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“Honestly, kid, would it kill you to pay attention to me for once? You’re going to trip and get yourself a nasty-looking bruise if you keep texting while you walk,” Darius complains. “Sometimes I almost think I shouldn’t have given you that blasted thing in the first place.”
Hunter immediately shoves his scroll back into the pocket of his green letterman jacket. He mumbles out an awkward apology for his unintentional insolence and steps aside a bit to put more space between himself and Darius. Flapjack nuzzles against the side of his face and chirps reassuringly, always able to tell when his owner needs some comfort. The sight makes Darius feel a little guilty. This kind of thing keeps happening recently.
They’re on the way home from Hunter’s Flyer Derby practice, a routine that they repeat a few times a week. Hunter always insists on walking home instead of flying, claiming that the health benefits are worth it, but Darius has never understood the appeal in getting even more exercise right after playing a sport for hours. In theory, he doesn’t actually need to accompany Hunter on these trips. The boy is definitely capable enough of navigating alone, considering how independent he is. Despite this, Darius is consistently there to pick him up from school every weekday.
Hunter’s multitrack Hexside uniform suits him well, but he usually leaves Emerald Entrails practice wearing the customized jacket Darius gave him a few months prior. He claims it’s his lucky charm, and its hand-sewn patches of birds and abominations seem to gleam in the sunny path the two take every afternoon. If there’s one thing Darius is sure about in regards to Hunter, it’s that he places far too much value into articles of clothing — but if it makes him happy, then so be it. At least it's better than his previous favorite item, his old Golden Guard cape.
When they first reunited after the Day of Unity, Darius had immediately offered to let Hunter live with him. It was partially a suggestion from his mischievous housemate Eberwolf, who wanted someone new to tease at home, and partially his own personal sense of duty. The previous Golden Guard had done so much for him, and it was impossible to not see his former mentor’s face reflected in Hunter’s identical features sometimes. There was no question about it — the intense emotions he felt the moment he saw the battered and bruised boy again made his choice for him.
Hunter has been living with Darius for around a year, but the signs of his past upbringing could never fade that quickly. He’s jumpy and flinches from any sudden movements or loud noises. He has a habit of apologizing profusely and incredibly genuinely for even the most minor of mistakes. He still wakes up hours before Darius to do chores around the house that he was never asked to do. He’s a tricky kid to take care of, because he doesn’t let himself be taken care of.
Darius frequently finds himself apologizing for accidentally hurting Hunter in ways that he would’ve never expected to make someone upset. He has little to no experience with children, besides a younger version of Hunter that always acted eerily mature whenever they passed each other on Emperor’s Coven property. Hunter had never explained what made him have such a dramatic transformation, but it wasn’t hard to guess. In a matter of only a few years, he went from a whiny toddler that had bitten his fair share of Coven Heads to a miniature adult who never said a word unless he was spoken to first. Seeing him grow up over the years from afar, through brief hallway encounters and coven meetings no child should logically be at, had been a surreal experience.
Now, however, he’s seventeen and covered in bandaged up scrapes that came from a sports field instead of brutal missions and punishments. He looks like any normal teenager — as long as people are able to ignore the massive scar that stretches across his right cheek and the matching smaller ones that are usually hidden under shirt sleeves and pants.
His proud smile, a grin that’s especially big whenever he rambles to Darius about what he did at school each day, is still one that fades in the blink of an eye if Darius isn’t careful. Even something as simple as trying to prevent him from tripping is enough to make Hunter withdraw into himself and begin acting as if he just got lectured for committing some type of sin. These moments make Darius frustrated — at himself, not Hunter. It’s difficult to feel this helpless; he can do everything possible for his kid, but nobody can erase sixteen years of behaviors formed from trauma.
But that doesn’t mean trying is pointless.
“...I worded myself poorly. I apologize,” Darius finally says, a few minutes into their walk. “I’m glad to see you talking to your friends.”
“Understood,” Hunter says quietly, not taking his gaze off the sidewalk. It’s covered in leaves that will be replaced by snow in a month; they make little cracking noises whenever someone steps on them. “I’m making an effort to improve at eye contact, but it’s hard. I really have to think about it to remember to do it.”
