Chapter Text
Hats, hats are everywhere. Baseball caps, beanies, sun hats. Visors, porkpie, brimless. A fedora from a poorly thought-out middle school phase. And bandanas, headbands, sweatbands; a helmet covered in skateboarding stickers; a swim cap with too many loose hairs stuck to it after ripping it off a dry scalp, screaming ensuing.
There are three mirrors propped up around the room: one of Vee’s makeup mirrors, the white wicker mirror from the mudroom, and the full-length mirror they dragged out of the attic. Scattered among everything are shopping bags with the red Target logo outside of it, the perfect place to run last-minute to get new wardrobes for the sudden teens in the household. Price labels make up a new layer of floor above the beige living room carpet (“do not even worry about it, mija, this is exactly what the rainy day account is for! I don’t want you all to be sitting in… monster… gunk…. the entire time you’re here.”) and the bathroom door slams open and closed as the new arrivals tried on their outfits.
Amity and Willow had settled on a few scarves and bandanas apiece, in an assortment of their favorite colors. Amity even grabbed Vee’s camp baseball cap for herself, the navy blue and yellow logo screaming CAMP SUNSHINE clashing horribly with her purple leggings. Willow look a liking to Ms. Noceda’s wide-brimmed straw gardening hat.
Gus’s natural hair kept most hats from staying on his head, so he laughingly grabbed a sweatband and a light blue bucket hat patterned with dolphins from a trip to Key West, which Vee assured him was in all the style for the summer. It worked with the button-down fitted shirts that Ms. Noceda bought for him; the ultimate summer vibe.
But Hunter- well. He was the one who grabbed the fedora at first, puzzling over its fashion. Then the bike helmet. Then a snorkeling set. With the swim cap. And screaming. He still didn’t settle on a choice.
“So, you wear a mask all day as the Golden Guard, all day, every day. But you don’t want to mess up your hair with a hat?” Gus smirks from his place on the couch as he watches Hunter preen in front of the full-length mirror, going between the golf visor and Luz’s dad’s old Cuban straw hat.
“Precisely.” He sniffs, sleeking back the sides of his white-blonde hair. The top of his head is obscenely messy and the longer strand of his hair flopped over unattractively, without volume. He was still wearing the brown tunic, gloves, and boots he arrived to the human world in. “I don’t see why we need to bother with these head coverings, anyway. You never wore anything to cover your ears in the Boiling Isles, Luz.”
“That’s because you guys knew about humans there. Or at least, knew about their trash,” says Luz from her kneeling position on the floor as she pins another scarf into Amity’s head. “Here, no one knows that the Boiling Isles even exist, let alone that you guys are actual witches.”
“Don’t human witches have green skin and warts? Shouldn’t we just be focused on painting ourselves?” Gus asks.
“How do you know that?”
“Magazines. And there was this little paper book that was a summary of a battle between good and evil, light and dark, from Oz!”
Luz laughed at Gus’s poor Broadway summary. “Well, sorry to contradict, but people don’t believe that witches exist. If they see your ears then they’ll just think that you’re runaways from a local Comic-Con. But that doesn’t make sense for the local day-to-day, so we’re going with my plan,” announces Luz, proudly showcasing her work to her girlfriend with a flourish of her hands. Amity preens in front of her mirror, marveling at the wonderful human contraption of bobby pins.
“I still don’t see why we have to do this. We don’t need to go out to the human world! The only thing we have to do is go into the woods to the door and get out of here. We’re only staying at your to plan. And eat. And sleep. And use the bathroom. I can do that all out there anyway!” Hunter antagonizes, whipping off the straw hat and glaring at Luz.
“Hunter, it’s been six days since we came here. You’re going batty cooped up here,” says Amity matter-of-factly. “It would be useful to go explore the town a little and go to the library and the history museum. We need more clues on how to get back home, and what makes Conn-ect-tie-cut so important as to be connected to the demon realm.” She is quite assured in the way she butchered the state name. “I am also not going to the bathroom in the woods or a run-down house.”
“That is, if there still even is a demon realm to get back to,” Hunter grumbles as he looks back on himself in the mirror, tossing the options he was holding to try on the next, a plaid Canadian toque with ear flaps.
Luz snorts. “Okay, Holden Caulfield.”
“Who..?”
Willow exits the bathroom, wearing her human clothes: a white overall set. She goes over to jostle Hunter with her elbow. “Hey, you’re still here, so that means everything is still there. Quit being so mopey. We’ve already had enough of that for the past week.”
