Work Text:
Hunter feels like everybody in the house is slowly losing their minds.
Which he finds understandable, of course.
It wasn’t everyday you got expelled from the world you know through a crackling portal. Not everyday you opened your door to a daughter you’d long since thought had been lost.
But still. It was unnerving. Whilst his time in the Emperor’s Coven hadn’t exactly been perfect, mostly everyone had been put-together. Nobody had been -
(Well. Looking back on it, he was sure they had been. But everyone had concealed it. Nobody had wanted to talk about it, everyone had cowered away in their room, pretending not to think about the things that kept them awake at night.)
Nobody had been cracked. Nobody had been so obviously, blatantly fractured. And nobody, nobody had ever voiced a single fear. Nobody had ever, ever talked about it.
But that didn’t apply to this house, apparently. No, apparently everybody wanted to talk about it.
That was something Hunter couldn’t quite understand - he didn’t get why everybody wanted to relive their worst memories. Luz had said it was something about opening up, not bottling up those thoughts, but Hunter didn’t quite believe her. Willow had said it was something more along the lines of feeling less alone, knowing you were united in - well. Everything that had happened. They’d all gone through the same thing in those last moments, more or less.
(Except, not really. Because Luz hadn’t felt the splatter of the man he’d thought was his only family splatter against her back. Because Willow hadn’t had to watch the man slowly becoming a mentor to him
And well, Hunter had reluctantly shared some things, snatches and pieces, but he wasn’t as open as Luz or Willow had been.
Thankfully, it seemed as though they were outliers. Gus had barely said a word since they’d arrived.. well. Here. (He still didn’t quite know where they were, despite Luz’s efforts to explain human geography.) That concerned him. Gus’ silence. Before this, before they’d been swept away, Gus had seemed so wildly enthusiastic about all things human. That enthusiasm had been muted, but Hunter could tell it was still there. To see him silent, to see him not attempting to work out the little quirks of the world they’d found themselves in… it was strange.
And Amity was quiet. Hunter had chalked that up to exhaustion. She stood at a solemn contrast to Luz. Luz had been talking a mile-a-minute since they’d woken up from their short nap, as if that would distract herself from losing King and Eda, and distract them from noticing the tears welling up in her eyes everytime she lingered on something for too long.
So. Yeah. From Hunter’s perspective, everybody is Not Doing So Great. He’s not eager to linger on his own feelings - a confusing swirl of regret, anger, and pain - so it’s been easier to try and help his friends. (The idea of him having friends is a funny idea in itself. He didn’t think there would be a time where that would be an option.)
He just feels - empty. Rough around the edges. There’s so many things that he needs to say - needed to say. To his friends. To Darius. To Belos. But he can’t. Because his friends are in a new, terrifying environment, one where hefty metallic battle machines stalk the streets, and mysterious creatures hiss and yowl at them from windows. He can’t unsettle them. Can’t upset them.
And besides. He doesn’t know how they’d take it. He barely knows what a Grimwalker is - maybe Luz, or Amity, or Gus, or Willow knows more than him. Maybe he’s dangerous. Maybe he’s a ticking time bomb. He could hurt them. He’s hurt all of them before, dozens of times. He doesn’t want to hurt them again.
And he can’t talk to Darius. Because Darius is probably dead. He’d watched the man fading. And whilst the Collector had clearly managed to undo the Draining Spell, he has no idea if it worked.
And he can’t talk to Belos. Because Belos is dead. He’s nothing more than sticky goo on the sole of his shoes. Residual matter on his shoulders. Belos is nothing more than a memory. Hunter has no way of getting closure. His death doesn’t serve as closure - the Emperor is dead, and with his death, Hunter cannot ask him the questions he’d longed to ask.
But if he thinks about all that for too long, he feels himself losing it. He tries to find distractions. Things to keep his mind off it.
Like right now, he supposes. He’s trying to work out something he’d found in a box in Luz’s room. He thinks it’ll cheer Gus up. Maybe. It’s one of those exceptionally strange things about humans, a tiny, tiny stack of bricks that according to the paper he’d found with it, will eventually become a house. Though he fails to understand quite how that could happen - to him, they’re just a stack of shiny, colourful lumps.
