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Hunter doesn’t feel good.
His body aches with the exhaustion of well…everything. His head is pounding, his skin is pale and he’s very dizzy.
Yet, he still agreed to keep watch tonight, despite Camila’s urge for him to rest because it’s been a long day. He knows she’s right, he knows he should be asleep like all of his friends are, but he…he just can’t.
He can’t stop thinking about Flapjack laying against his chest, feeling his life wither away and pour into Hunter’s chest. He can’t stop thinking about Belos’ goop coating his body, how if he had just poked at the goop with any other finger, he wouldn’t have gotten possessed. He can’t stop thinking about what could happen if he goes to sleep, would he get nightmares, would Belos take over again, would-
Right, he should breathe.
The world feels blurry at the edges, and his hands shake as he tries to take in deep breaths. He’s himself, it’s okay, he’s himself, he’s Hunter, he’s in the Isles, he’s with his friends, they are peacefully asleep, he’s okay-
The gleam of the moonlight catches the surface of a pocket mirror laid on the ground and he stares at it. It’s from the Human Realm, evidently, so maybe someone had it in their pocket in case they needed to touch up on their costume.
He sees his reflection, and although it’s small, he notices the scars coating his face, the more recent ones from…the incident overlapping the old one on his cheek. The scars travel to his ears, his arms, everywhere. They’re everywhere.
His hair is long again, and the sight of it makes him feel terrible. He wants to get rid of it, he wants to get rid of the scars, the hair, he doesn’t want this reminder of how he failed, of how his palisman is gone, his friend friend injured by his own hands, hands that looked so unlike his own, hands that were clawed and arms that were long and horns poking out of his head, his eyes gleaming blue, his mouth upturned in a horrible, horrible grin and he can’t imagine what he looked like, he doesn’t want to imagine how much he looked like, like-
He needs to get rid of it. He looks around, and finds a sharp stick on the ground. That’ll do it. He’ll carve it away, and once it’s gone, he’ll look normal again. He’ll look like Hunter, and no one else. Not a Wittebane, just…Hunter.
He clasps the mirror, holding it up and looking into it. Grabbing the stick, he points the sharp end of it to the beginning of the scar, and digs deep into the skin. It’s still warm, and it still burns and itches, but he ignores the pain, and feels the stick slice through his skin.
He bites his lip, he doesn’t scream or yell out in pain. He knows better than that.
Blood drips down his face and trails into his mouth. It’s metallic and sour.
When he looks in the mirror again, he sees the wound on his face, but no progress on getting rid of the scar itself. Maybe he needs to try somewhere different? His arm, yeah, that’ll do.
It hurts, and deep down, he assumes it’d be a good idea to stop, but it’ll be over soon. He’ll get the scars out, and then it’ll be done. He just needs to turn his brain off, and let his body do the work (but he won’t let that happen, because the last time he let his brain go quiet for a moment, his body wasn’t his own anymore, and he has to be attentive so that it won’t happen again).
He places the mirror down, and slices at the large layer of scars on his right forearm. It’s a bigger cut this time, and he carves around his arm, feeling his skin slice open (just like when Belos sliced his skin to change the shape of his hands, to change the shape of who Hunter was, of what he was supposed to be, or when he sliced his skin to teach him a lesson, to tell him to behave). He continues to wince, and notices as blood begins to drip onto the grass.
It’s okay, it’s fine. He just needs to keep going. He can’t give up now, because if he gives up, he won’t ever be who he wants to be, he won’t ever be normal, he won’t ever belong, he’ll always just be a Wittebane, a clone, Caleb, Belos, a grimwalker, a tool, a puppet, a toy-
“Hunter?” He drops the bloody stick in alarm, and turns to look at the source of the voice. It’s Luz, her tired eyes barely open. As she looks at his face, blood dripping down his cheek and his chin, her eyes open further. She walks up to him, pulling the box of band aids out of her pocket.
