Chapter Text
Hunter is falling.
His breath is knocked from him; he goes limp on the cold floor. Death is near. His hands shake. Death is near.
It wraps him in a shroud of gold, and takes him.
It is cold, it is screaming, it is dark.
It is warm. It is quiet voices. It is a hand on his cheek.
Thank you, Hunter, it says, a soft, dying voice. Now sleep. Dream.
He opens his eyes.
A healer stands over him, flanked by three coven heads and a wanted criminal. The scene should stir something in him; instead, there is…
an absence.
The healer's hands hover above his chest, spell circles humming softly, washing his bare skin in a cool blue glow.
The healer meets his gaze and startles. The spell circles blink out, and pain returns in an instant.
“You’re awake,” they yelp, almost like - is that fear?
He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a groan. Immediately there’s a familiar hand on his arm, another smoothing back the hair on his forehead. He realizes suddenly that his entire body is slick with sweat; his hair sticks to his skin so badly it takes several sweeping motions before it’s all out of his face.
“Hunter,” says Darius, sounding deeply relieved despite the fact that his gloves must now be soiled. “How are you feeling?”
He opens his mouth to answer, flounders for a moment, and then closes it again. He shrugs as best he can, limbs heavy as if tied down again.
“We’ve all been very worried about you,” says Raine, offering a small, wobbly smile. “Eda and I have been working overtime trying to keep your friends out so you can focus on healing. They’ve been hounding us for updates.”
“Friends…?”
His voice sounds different. Hollow. Again, he feels that something is absent.
Who does he have to call a friend? He hurt his friends. There was - he changed, and then -
His head hurts. His eyes water, and he blinks the sensation away.
“You just missed Luz and Amity - they keep trying to sneak in and keep watch over you,” says the Owl Lady, almost proudly, “but Luz’s mother insisted she go home and rest in the human realm. That woman is a force to be reckoned with, I'll tell you that.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and then your flyer derby team tried to sneak in, again, to see you. You think they would have learned from…” Eda pauses, pursing her lips and sharing a look with Raine. “Well, nevermind.”
So they are alive. Relief washes over him, heavy and warm. He can't remember why he would have doubted that.
“You said… Luz opened a portal?” he asks, eyelids drooping.
Darius nods. “I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you all about it later. For now, please try to rest.”
A thought forms at the back of his mind, cold and cruel and bitter.
You're dreaming again.
It seems impossible. But then he remembers -
Wings beating and -
Blood -
Cold and screaming -
And -
Death is just a new dream.
He looks up at Darius, Eberwolf, Raine. The Owl Lady seems distracted, but even she meets his gaze after a moment, quickly growing concerned (and attempting, poorly, to hide it).
It’s too kind for him. All of his friends and all of these adults just waiting for him to wake. A world free of his Uncle, where he could be…
Where he could be anyone.
A lump forms in his throat. Why? Why is death letting him dream? He is not a good person. He has only just begun to understand that, let alone repent for it -
And yet, here he is. Surrounded by people who…
No. This is… this is something else. Has to be. Continuous dreams are rare outside of the use of magic, but it’s possible that…
That he’s still…
But why should death be confined by the rules of mortals?
“Hunter?”
He remembers dying. It’s vague. It could easily be a false or incomplete memory. It could easily be the remains of a dream. But this is the remains of a dream. This is the dream where he was found, and brought back to the sunlight, and -
If he thinks, really thinks, he can remember the first installment, but it’s hazy, distant. Like it happened a long, long time ago; like he's missing pieces in-between.
“Hunter? Are you alright?”
But this feels different. It feels strange, in a good way, and real. Not like his other dreams, which seem to crumble like sand between his fingers, or which seem to shift in and out of focus under scrutiny. This feels solid, weighty, almost oppressive.
It feels like he’s awake, but… but he can't be.
Something is missing, and it hurts.
“Hunter?”
Darius sounds concerned, and Hunter snaps back to attention, jolting as he comes back to himself.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m…”
Darius is watching him. His gaze is too sharp. He looks almost like -
Almost like he cares.
“Am I dead?
Darius flinches. He inhales. Raine and the Owl Lady blanche as well; Raine brings up a hand to cover their mouth. Eberwolf hops off the bed and silently disappears.
“You are not dead, Hunter. Just injured, and clearly disoriented.”
He shakes his head. “If I’m not dead, I’m dreaming. Feels like a dream, anyway.”
