against the wall, but the arm he usually sleeps on bears his sigil and hurts more than it ever has, even after the multiple times he's broken it. And even if he ignores the pain, there's still the promise of nightmares. They haven't stopped since the day he went into Belos' mind, and they'll likely be even worse tonight. 

Luz puts a "car-toon" on the "Tee-Vee", volume on ten percent, stating that she used to fall asleep to this one as a child in her Mamá's lap. And it is surprisingly effective. Amity drops off first, clearly tired and upset from the day but comforted by Luz's hand running through her purple locks. Soft purrs fill the room, making the atmosphere feel a bit more familiar. Gus is next. His sniffles stopped hours ago, but he must still be congested, Hunter thinks, because he snores pretty loudly for his size. Vee is next to fall fully asleep, having already been dozing long before the rest with the first-aid kit in her arms despite her nervous disposition. Willow tries valiantly to stay conscious, eyes glancing between the still awake Luz and Hunter in worry, but sleep eventually takes her as well.

That leaves the two of them. Hunter doesn't say anything. Talking right now sounds exhausting, and he doesn't particularly want anyone else to know he's still awake. Luz doesn't say anything either–her eyes are transfixed on the show, but it's obvious she isn't taking it in.

And there they sit. Eventually, the cartoon turns into some strange advertisement, so Luz turns it off. Thirty minutes later, her own snores meld into the various sounds in the room.

Hunter stays up until the light shines through the windows. Then, he pretends. It's just like playing dead.

He's good at that.

Chapter Text

The first person to wake is Camila. She comes downstairs a little bit after sunrise. Hunter glues his eyes shut, forcing his body to relax as he feigns sleep and actively fighting against the natural way he wants to tense up at her approaching footsteps.

"Oh Luz. Te quiero, mi niña hermosa." she murmurs, voice soft in a way that he's never heard before. He hears the rustle of a blanket moving before her footsteps move towards the kitchen. He opens his eyes when he hears the sound of water running. After a few minutes, a strange, nutty, pungent smell fills the air. It's not at all unpleasant, but it is definitely unfamiliar.

After a few minutes, Hunter sits up, looking around at his friends. They seem to be sleeping peacefully, which is a small blessing given what they all experienced yesterday. 

It really is amazing how resilient they all are in their own ways, especially given their lack of experience. They are civilians, after all, and rebels or not, none of them have more than a few weeks' sparse combat training crammed into daily sessions at the CAtTs camp out.

An image comes to mind, unbidden, of Gus in a scout training uniform. Hunter shudders involuntarily. While the thought wouldn't have bothered him a few weeks ago, it definitely does now. As resourceful and talented as Gus is, many did not come out of that training alive.

Hunter hadn't really seen a problem with that until recently. Death was just a normal aspect of training to be the very best, at least in his experience.

He is beginning to realize, however, that "normal" and "okay" are two different things. Especially when the Emperor's Coven is involved.

Vee is the first to awaken. She comes to awareness with a small start, eyes shooting around the room before she reorients herself. When she makes eye contact with Hunter, he gives her a slight nod. She nods in return, taking a moment to stretch before getting up off of the king-sized air mattress they'd all piled on top of. 

"Good morning, Vee," says Mrs. Noceda. 

"Good morning, Mamí," Vee says. Then they start speaking in a quiet enough tone that Hunter can't make out much at all. He does catch a few things, however, such as "pick up groceries", "get situated", and "pick up a few shifts", all of which have no meaning to him whatsoever. He tunes them out after that, zoning out a bit. Unfortunately for him, this gives Mrs. Noceda the opportunity of surprise.

"Hunter, is it?" 

He jumps about a foot in the air, looking at her warily. How did she get so close?

"Yes, ma'am." he responds, a few seconds too late.

"Sorry for startling you, you looked lost in thought," the woman says with a sheepish smile, "Would you like to go get cleaned up? I'm sure these ones won't be awake for a while, but once they are there will be quite a queue."

Hunter nods, "Yes ma'am," he repeats.

 "Okay. Vee will show you how to work the shower while I get you some spare clothes. They may not fit perfectly, but I think I have a few things close to your size in the attic. Is that alright?"

"Yes ma'am." he says a third time.

The woman gives him a long, searching look before smiling again.

"So polite! Well, I will leave you to it, then. I'll leave the clothes right outside the bathroom door. Is there anything in particular that you need?"

Hunter pauses in surprise. Why is she asking– 

She is clearly waiting for a response, albeit patiently. He decides to answer honestly. 

"Do you have any gloves? I don't care what kind. I just–" 

If she is surprised by the request, she doesn't show it, "I'll check upstairs, dear. Now shoo! Showers are a teenage boy's best friend."

Then Vee leads him upstairs. She stubbornly avoids eye contact, only looking at him when she thinks he's looking away. She stutters her way through explaining the shower controls, sending him the occasional furtive look. He doesn't understand why she seems so nervous, especially given that she's in her house. Come to think of it, Luz never mentioned having a sister. 

The discrepancy sets alarm bells off in his head, but, before he can think about it too much, she says something that confuses him a little bit.

"This way is hot and this way is cold. But if you push too hard in either direction, the temperatures will get really extreme, so be careful."

"Why would I need to make the water hot?"

She finally looks him in the eye, giving him a weird look. 

"I mean, that's the ideal. Unless you want a freezing shower," she says.