“What happened?” She glances down at the bloodied stick on the ground, then his arm, and back to his face. She’s concerned, and guilt begins to stir in Hunter’s throat. “Hunter…did you do this to yourself…?”
He doesn’t deserve her sympathy, he doesn’t deserve her care after he dragged her into all of the stuff with Belos, after he fought her and revealed the one thing he swore that he wouldn’t tell, after he betrayed her trust all because he touched his uncle’s stupid goop from his corpse, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t, he doesn’t-
“‘M sorry…” He mutters, tears welling up into his eyes. Luz opens up the box of bandaids and sits down, gesturing for Hunter to sit beside her. He obliges, and takes a seat beside her.
“Why did you do it…?” She asks, tilting her head as she opens up a bandaid. “I’m here if you want to talk, y’know.”
Don’t you dare talk to her, she doesn’t deserve to deal with this, not after everything she’s been through, you’re just being selfish, selfish monster just like your uncle, just like Belos, you’re selfish, selfish, selfish-
“I…I saw the scars.” He says, twiddling his fingers. He keeps his eyes on her, because if he dares look down at the scars again, he knows he’ll spiral. “I just…I look at myself and all I see is what happened, all I see is him . It’s like my body doesn’t even belong to me anymore and I just…I feel terrible. I’m a terrible person and he always finds a way to take control and I just wish I wasn’t so weak.”
“Hey.” He snaps out of his thoughts, and notices the small smile on her face. “Look at me. I have a scar from battling Belos, and I get it, you look at that and just…see everything you’ve done for him. When I look at it, I see how I helped him make the Collector. But does that make me terrible? Does that make me weak?”
“No, of course not! He tricked you, that’s what he does-” Luz raises her eyebrow as she begins to place some bandaids onto his arm. He stops in his tracks at this because…he’s being hypocritical, he knows, but Luz is different. Luz isn’t him. Luz didn’t work with a dictator her entire life.
“Exactly. He had an influence over you your entire life, you couldn’t have seen through that. He manipulated you and tricked you, just like me, but that doesn’t mean you’re terrible. You learnt that he was bad, and you got away from him. The possession wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known that he was gonna do that, and I’m sorry he put you through that. But you aren’t terrible. You fought back, and you told him what you wanted! We’re all proud of you, Hunter.” She puts the bandaid on his face and wipes away some of the dried blood. Finally, she tucks the bandaids away and helps him to his feet.
“But I…I touched it. If I hadn’t touched it with my open wound, it would’ve been fine.” He chokes back a sob, tears now flowing down his face. “And now Flapjack is gone and it’s all my fault!”
“No, it’s not.” She grabs his hands gently, squeezing them. “You didn’t hurt him. Belos did. You would never hurt Flapjack. And even after being injured, Flapjack knew it wasn’t you. He wanted to save you. He wanted you to keep going because he loved you.”
“I know, but it just…” He wipes away the tears. “It hurts. I miss him so much.”
Luz wraps her arms around him, and he holds her close. “I know. But we’ll avenge him, I promise. Just know that you’re so strong, Hunter, and we’re all proud of you, okay?”
He nods, and eventually lets go of the embrace. A dorky smile appears on Luz’s face as she points to her band aid that covers her scar. “We can be boo-boo buddies now!”
“You’re such a dork.” He says, a small laugh escaping his throat. Luz ends up tucking the mirror away, and heads back to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Even though Flapjack is gone, he still feels the warmth of him in his chest, and he knows that he’s with him, deep down. It stings, and he misses when he’d pull at his hair or chirp against his ear, but he’ll avenge him.
He’ll fight Belos and avenge everyone who’s been hurt by him.
His friends, everyone on the Isles, Flapjack.
And himself.
Looking down at his arm covered in colourful band aids, a small smile manages its way onto his face.
Maybe he doesn’t have to go through this alone.
He’ll protect his friends, and they’ll protect him.
He won’t tear himself apart any longer.