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The first time Belos calls him Caleb is in a fit of terrible, terrible rage.
They’re balanced high on a crumbling bridge of stone, curse-goo twisting his uncle’s body into that of an emaciated beast, bright blue eyes splitting apart rotting green sludge like bright pinpricks of light. And right now, they’re all locked onto him.
“Hunter, why are you hurting me? I only wanted to help you.”
His breath catches in his throat. He wants to believe that. He wants more than anything to believe what Belos is saying. His arm aches. The pain is grounding.
“You’re… You’re lying!” Hunter shouts desperately, clutching Flapjack’s staff tighter in his hand. He pulls the cardinal closer to him defensively.
Belos’ eyes track the movement, then his eyes go wide.
“ Caleb !”
It’s an awful roar. A shriek of rage as the curse rapidly swallows and deforms his face, turning it once more into the skull-like structure it’d been before. He rears up, and Hunter takes the chance to quickly blink away.
They regroup at the front of the bridge, and Hunter keeps himself firmly in the lead, standing between Belos and his friends. He’ll do anything to protect them - he swears - and yet, looking at Belos…
A better version of an old friend .
Hunter swallows bitterly through the agony that radiates from the entire right side of his body.
Then he shifts his stance, raises his staff, and readies himself for battle once more.
The second time Belos calls him Caleb, Hunter doesn’t even think he’s fully awake to hear it.
Well, obviously not, he supposes, because his body - heart of stone, lungs of stone - fails him a few seconds later, but he’s there to hear it.
“You would stab me in the back,
Caleb
?”
The name is spat out with enough vitriol that Hunter thinks he might just shrivel up and die right then and there. Because after whatever hell Belos had put him through, his words still somehow cut deeper.
It’s not even the worst thing to happen that night. Because even in his semi-conscious state, Hunter manages one last, pathetic breath that rattles in his chest before the galdorstone finally gives out.
He drifts for a long time. At least, it feels like it is. He’s not sure if he’s dead, in the process of dying, or actually just in a coma.
He hopes it’s the first one, actually. Because that means that his friends would finally be free of him. Hunter would no longer be draped oppressively over their backs like dead weight. Sure, they might be sad, but only for a few days at most. Probably. Most likely.
His heart twists when he thinks of Flapjack. Oh, sweet cardinal. Hunter wishes that Flapjack had chosen anyone else. A normal witch. Someone who wasn’t Caleb .
Because cycles repeat. Endlessly. Torturously. He knows this now, knows it by heart. Especially if what the previous Grimwalkers went through was any indication. He just wonders if any of them got to die like him, so far from the Boiling Isles and with Belos nowhere in sight.
After all, he was unlike the previous attempts .
He closes his eyes, lets the water surround him. He breathes in. Out. In. Out.
His skin doesn’t feel like it’s being dissolved in acid anymore. His skull doesn’t feel like it’s being ruptured; split apart at the seams by antlers made of decay. His bones don’t feel like they’re breaking apart, his galdorstone heart doesn’t feel like it’s being drained of its energy.
Then he hears birdsong. His eyes snap open. Hunter recognizes that song. Hears it every morning and every night. Terror seizes him as a golden glow appears, hazy and unfocused.
He knows who it is anyway.
“Flapjack,” he breathes, voice coming out nothing more than a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
Flapjack coos as he comes into view, a spark of light against the oily waters of what Hunter thinks might be death.
The guilt he feels from earlier crashes into him like a tidal wave, dragging him back under. For the first time since opening his eyes in this underwater death, he chokes. Bubbles fizz around him as he cradles Flapjack in his scarred hands, tucking the cardinal closely to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Flap. Titan , I’m so sorry.” He lets out a soft whimper. “I never meant to hurt you. I promise, Flap. I’d never hurt you, I’m so, so sorry.”
Flapjack chirps, then looks at him. Here, there is no terrible, bright green that coalesces from fresh splits in wood. Instead, Flapjack just stares at him, his singular eye filled with a love that Hunter was only just beginning to understand. He doesn’t think he’ll get that chance again.
Love you . Flapjack chirps. There isn’t any hesitation. Love you. Always have. From the first time. Loved you.
Hunter sobs. “You’re just saying that because I looked like
him
, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t mean it - not in the slightest. He doesn’t know why he says it either, but there’s just
so
many questions that bubble up in him, like the weird ‘sparkling water’ Luz had made him drink. (It’d tasted like the water itself was
angry
, somehow.) He doesn’t mean to sour their last moment, but at the same time he can’t really help it either.