He aimlessly presses two of the shapes together, blinking with surprise when they actually seem to click into one longer shape. Huh.
Glancing at the sheet of paper again, he opens it, flicking through what he assumes is a small book. It’s filled with many of the same diagrams on the front, and he doesn’t quite understand what he’s supposed to do with it.
He’s so invested in working out the purpose of the booklet and its relation to the funny shaped bricks he’s passing back and forth between his fingers, that he doesn’t notice Gus walk in.
“Hunter…?” the younger boy asks, sounding timid. Hunter doesn’t like that sound, it just sounds - wrong. Unusual. Everything he’s seen from Gus while they’ve been here has made his heart pang. “Think we’re having lunch soon, Luz’s mom said she was going to the store to get some food, so…”
“Oh,” hurriedly, Hunter tucks the bricks to the side, not wanting his surprise (or the bare bones of an idea) to be discovered, “Yeah, I’ll get… get ready to eat....?” His voice pitches up in a question. It’s something that’s become more and more common whilst he’s been getting used to this. He questions if he’s allowed to sit at the dinner table. To turn on the device Luz calls the ‘television.’
“I don’t think there’s any rush,” Gus replies, stepping away, “I’ll see you later.”
“Gus-“ Hunter swallows. Holds up the bricks. “Wait. I found some weird human thing, and I want your professional opinion on it.”
“Well, I’m sure Luz can explain if you’re curious-“
“I don’t want to bother her,” he says quickly, “She’s probably busy.”
Gus nods. “She was doing something with Amity and Willow, last time I checked. I think she was trying to dress them like humans.”
Hunger suppresses a shudder. “She keeps trying to do that to me,” he grimaces. The end result had been both him, and completely unlike him. She’d smeared some black eyeliner above his eye-lids, clothed him in dark, baggy trousers and an oversized shirt. Luz had called him emo. He’d protested violently that he ‘ doesn’t know what that even means-‘ but she most likely wasn’t incorrect from his estimations. “I’m going to avoid her for a bit. Especially if she’s armed with a make-up brush.”
“Smart.” Gus says with a nod. His face is pinched. It’s not a good look on him; he looks far, far too old. Hunter blinks at him, sympathy written into his gaze. This isn't fair. Gus is just a kid. They’re all kids, he knows that, but Gus is the youngest out of all of them. It isn’t fair that he has to deal with all of this. It isn’t fair that he has to force himself to grow up too fast, too quickly, missing the stumbling clumsiness of childhood, straight into acting like an adult.
“Yeah,” Hunter nods, “But - yeah. Look at these.” He holds out the bricks. They’re brightly coloured. There’s a fading sticker pressed to one of the bricks, shaped like a star, the colour cream. He guesses it was once supposed to be yellow.
“ Ooooo,” Gus leans closer, eyes wide and curious, “Where did you get these?”
“Found ‘em in a box,” he says, almost proudly, “I don’t think they’re important. The box had a label on it, look-” he pauses, and gestures to the label. ‘For yard sale,’ it says, and whilst he’s not too sure what that means, he guesses that these bricks are disposable.
“You sure Ms Noceda will be okay with us studying them?” Gus asks. Something about the earnest tone in his voice makes Hunter smile. He’s always called Luz’s mom Ms Noceda, despite her insistence on multiple occasions to ‘ just call me Camila.’
He holds aloft the thin book that came with the bricks, and grins. “Yeah, I think she’ll be fine,” he opens the book, squints as he delicately pours over the instructions. They seem simple enough. He put together a dozen machines when he was working for the Emperor’s Coven, carefully manufactured and pieced together Blight Industries prototypes.
He thinks of the time before for a little bit too long. Thinks about the man at the helm of Blight Industries, and the sacrifice he made, and how he never really got to say ‘thank you.’ How he doesn’t think he ever will. Thinks about Darius’ scornful comments of how the ‘bots were all hacks, and how a few well placed spells would serve a Witch far better. Thinks about how he’s not even a Witch, not really, and-
“How do we start?” Gus asks, and Hunter jerks himself out of his spiralling breakdown, forcing a weak smile onto his face. He can’t do this. Especially not in front of Gus. Not when he hasn’t spoken to anyone about the issue he’s calling his Grimwalker Problem.