Darius just stares back, eyes clouded and heavy and clouded by something he can't quite name.
"No," he says, barely above a whisper, "it's not a dream. You're really here, Hunter. You're safe."
Hunter whines. Already, he feels heavier, and yet weightless, like he's falling through the bed beneath him.
"I don't understand," he says. Darius just runs a hand through his hair, presses a kiss to his forehead.
"Go back to sleep, little prince. We'll speak soon."
Finally, he does as he's told. He's always been good at that.
The next dream is different, and yet the same.
He's tucked under several layers of blankets, bundled in a warm sweater he doesn't think is his own. He feels like his heart was just pounding, like he was calling for someone…
But he can't remember.
He pushes the blankets aside, squinting. Early morning sunlight filters through thin curtains, catching swirls of dust in its track.
There's a candle at his bedside, but no matches. He kicks his feet over the edge of the bed, standing on wobbly legs. He takes one step before pitching forward, unable to scream before he's on the floor, air knocked unceremoniously from his lungs.
He moans, grasping at his head, his fingers slipping against hot blood. He strains, pushing himself to his knees, grasping the bedside table like a lifeline.
Something else is missing from his bedside. Flapjack isn’t back yet.
He has to get up. He has to find him.
There’s something there, in the back of his mind and on the tip of his tongue, a desperation he can’t quite explain. It compels him forward, even through the pain and the haziness and the utter lack of coordination.
"C'mon…"
With significantly more effort, he manages to stand again, pressing one hand to his sluggishly bleeding forehead and using the other to prop himself upright as he staggers along the wall, feeling in the dark for the door.
He chances upon the handle at the exact second it swings open, sending him stumbling backwards into the wall.
"Hunter? What happened, where is he?!"
"Darius, the light-"
"I don't see him, someone go wake Eber, now! I swear if he's-"
Hunter groans, and Darius abruptly cuts himself off, going silent for a moment before slowly, carefully swinging the door away from the wall.
His legs buckle beneath him and he squeaks, pressing against the wall to avoid toppling over.
"Hunter? Were you… hiding?" Raine carefully pushes past Darius, surveying Hunter with a careful eye, wincing when they notice his bleeding forehead. "Oh, here, come sit down."
They guide him back to the bed with both hands on his shoulders; it's admittedly a much easier trip now that the lights are on. They sit him down, waiting patiently for his answer while Darius scrambles to find bandages.
"Didn't mean to," he mumbles as Raine pulls his blood-soaked hand away from his forehead, revealing the still-bleeding scrape. Darius reappears, wiping the area with an alcohol cloth. "Was trying - ow - to open the door… then you guys came in, and I got - ow - pushed behind it..."
Darius scowls without an ounce of malice in his eyes. "Why were you up in the first place? You're still healing, you need your rest. I can't believe-"
"Darius, breathe," Raine instructs, earning from him a low indignant growl. "He's right, though, kid. You should be resting."
But he has to find him. He needs to find him, before it’s too late, before…
He just sighs, turning his head to the side so Darius has better access to his wound. Outside, an owl hoots, and he feels a deep pang of something in his still-hollow chest.
Have to find him.
Outside, as morning comes, a bird stirs in the forest; the first of many to break into song. His breath catches in his throat, and he has to swallow down something that tastes like dread before he can speak.
"Where's Flapjack?"
Raine glances at Darius, who looks down to the floor as if it's the most interesting thing in the isles.
"Hunter…."
He frowns. There’s a vague memory of Flapjack tugging on his hair in the dark, trying to get him to… to…
…to do something. He doesn't remember what.
There's a big blank spot in his memory, accompanied by that ever-persistent feeling that he's missing something. It's like grasping at falling sand, slipping through his fingers whenever he gets too close.
"You need your rest," says Darius, beginning to sound like a broken record. "We'll fill you in on the details once you've had a chance to heal."
He wants to protest, but he already feels cold and weak again, despite the layers of heavy blankets and coven heads standing vigil.
"Just… tell Flapjack… I miss him," he mutters between yawns. Darius's expression twists, his eyes betraying some sort of deep anguish.
"I'll do that," he says, and Hunter is asleep before he can fully process the pain in Darius's tone.
By the third dream, he is coherent enough to admit that things are not quite as they seem.
First of all, he doesn't think he's actually dreaming; not this time, anyway. He's not sure exactly what is going on, but he feels too awake, too aware to believe it's another dream.
That can't be possible. Unless, of course, he isn't actually dead.