Flapjack just tilts his head, then trills and presses his head against Hunter’s hand. No. Love Caleb, yes. Loved him so much. But loves Hunter, too. Loves Hunter now. Loves Hunter for Hunter, not because Caleb.
Always loved Hunter .
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have! Then you wouldn’t have to deal with another witch dying.”
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. And yet Flapjack, kind, sweet, loving , Flapjack, just continues twittering.
Nope. Chose to love Hunter. No takesies backsies. Loves Hunter. Hunter live on. Live on, live on. For me. For Caleb. For you
Hunter stills, mulling over Flapjack’s words. Then the truth hits him.
“No.
No
. That’s why I can see you? Because - Because you…” Hunter lets out a wail. “No, no, no. Please, Flap. Don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you too.”
Won’t lose me. Never. A palisman never leaves his witch. Always here .
He thinks back to Darius, lying so still on the platform. Then how Belos had splat against the high walls within the Skull, and now.
“Flapjack, please. Please . I’ll do anything, Flap.”
Then live .
Flapjack disappears in a flash of golden light, and Hunter is left holding nothing in his hands. Nothing but the spectral golden dust; the last remnants of his first friend.
Hunter opens his eyes to a dark sky and the worried faces of his friends. Far above, orbs of light sway in the wind.
The third time Belos calls him Caleb, it comes with a sad story and a final goodbye.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.” Belos rasps, his head on Hunter’s lap and tilted to the side. The rest of his body is a mass of curse-sludge and bone and rotting flesh. The skies above are dark. Blood stains Hunter’s shirt. It’s his own.
Hunter swallows down his nausea. “For what, Philip?”
Belos’ eyes grow hazy for a moment. “You used to call me Pip.”
“What’s wrong, Pip?” Hunter amends smoothly, taking in a rattling breath. He doesn’t know where Darius and the others are. They’d split up in the search for Belos, and now Hunter is left with a gaping hole in his stomach and a dying pseudo-uncle in his arms.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me. And yet you abandoned me for that witch .” Belos spits out, but there’s a desperation in his voice that Hunter hasn’t heard before.
Hunter tries his best to ignore the dizziness he feels. “I didn’t, Pip. I came back for you. I’m right here.”
Belos lets out a hum, head lolling to the side. “Let me look at you, Caleb. It’s been… awhile.”
He can feel Belos’ breathing grow labored. Hunter obliges, using his hand to gently turn his head.
“You look younger, Caleb.”
Hunter doesn’t know how to respond to that. So he doesn’t. Just lets his lips lilt into a sad smile. This is more than Belos deserves, especially after… after what he did to Flapjack, and yet Hunter can’t bring himself to deny the man this.
A peaceful passing. One last lie, one last delusion. Besides, Hunter has a feeling neither of them will live to regret this moment.
“Did you love me, Caleb?”
No. Yes. No.
“I loved you, Pip. I just wish you knew that before it came to this.”
It’s easy to pretend, Hunter thinks. To pretend to be the brother of a dying man.
“I know that now. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Belos squints, breathing so soft Hunter can barely hear it any more.
“I don’t know. A lot of things.”
“It’s okay.”
“I loved you, Caleb.”
“I know.” Hunter lies. “I know you did.”
He ignores the temptation to ask, ‘ But did you love Hunter ?’
“Thank you.”
Hunter hums.
Belos does not speak again.
The first time he gets called Hunter, he’s dying.
Hunter staggers to his feet, vision swimming and ears ringing. He lets Belos drop to the floor, he does not look back. He slips a hand under his ripped shirt - his gloves come back sticky and red. He doesn’t check again.
“Darius?” He calls, his voice barely makes it above a whisper.
He sways. He falls.
Someone catches him. There’s a flash of purple in the corner of his eyes, and suddenly Darius’ worried face looms over him.
“Little Prince?” Darius chokes out. Hunter’s vision is a little blurry, but he tries for a weak smile anyway.
“I missed you.”
“Hunter!” Someone shouts. He turns his head weakly, in time to see Luz and the rest of his friends, plus the Owl Lady and Camila, come charging out of the underbrush.
“Oh, Titan. Hunter. Hunter . What happened? Where’s Belos?”
Hunter hacks and coughs for a moment, and spits out a glob of blood. He shrugs.