“I think we start with… look! Just there,” he jabs at the pale, thin booklet, and Gus reaches for a brick. He solemnly clicks the brick into place with a partner, following the instructions to the letter. The result matches the diagram in the book exactly, and Gus finally, finally properly smiles.
“Perfect,” says Hunter with a smile that he finds he doesn’t even have to fake, “Think you’re a natural at this.”
And whilst Gus doesn’t reply, far too focused on getting the next set of bricks to slot together perfectly, Hunter still feels - something. He feels better. Feels like he’s finally, finally helped.
“No, I want to do the last step-”
“And I said you could, that’s fine-”
“Give me the book thingy, then. I know how to read it-”
“Fine, fine. I just think -” Hunter finds himself cut off. Gus takes the instruction book out of his hands, with a careful practised grace. Hunter rolls his eyes, good natured. He didn’t really want to lay the last brick, not really. He sits back, allows Gus to do it. He feels a bit like a big brother, or what he approximates that feeling to be. He finds he doesn’t mind it.
Neither of their voices have been raised. Nobody’s shouted. There’s been no outbreak of chaos, no bloodshed, no madness. They’ve just been quietly working away on the bricks for two hours, and they’re almost, almost done. Hunter thinks that the final product looks a bit like something from the Boiling Isle, actually. There’s a little figurine of a girl holding something alike to a Training Wand. A large tree. One of the metal machines he dislikes so strongly.
“And-” Gus grins, and triumphantly sticks the last brick onto the piece. It’s shaped like a flower. “Ta-da!”
“That looks great,” Hunter says truthfully, “Wonder what it’s supposed to be used for?”
“Maybe humans can… shrink?” Gus suggests, and shakes his head, “Nah, I think Luz would have mentioned that. I really dunno.”
“Maybe it’s-” Hunter starts to say, and finds himself cut off.
“Oh, you two found my legos?” A voice says. It’s Luz. She stands in the doorway, wearing a striped shirt and dungarees. She’s holding a pair of heavy leather boots that look distinctly Eda-like. “I thought my mom would have tossed those by now, huh… I haven’t touched them in years.”
“Legos?” Hunter asks, raising a brow, “What’s… huh?”
“They’re like, toys,” Luz explains. She’s still holding the boots. Hunter hears a faint creaking on the stairs, spots the others approaching out of the corner of his gaze. “And you made a set! How long did that take you?”
“Gus made it,” Hunter tells her, “And not that long! Even though there were some tricky bits. Some of the brick-things were really… fiddly.”
“Well, if you guys want to make some more, there’s plenty more sets in that box,” Luz says. She looks somewhat amused. Somewhat hopeful. “I can help you, if you like. We could all make them together, it looks like…” Her gaze drops away, and back up again, “Fun.”
Hunter finds himself grinning at her. Because it’s been so, so long since he’s done something aimless.
“Sure,” he says, and steps back to let her and his other friends squeeze into the room, “I call dibs on choosing the - set? - though.”
There’s a laugh from behind him, and the room is suddenly filled with bright voices and laughter, and he feels calmer than he has in a while. He’s not talking about it. Not voicing what had happened, not sharing his feelings, or doing what his other friends had been doing.
But he feels like he’s sharing his problems all the same. He feels so, so light. The heavy pain of everything that had been starting to burden and weigh down on his shoulders seems to seamlessly fade away. He knows that the pain is still there. Knows that he’ll have to deal with it one day, and someday, he’ll have to talk about it. Do the thing he’s dreading doing.
But now, in this room, with the sun shining from the widened windows, and his friends all around him, Luz encroaching his personal space with curious hands to look at the instruction sheet, and Willow’s side pressed gently against his, like the whisper of a butterfly wing, and Gus’ laughter, scattering into the air as he shows Amity the set he’s already made, he feels like maybe things will be okay.