“I’ve already told you that I don’t care about that. If that doesn’t work for you, then there’s no need to force it,” Darius reminds him. If Hunter isn’t going to let himself move back to Darius’s side, then Darius will simply have to come to him instead. He steps a little closer to Hunter and resists his instinct to put a hand on the poor boy’s shoulder — Hunter hates physical contact with other people when he’s not prepared for it. It would do more harm than good.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Hunter insists. His tone is scarily polite — it’s the voice he used to use around Belos. “Let’s talk about your day instead. How was work?”
Darius wants to tell him that he really isn’t mad at all, that he’s still curious about how practice went, that he wishes he knew the right way to be a parent. But he can’t say any of that. There’s too much awkward tension in the air.
He admits defeat and responds normally to all of Hunter’s generic small talk, but the distant expression on his son’s face worries him for the rest of the walk home.
******
Sewing together is a private bonding activity for only Darius and Hunter — known troublemaker Eberwolf is always locked out of Darius’s bedroom to prevent him from making a mess of things whenever the two are working. The room is filled with piles and piles of soft fabric, in only the specific textures he knows Hunter can tolerate. They cover the bed and the carpet beside it, heaps of materials that would be impossible for any outsider to understand the organization of.
Hunter has become rather proficient at sewing ever since he started getting lessons from Darius. In fact, he becomes skilled at just about any task Darius ever tries to instruct him in. He has an innate urge to work as hard as possible to prove himself, and that transfers into his hobbies too. He’s customized plenty of his clothes with Darius’s help, with the exception of his special jacket that he refuses to let any witch touch besides himself or the person who gave it to him. He doesn’t dare to accidentally ruin it with lackluster handiwork — he simply can’t have such sloppy stitches next to Darius’s perfect ones.
Honestly, he’s plenty good enough to work on sewing just about anything by now. Darius often tells him that. But in Hunter’s eyes, there’s always room for improvement, and he seems to be in a never-ending competition with himself in every aspect of his life.
He’s quieter than usual this afternoon, and Darius’s guilt grows from the idea that he somehow offended Hunter this much with his comment on the walk home. “Fragile” isn’t a good word to describe a teenager as strong as Hunter is, but it’s true that little things can send him spiraling into a bad mood for an entire day. It’s impossible to entirely know what might set him off, and even Hunter himself is probably unsure. It’s nobody’s fault, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less for either of them whenever this happens.
“That’s looking good so far. Very clean stitching.” Darius tries a compliment first, hoping to see any hint of happiness in Hunter’s expression, but his face doesn’t change. “Who did you say you were making this scarf for, again?”
On the other hand, that question does get Hunter to react. He really is hard to predict sometimes. A small smile creeps onto his lips, and it puts Darius’s worried heart a little more at ease. “Willow told me that she needs a new one a few days ago. Apparently, Clover’s claimed her old one as a blanket. Can you believe that? She sent me a picture of it, and I think it might be giving Flapjack bad ideas.”
If there’s another thing Darius is sure about in regards to Hunter, it’s that he has a weakness for a particular friend of his that he isn’t even aware of. Darius isn’t about to overstep; Titan knows that a man with as much emotional baggage regarding teenage crushes as he has would never. He just quietly observes the progression of the parts of Hunter’s life that he gets let into and silently cheers him on. Hunter finally experiencing such ordinary emotions for someone his age is a miracle and a relief compared to the pain that usually seems to linger behind everything he does. Darius holds a large amount of gratitude for a girl he hasn't had many one-on-one conversations with.
Willow treats Hunter more sweetly than anyone else does, and she’s an incredibly powerful witch as well, so she’s had Darius’s seal of approval ever since the first time they more formally met. She’s definitely kind enough to keep being patient with Hunter, and she seems to have some of her own issues to work through first before she can get into a relationship, but he’s glad that Willow is the person Hunter’s heart chose.
“Oh wow, that bee sure is a pest when she wants to be,” Darius says. “Careful not to make it too pretty, or else it’ll end up joining her collection of stolen goods. Maybe make the colors clash a little?”
Hunter laughs, and he’s back to his lighter mood from earlier. Darius lets out an exhale of breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.
“It’s going to get colder soon, so I want to finish this before that happens. I figured it’d be a nice gift for…” Hunter trails off in the middle of his explanation. It seems that being prompted to talk about his current project is making him finally gain some self-awareness about his motivations for creating it. “Actually, now that I think of it, I’m not sure what I’m going to say it’s for when I give it to her. I didn’t tell her that I’m making it. It’s going to be a surprise.”