It’s true. The first few days back home were quiet and fearful. Staring at their hands to see if they would fizz from existence from one second to the next. Not getting sleep because when they closed their eyes they would see Belos disintegrating before their eyes. And the thing that disintegrated him. Hunter doesn’t want to think about it.
Hunter only scowls at this captain, which is a win in everyone’s book, and then scowls at his reflection in the mirror before whipping off the toque. His hair looks worse than before.
“Here. I used this for my bad hair days.” Luz tosses a yellow beanie at Hunter, who jams it on his head. It’s the best option so far.
Yeah, Hunter still doesn’t think that he needs to put up with these hats. This ruse. This place. His knees buckle and his stomach feels like an explosion goes off when he thinks about the last few days. He pictures the images of falling rocks every time he closes his eyes. Sometimes it feels like he is in the ground again, being twisted under by his uncle’s—no, Belo’s—hand. Punishing him for existing, trying to erase his last mistake.
Sometimes, echoes sound in his ears like the clanging of golden helmets all piled onto each other, tipping over and scattering on the floor, skulls rattling inside them like death gongs. Sometimes, he smells the sulfuric air from Belos’s throne room and taste the electricity from the door he was building. The failed door, with the few drops of titan’s blood not being enough to power it.
But he doesn’t think that he needs to mesh himself with this place. The only thing he has to do is wait for this all to be over, and to get back. To whatever is left for him.
And when he thinks about that last part, he does everything he can to ignore his stomach tightening like an iron clasp, or a noose, or a hole in the ground he is being twisted into, shoulders tightening together, legs almost snapping—because why is he feeling the worst pains about going back to his home?
He sniffs and shoves the last item of headwear into a box, slotting it into a rack by the front door. He hears everyone in the kitchen, the sounds of dinner cooking, but instead of joining the group, he retreats back down to the basement before dinner. Carpeted, with a corner nook of his borrowed sleeping bag, a camping headlamp taken from a box in the corner, and a few books.
“The good news is my mind is a freaking steel trap,” Luz announces over dinner. “Not only am I a genius almost-witch who went to a demon junior high school without being kicked out—”
“Are you sure you weren’t kicked out?” Gus asks, Willow giggling into her plate.
“—Without! Being kicked out!” Luz re-announces, ignoring her hecklers. “But I am also a genius who remembers everything she reads. Including…” here, she pauses for a beat in dramatic and typical Luz fashion, “the manual to build the demon door into the human realm.”
“Of course!” Amity gasps. “You built that door after the first one was destroyed! But weren’t you caught up in the mirrors and reflective surfaces?”
Ms. Noceda shudders at the memory from the stovetop where is warming the next batch of tortillas, but keeps quiet.
“Yes. Of course, it was flawed. But I remember the basics. And we can reverse-engineer it to take us back home.”
“I don’t see why you’re so happy about this,” sneers Hunter from the corner of the kitchen table, where a fifth chair was added on.
“This isn’t a like winning a grugby match, or sailing on a boat to get pirate treasure, or another one of your stupid schemes where ‘everything always works out in the end through the power of love!’” he chipperly says, waving his hands in a typical sarcastic Hunter fashion, pitching up his voice and sunnily smiling to show off his gap teeth in a mocking imitation of Luz. His face falls just as suddenly as he glares as Luz across the table. “This is real, and we’re really stuck here. We can’t mess up. We can’t pretend like everything is ok, and the only thing we need is some glue and a happy-go-lucky attitude to get us back.”
Luz’s face fell from the wide smile she had painted on at the beginning of her statement. From one second to the next, her bravado disappeared in an instant, showcasing fear in her eyes. Her voice wobbles. “Well, I wasn’t pretending – “ Luz starts, before Amity interrupts.
“Save it Hunter,” she snaps at him, glaring and protectively placing a hand on Luz’s. “I get something crawled up your butt and died there years ago, but Willow was right. We can’t just mope here. We actually need to figure out a plan to get back. And if that takes trusting Luz and listening to her, and trying our best, then we’re going to do it.”
Quietly, tenderly, Willow adds on over the kitchen full of silent children and a tense adult, the smell of sizzling peppers in a pan for the next round of veggie fajitas. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here, Hunter. Or if it would work. We might have to get used to this, a little.” Her voice shakes. Unusual from the captain.
Gus sniffles, staring a little too brightly-eyed into his dinner plate, smears of sour cream and bits of cilantro stuck there from the first round of food. Willow reaches from her side of the table to touch his shoulder in reassurance. Hunter suddenly feels sick. But he barely ate dinner. He barely ate anything this last week. So it’s not the human food slowly poisoning him.