Luz looks up, and her face goes slack as she sees the unmoving pile of green slime and rotted flesh several yards away.
“Little Prince. Stick with me. Please .”
Hunter doesn’t think he’s ever heard Darius say please.
The older man chokes out a laugh. “That’s what you’re thinking? Really?”
Oh. Had he said it out loud?
Luz holds onto one of his hands tightly as the rest of his friends crowd around him. Darius holds him in his arms all the while.
“Glad I got to say goodbye,” he rasps, shivering. Darius drapes his cloak around Hunter’s shaking frame. Hunter ignores the red that instantly blooms on the silk, seeping into the fabric.
“You stop talking like that, Hunter.” Darius orders. His voice is shaky. “We’re going to get you out of here and to a healer, you hear me?”
He thinks Willow and Gus and Luz and Amity might be talking. He can’t seem to hear them. Or see much beyond Darius , looming over him, the closest to tears that Hunter’s ever seen.
“You’re going to get wrinkles.” He slurs weakly. Then. “Tell me a story, Darius.”
Darius complies without hesitation, voice taking on a more desperate tone. “There once was a little prince. He lived in a big castle, all alone with no one but his uncle. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone but his uncle. The little prince was very lonely and sad, but it was what his uncle wanted, so he listened. Then, one day he saw a little red bird outside his window. He became good friends with the bird. And then a purple man - a noble from another land - met him. He felt sorry for the little prince, and took him under his wing. The noble taught the little prince how to sew and make friends.”
Darius takes a breath.
Hunter giggles softly. “Darius, that’s just us.”
“I know, Little Prince.”
They stop talking for a little while. Darius grips his hand tightly and shakes him. “Stay with me, Hunter. Eda went to get help. She’ll be back soon.”
“Where’s Luz? And the others?”
He can hear them talking quietly, but they’re not in his immediate line of sight, and he can’t muster the strength to turn his head and look for them.
“They’re by the tree on your left - do you want me to call them over?”
Hunter considers this. Then shakes his head. “No. Want to stay with you.”
“Okay, Little Prince.”
Hunter sighs. “Darius?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Darius brushes a strand of hair out of his face. “I love you too.”
“I’m glad you were my dad. Even if it was just a little bit. I was happy.”
Darius’ hand stops, then continues. “Don’t talk like that, Little Prince. You’re not going anywhere.”
“It’s not so bad,” he murmurs, voice fading.
“What’s not so bad?” Darius asks, shifting so they’re in a more comfortable position. Hunter has his had cradled in the crook of Darius’ elbow.
“Dying. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Darius takes in a sharp breath.
“I’m not losing you too, Little Prince. I can’t. You’re going to stay right here.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “But you won’t be losing me, Darius. I’ll be right here.”
“Right where?” Darius asks, voice breaking.
Hunter extends a shaky arm. His fingers are cold. He taps on Darius’ chest.
“Right here. ‘Cause I’ll never stop loving you.”
“ Don’t . Don’t talk like that. Please.”
Hunter chuckles a little. “You sound like I did when… when Flapjack…” His voice breaks, but he smiles nonetheless.
“I think you’ll be fine, Darius. ‘Cause… ‘cause…” his voice peters out as he feels his strength slipping, but he goes on anyway, a little valiantly, a little sadly.
“I love you,” Hunter finishes, smiling blankly.
“I love you, too,” Darius whispers, touching their foreheads together.
And Hunter’s breaths seize in his chest. He trembles in Darius’ arms, fingers and toes and arms and legs growing cold and numb. He opens his mouth to talk, to say more, but he can barely keep his eyes open. He wants to talk, to apologize.
He never gets the chance.
In Darius’ arms, he feels the boy he loved as a son grow cold.
“I’m sorry, Hunter.”
Hunter wakes up in a field of golden wheat. The afternoon sun sparkles, low in the sky.
A gust of wind sweeps the stalks of wheat aside, and he sees the glimmering white ghosts of the former golden guards. Most of them are unmasked. They all look like him.
He feels strangely at peace with that.
Someone reaches out to him, and he looks up. It’s an older guard, with fluffier, browner hair and a scar on his lip. “Hey, there, buddy.”
Hunter smiles. He thinks he recognizes this one from the pictures Darius had shown him. He accepts the help and pulls himself up.
“Hey, Jasper.”
Far above, a bird calls out. A blur of red streaks across the sky.