“Your team’s got that big game coming up in a couple weeks, doesn’t it?” Darius asks. It’s not a real question; he has Hunter’s schedule memorized inside and out. “It can be your own good luck charm for her.”
This idea has clearly motivated Hunter, and his smile grows a little more as his sewing speed quickens. “You’re right!”
“Speaking of good luck charms…” Darius begins. He’s been trying to shift the topic to this for several nights now, and he’s finally found a proper opening for it. “I was thinking that it’d be nice to add a new patch to your jacket.”
“Sure, feel free to,” Hunter replies. The approval is automatic and he doesn’t even look up as he says it. “I trust your judgment.”
“I was hoping that you’d be the one to do it this time. I think it’s about time to finally show yourself that you’re skilled enough to take the lead. You have been for quite a while now.”
Hunter pauses, and his hand freezes mid-stitch. He looks up and blinks in confusion, probably trying to form a response but coming up short. “...What do you mean?”
He’s still wearing the letterman jacket. He rarely takes it off on Flyer Derby practice days, which is a habit that tracks an amount of dirt into the house that would make Darius lecture any other teen. It’s one of his most prized possessions, and he treats it with the same level of careful reverence as all of Flapjack’s toys.
Darius sets down the hat he’s been sewing for Eberwolf; even if he’ll inevitably never wear it, it’s still a noble effort from Darius to try and prevent his brother’s future winter colds. With his now unoccupied hands, he makes Hunter put down his own work with an abomination summoned by a quick finger snap.
“I’m being serious, little prince.” He’s pulling out the formerly mocking nickname that he only uses to be particularly affectionate, and it makes Hunter’s troubled expression untwist itself a bit. “I gave that to you months ago with the intention of it being a creative outlet for you, as some sort of tool for self-expression, but you refuse to do a single thing to it. You just keep following whatever I want to do with it.”
“That’s not…” Hunter’s protests are short-lived. “Okay, so maybe you’re right. But what’s the problem with that? It’s worked just fine like this for this long. No need to change things up, in my mind.”
“That isn’t your mind talking,” Darius chastises. He stares at Hunter with a concerned face that’s reserved for only his son. “You’re constantly just being passive and doing what I tell you to do, regardless of your own opinions. What happened to that rebellious fire in your spirit that led you to me in the first place, eh? I know you’ve still got it in you somewhere.” His words are critical, but his tone is gentle and caring. Flapjack exchanges a look with Hunter and nods in agreement with Darius’s claims. He may not be able to understand the things that bird apparently says in the way Hunter can, but Flapjack has always been an invaluable ally in Darius’s strained efforts to talk some sense into Hunter.
“Are you…telling me to disobey you? Like, that’s what you… want?”
Darius resists another urge to fondly brush the long strand of hair away from Hunter’s perplexed face, and he smiles. “Honestly, when I gave it to you, I assumed you were going to cover the back of that thing with shoddy-looking birds the second I took my eyes off of you. I was surprised that you didn’t.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow. “Hey, it wouldn’t look bad!”
He knows the correct approach to get things to make sense to Hunter by now. “So why haven’t you proven that to me?”
The room is quiet, and Hunter begins to fidget with his hands to compensate for the needle and thread that got taken out of them. He rubs some of the rough scars on them, which has become a frequent behavior ever since he grew comfortable enough to not wear gloves at all times anymore.
“I…guess I don’t want to disappoint you? Maybe?” he answers. “You bought that for me, and you put so much effort into making it match me perfectly, and I don’t want to ruin that.”
“Hunter.” Darius’s smile is reassuring. “It isn’t really yours if you aren’t going to let yourself have any influence over it. You won’t ruin things just by touching them.”
This makes Hunter realize that this conversation is about more than a piece of clothing.
“You know I get scared trying new things,” he argues. He anxiously scratches at one of his hands in a way that makes it sting.
“Being Hunter isn’t a new thing. You’ve been doing that for seventeen years, and you haven’t messed up badly enough for that to stop working out yet. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
Hunter stops scratching and shakes out his aching hand. His voice grows quiet and shy. “But being Hunter Deamonne is new.”