But that can't be possible, either. He doesn’t remember it - there are only glimpses, brief flashes of memory not wholly belonging to him -
And a voice in his ear which has gone silent.
Find him. Have to find him.
His absence sits like a hole in Hunter's heart, slowly eating away at him for reasons he can't quite comprehend. He feels immense, paralyzing guilt when he thinks of Flapjack, and everyone he asks tells him not to worry about it, that they'll explain later.
If this is a dream, he wants to wake up. He wants to roll over and find Flapjack at his side, to hear him chirp and to help him clean his ruby feathers.
But he knows - somewhere deep inside of him -
"What happened to Flapjack," he asks, instead of where is he?
The Owl Lady, currently presiding over his healing session, averts her gaze.
"I know something happened. He would be here, otherwise."
"Kid," she begins hesitantly, then clenches her jaw shut, grinding her teeth. "I'm not sure what to tell you. You should talk to Darius."
"So something did happen," he accuses, and she frowns. "You've been dodging my questions, haven't you? All of you."
She sighs. The healer moves from his left arm to his right, remaining dutifully silent, though he imagines whatever they say will soon be hot gossip for anyone outside his inner circle. It stings, to know that everyone around him knows what happened - including people he doesn’t even know.
As the Golden Guard, he always had to be careful to avoid spreading or inspiring rumors. Now, he wishes desperately he could hear even one.
He wants the truth. He wants Flapjack.
"I'll talk to him," she concedes. "Titan knows we've kept you in the dark long enough."
"Can't you just tell me now?"
He hates how timid he sounds. Something turns in his stomach, and as he waits for the Owl Lady's answer, he realizes: he's not sure if he's ready to hear it.
Because she's all but confirmed that something's happened to his palisman. Something that Darius and the others are deliberately hiding from him. Something that has landed him in the healing wing for nearly a week, dealing with strange injuries he didn't have when Darius first carried him out of the dungeon.
Flapjack was here before. He doesn't remember much, but he remembers that.
“You should talk to Darius,” she says again, sounding truly apologetic. He turns away from her. She sighs. “I can talk to him for you, but… this isn’t something you want to hear from me.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t answer. He’s starting to get used to it.
Hunter is awake.
Everything seems clearer now, less flighty. The fog has mostly lifted, and though he's still weak and missing pieces of before, he can at least stand and walk on his own for a few minutes at a time.
It's progress, anyway.
He begs to see his friends. He remembers them being here before, too, and he has a feeling that they won’t be nearly as tight-lipped as Darius and the others. Darius is adamant that he take more time to rest, but with Raine and Eda on Hunter’s side, it’s not long before he relents.
“They can’t stay long,” says Darius, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting an oncoming headache. “And one of us will have to stay in the room to keep an eye on things. Can’t have you getting into trouble.”
“I can barely get out of bed on my own,” Hunter says drily, staunchly ignoring the flash of concern across Darius’s face. “What kind of trouble do you think we’ll get into?”
But where he expects a laugh, or at least some acknowledgement of his overprotectiveness, Darius just frowns.
“You’d be surprised,” he mutters, low enough that Hunter isn’t sure he was really meant to hear it. Something about it sends a shockwave of guilt through his chest.
He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know what for.
It's something he used to invoke, but in those days Hunter needed only to bow his head and profess his deep, sincere apologies, and everything would go back to normal soon enough.
Normal is a thing that died when -
When -
“Eda said I should ask you,” he says. “About… about Flapjack.”
Darius is looking out the window; Hunter can't see his expression, but he sees the way his shoulders become tense. He turns after a moment with a sad, telling look.
“Please,” says Hunter. “Is he…?”
“Little prince…”
Hunter closes his eyes.
“How?”
Darius doesn't respond for a long, painful moment.
“I should tell you the whole story,” he says finally. Hunter opens his eyes. Darius is looking out the window again, his expression blank except for the smallest pinching of his lips.
“I want to hear it,” Hunter says. “I need to know what happened.”
“Even if it is… upsetting?”
“Flapjack isn't here,” says Hunter, carefully avoiding the truth he cannot yet bring himself to acknowledge. “Anything you tell me can't hurt worse than that.”
It’s not entirely true. There are about a million things Darius could tell him that would rip him to shreds in an instant, and the truth may very well be one of them. He can feel his heart making room for a familiar ache, and tries to hold on to whatever hope he has left.