“Fine,” he mumbles, averting his eyes from the rest of the witches – and the human – at the table. “I don’t know if that will be that easy.” He goes back to stabbing his beans.
“Hunter.”
Hunter jumps at the sound of Luz’s mom’s voice in the night. No, it wasn’t the harsh, silky tone in his hear that he expected. He’s fine. He’s fine.
Hunter takes stock to calm his heart after he was snapped away from his thoughts. He’s sitting on the back porch, overlooking the dark woods stretching out into the night. Even if it is summer, and the sun doses the night sky yet, painting it a dark and humble blue just after it winked out of existence for the day, Hunter still feels like midnight cloaks the entire backyard, bathing it in darker colors than twilight.
It’s nice out here. Cool. Hunter likes how the moths, buzzing around in the glow of the porch lights on either side of him, don’t try to eat him alive like they would in the demon realm.
“Oh sh- I mean, hi. Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t want seconds before I wrap everything up.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m not used to the human- the food… here.”
“Of course. I’m trying not to make anything too spicy. Everything will be in the fridge if you change your mind. Vee showed you how to use the microwave, right?”
Hunter nods haltingly. Even if he doesn’t remember all the steps, he’s sure he can figure it out.
“Even at night, you’re always welcome to get anything you want from anywhere in the house. Besides my room. I’m cranky if I wake up, so only get me if one of you is sick or something’s on fire.” Ms. Noceda jokes. She moves next to Hunter to touch his shoulder, but he is as still as usual, not relaxing under her hand. He feels the warmth lift just as soon as it was laid on him.
“I want to make sure you know you’re completely welcome here. And you can move up to the guest room with Gus whenever you want instead of being in the basement.”
“It’s ok. It’s comfortable for me. I like my alone time.” Hunter mumbles into the night. He plays with one of his gloves, sliding his fingers in the roominess of the leather, old and worn and always too-big for him. (Quickly, his stomach rolls at the implication of that thought before shoving it far, far away from this moment.)
“Listen, I know that a lot has happened in the last few days. And I don’t even understand most of it. Even when Luz and the rest of you kids explained it.” Ms. Noceda says, taking a step down into the backyard to examine the tomato plants near the porch stair banisters. Not too close. Hunter appreciates that.
“And I know you’re scared. About a lot of things. And that’s okay. But you know, if Luz can get there and back, then I’m sure you all will be able to do the same.”
“Sure. I guess. That is our best option for right now. And I guess Luz does manage to have things work out in her way.” Hunter grumbles.
“I was really scared that I would never see her again, but here she is. And I am so grateful. I know we’re all scared, but it always works out. We all just have to try out best.”
Hunter lets his guard slip down a bit at that. “Yeah. I know. You’re right. I—I wanted to thank you for the books you lent me. On the human world. The en-cyclops-edias? They’re helpful to get to know everything. Oh, and for the headlamp.”
Ms. Noceda laughs at the monstrous pronunciation. “Of course. I can show you how to use the computer if you want to know more.”
Hunter nods. “Thank you, again,” he says, genuinely meaning it.
Ms. Noceda starts to go up the stairs next to him, back into the house, but pauses. She waits a beat, something Hunter doesn’t expect, “You know, I used to be a social worker before I went to vet school.” He doesn’t say anything. He feels uncomfortable, and Ms. Noceda notices the blank look on his face. “It’s basically… a person who takes care of people that need extra help. People that don’t have homes, or are not in the best mental health, or kids that don’t have the care they deserve.”
She’s quiet for another beat. Hunter understands what she is saying with the cold fear of an egg white, slippery and cold, running down his spine.
“I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. Listen, thank you for having us here, and feeding us – which, I’ll help pay you back for, when I figure out how this stupid human money works – but I don’t need any more of your help.” Hunter pauses and looks at the guilty look on the woman’s face. He knows he is lashing out but doesn’t know how to stop it. “Besides the books. Seriously—thank you.” He adds on. “But I’ve always dealt with everything alone and I was okay. It’s what I was made to do.” He adds mirthfully, almost to himself, the last part a whisper.
She looks at him sadly but doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. But I’m always here to talk if you want. I know what it’s like, a transition from one place to another without any input.” Hunter notices her accent, not the way that Luz and the rest of the teenagers talk, or anyone from those metal boxes around the house do. From a different place.
“Sorry for snapping.” Hunter apologizes. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
She touches his shoulder, a second time, the warmth soaking in longer as she squeezes, and this time he lets one shoulder drop into the embrace. Then she goes inside.
The summer air is cooler, the night has turned darker, and twilight slips away fully. Hunter stares into the dark for a long, long time.