Darius offers one of his own hands to Hunter, and the touch is hesitantly accepted. He rubs a finger over the part of Hunter’s hand that’s become the newest victim of his picking urges. “And being a parent is new for me. We’ve both been trying things we aren’t used to.”
Flapjack stares up at Hunter, as if he’s expecting something, and chirps words Darius can’t understand. Hunter slowly nods as the bird talks to him, and he comes to a conclusion a moment later. “I…think I can try it. But only if you help me.”
“Now that’s a compromise I’m willing to make.”
Darius lightly squeezes Hunter's hand before he lets it go. It feels good to see him be the one making decisions for once.
******
The golden patch sewn onto the back of Hunter’s favorite jacket practically sparkles in the sunlight. It’s a wonky and slightly misshapen mimicry of the old Golden Guard symbol. It’s Hunter’s own imperfect work, and that makes it perfect to Darius.
The suggestion had taken Darius by surprise at first. The Golden Guard was a forbidden topic in the Deamonne home, a part of both of their pasts that they’d rather forget. The idea of putting such a thing on Hunter’s lucky charm seemed like a sure-fire way to destroy any potential enchantments it may have. The choice was baffling and unexpected — until Hunter explained his logic.
“You’ve told me that my family’s legacy is rebellion. It wasn’t the original intention, but that makes this a symbol of freedom in a way, doesn’t it?” he had said. “Even just looking at it used to feel so suffocating for me, but…I don’t want to let myself be controlled like that anymore. Never again. This is a reminder of that dream all of the Golden Guards had, including me.”
Darius had wholeheartedly agreed, and now, three weeks later, it follows Hunter on his back like his old capes did. Reclaiming parts of his past he rarely dared to acknowledge is terrifying. It feels wrong. It gives him the same gut reaction as everything else that he knows would have gotten him punished a year ago.
Being able to wear the symbol with pride again, with his own personal meaning for it, is thrilling in a variety of ways.
“By the way, Darius,” Hunter says. He’s blushing and his hands are shoved into his jacket pockets. There’s a shy smile on his face, the expression he only makes when he’s thinking about one specific person. “Willow really liked the scarf I made for her when I gave it to her at school today. Thanks for the design help. I appreciate it.”
Darius’s response is a little too knowing, but he lets himself take this opportunity for teasing. “Anything for the little prince’s princess.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.”
The two are on their way to the big Emerald Entrails game of the month, and the leaves on their usual path are starting to wither and die. They’ll fly away to make room for snow soon. The seasons are changing, and the cool air is refreshing to walk through.
“We should hurry up with those gloves we’ve been working on making. I’m not sure if my usual ones will cut it with this weather,” Hunter says. He looks up at the trees above them as he walks, his scroll tucked into his bag — by choice.
“We probably won’t have much time to do that tonight, though. We’ll be too busy celebrating your team’s victory,” Darius tells him. “Eberwolf’s been absolutely begging me to let him throw a party for it all week, so don’t be surprised if he pounces on you when we get back.”
Hunter laughs, and his shoulders aren’t as tensed up as they used to be. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re gonna win this! I can feel it!”
With Hexside getting closer and closer, their walk slows to an end. After they arrive at the entrance, Darius wipes some dirt off of Hunter’s jacket and ruffles Flapjack’s feathers.
“I’ll make you proud!” Hunter promises. He looks ready to burst with excitement. He’s wide-eyed and practically has a skip in his step.
Darius smiles at him, and reaches a hand out towards the shoulder that isn’t occupied by a bird. He hovers over it for a few seconds, waiting for approval from Hunter before touching him. He receives it in the form of a nod, and gently places his hand down on it.
“I already am, so focus on making yourself proud instead.”
Hunter laughs and Flapjack chirps at the same time. “Right. I’ll try to do that too.”
The two exchange their goodbyes, and Darius watches him as he enthusiastically enters the building. He may not be able to fix all of Hunter’s problems, but he can still help learn how to love himself. It’s a slow process that requires a lot of patience and willingness to try new things, but so is sewing — and Hunter has gotten pretty good at that.
Hunter confidently charges forward with the gold of his ancestors on his back and a not-so-broken heart that’s still working on being mended; the person helping him through it all, Darius, goes home to prepare their sewing materials for another night of progress.