He decides to leave it at that. Maybe it's some weird human thing. He pointedly ignores the thought process that maybe it's actually just a weird Hunter thing.

Then she leaves him alone. He relaxes a bit after locking the door. Finally, solitude. 

His shower is short and cold as usual, but it gives him a clarity that he didn't have before, and for that he is grateful. Cold water always seems to have that same familiar grounding quality that he tends to need after… Things. Like yesterday.

As promised, Mrs. Noceda left a small pile of clothes at the door. The pile includes: 

-A large (a bit too large for Hunter) black T-shirt reading "Pink Floyd", whatever that is.

-An also too big–albeit strangely soft– pair of gray pants with a white drawstring.

-A pair of boxers.

-Black socks

-And, lastly, a pair of black gloves that seem to fit quite well. They, like the inside of the pants, are also strangely soft. 

The gloves he brought with him, while somewhat softened by constant wear, are made of a rather stiff material that rubs roughly against his–admittedly quite sensitive–hands. They're nowhere near as soft and flexible as these new ones. He gives himself a moment to enjoy the sensation before forcing himself out of his reverie.

Enough dawdling. He heaves a sigh and leaves the room. Time to go face the world.

Chapter Text

Camila Noceda is many things, but "calm" or "go with the flow" are not terms that anyone would ever use to describe her. She's always been a high-strung person, a worrywart. Having a child did not help this aspect of herself, especially a child like Luz.

Her Luz. Her vibrant, beautiful Luz. The light of her life. 

Luz has never been an "easy" child. Even as a baby, she was unpredictable. She craved constant stimulation—always seeking out loud noises and colorful shapes around her. And lord, when she started crawling—that's when the real terror began. 

Luz is her opposite in many ways. Where Camila craves calm and quiet and routine, Luz thrives on unpredictability. Where Camila has her feet firmly on the ground, Luz's head is in the clouds. She is so much like her father in that way. That vibrancy, while foreign and intimidating, is what made her fall in love with him.

"Don't worry about Luz," he'd tell her when she expressed her concerns about their daughter's future, her struggles with school, with making friends, "She'll find her niche eventually."

Things were easier before he passed. 

Loss isn't something that anyone handles well. Without her father to conspire with, Luz turned to fantasy to cope. Friends had never been easy for her to make but, as she got older and the kids around her stopped being into playing "potions" with the mud and bugs, as she became more isolated, she began to act out. 

Camila never meant to stifle her daughter. And now, watching a banged up Luz slowly pick through her scrambled eggs, dark circles under her eyes, a frown on her face, and a thin layer of grime covering her, Camila thinks about her actions are what drove Luz into this mess.

The kids are all in various stages of getting ready for the day—the little one, "Gus" if Camila remembers correctly, is still fast asleep. The girl with the black braids (Willow?) is keeping him company as she waits for her turn in the bathroom. The girl with purple hair, who spent the evening glued to Luz, is in the shower. 

That leaves Luz herself, who is trying and failing to enjoy her food, and the strange boy with the maroon eyes. Hunter is the oldest, Camila thinks, judging by his height and the pitch of his voice. But even knowing that, she can't help but extrapolate. Most 16 (???) year olds don't hold themselves the way he does—stiff and alert, almost like a soldier at the ready. They don't walk into every room and immediately look for exits, nor do they stare off into the distance with blank, haunted expressions at five AM after obviously not having slept.

(Camila thinks back to the night before, when he flinched away from her touch and told her he would take care of his own wounds.)

Camila doesn't know much about this situation, about these children. What she does know, however, is that they saw something horrible yesterday, something world-shattering, something that even adults might not be able to handle. And that one of them is her daughter.

And that terrifies her.

…

Luz stares down at her eggs and bacon. Considering that she's spent the last several months surviving off a strict diet of griffin eggs, she should be starving. But there's a knot in her stomach, and, with every breath she takes, it seems to tighten more and more. 

It's suffocating.

Luz puts down her fork. She stands up and dumps the rest of her food into the garbage, taking up residence at the sink as she mechanically washes her plate. She can feel her mother's eyes on her as she cleans. Normally during this time of day, Luz makes conversation—ask her Mom about her plans for the day, about when she'll be home from work. 

But today isn't normal. Today is her first day back in the human realm after months away and the world she came from (her home) maybe just ended and she is so incredibly tired.

Her hands are shaking too much to do any dishes other than her own. She supposes last night's mess will have to wait.

She turns to her mom. She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

"You wanted to know what happened. How we got here." Luz says, "I want to—I want my friends to be here for it. To give you the full story."

Her Mamí nods, "We can wait until after breakfast, Mija," she says, putting a gentle hand on Luz's shoulder.

It makes sense, the gentleness. Right now, Luz feels like she might just shatter.

 "Okay."

…

It takes a few hours for the kids to shower, get dressed, and finish breakfast. Eating takes the least time—none of them have much of an appetite. The mom in her worries, of course, but hopefully their appetites will return once the dust settles.

Right now they are raw and tired and afraid. Camila can only hope that being in a safe, stable environment will help.

Unfortunately, like most things, it'll have to get worse before it can get better. She hates forcing them to relive whatever horrible thing brought them here, but she can't help if she doesn't know anything about what happened.

So they sit at the table, all crowded together on one side, and Luz begins to speak.