Maybe…
Maybe this story has a happy ending.
Darius purses his lips, but nods all the same. “If you’re sure.”
Hunter says nothing. Darius eyes him for a moment longer.
“Very well. It began the same night we found you in the dungeon.”
This was the beginning of the dream. Flapjack wasn’t there with him; no one was. He was completely, utterly alone.
“We were so relieved to have finally found you, and alive at that, but the healers we brought with us were… concerned.
“You had been down there for nearly three months with little food or water, and it seemed impossible that you should still live. I admit that I dismissed their concerns at first, but they turned out to be not entirely unfounded.
“Only a few days into your recovery, you began showing… worrying symptoms, shall we say.”
This, too, he remembers. Moving through the halls at night, a strange presence just beneath his skin - a voice in his head, urging him forward.
And Flapjack, always at his side. Always watching him.
“We tried to keep a more careful eye on you, but your friends snuck past in a moment of chaos, and…”
The voice in his head -
Flapjack, twittering in concern -
Tugging on his hair -
And -
“And Belos awoke inside you for the first time.”
Yes, he remembers this, too, though still only in splintered pieces. Gus’s panicked voice. Willow’s screams. Hands on his skin, something breaking free from his flesh.
Limbs, twisting and shifting, outgrowing the shackles of a mortal form. The voice in his head, growing louder, angrier, and finally taking control -
Vines, holding him -
Waking, tied down like an animal -
Fighting for control - losing -
Dragging himself to the throne room, searching for any Palismen to - to -
Blood on his hands.
Hunter looks up at Darius, struggling to breathe. A phantom pain clutches at his breast; Darius puts a hand on his chest and models a pattern for him.
In and out. Hunter tries to follow. In and out. He focuses on the hand, up and down. In and out.
He breathes, horribly aware of the hollow space in his chest.
“There you go.”
Hunter swallows. He can still taste the blood on his lips. He can still feel wood splintering in his hand.
He can still hear -
“He's gone,” he says. He lets out a single choked sob. “He's actually… I…”
Flapjack is dead. And I killed him.
“You saved all our lives,” says Darius, leaving out the fact that it was Hunter who put them in danger in the first place. His voice is soft, gentle, fond. He pulls his hand away, but Hunter pulls it pack, grasping it between his two like a lifeline.
Darius leans down and holds him, silent but comforting. Hunter shakes, crying soundlessly into his shoulder.
There they sit for some time, quiet and somber. Hunter cries until he can find no more tears. Darius holds him like he will break again.
Is this how he will feel for the rest of his life? He can’t imagine the emptiness will ever subside. He can’t imagine taking a breath without thinking of the ache in his breast, the hollow space where once…
But he had known something was wrong the moment he first woke. The connection between him and Flapjack was gone. And he had rightly assumed that death was the only cause.
He had only been wrong about whose death was to blame.
“I miss him,” he whispers. Darius pulls him closer. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Is this how he will feel for the rest of his life?
It’s a long time before Hunter can bring himself to pull away. Darius hands him a tissue, and he wishes he could wipe away his pain like he wipes away the snot and tears.
“I need you to know that you are not to blame for what happened,” Darius says gently. Hunter nods absently. “I mean it, little one. Belos took advantage of you to hurt those you care about. You are not at fault.”
“I don't understand.” Hunter shifts on the bed, pulling the blanket up further and burying his hands in it. “You said Belos was dead.”
Darius’s gaze grows dark. “He was. But he had planned for that. That was why he wanted you so badly. Why he needed you alive.”
“He wanted to… to use me.”
“Yes, little prince.”
Hunter grips the blanket hard enough that his fingers go white and numb.
“Did he… Was that the only reason I survived for so long? Because he was keeping me alive?”
Darius nods. “A fact for which I am both eternally grateful and eternally furious.”
Hunter laughs. It's dry, and quiet, and sounds far too much like a sob.
Months of hiding Flapjack, keeping him just out of Belos’ reach…
But Hunter should have known that Belos’ reach was never ending.
He has eyes everywhere.
Or. He did.
It's Luz who first suggests the funeral.
“He was very brave,” she says, holding back tears. “He deserves to be recognized for everything he did.”
Hunter nods. The Entrails, also gathered around his bed, murmur their assent.
“I don't have anything to bury,” Hunter whispers, clutching at his blanket. “Does that… Does that matter?”
“It doesn't have to.”
He closes his eyes. He wishes there was something left; something tangible to remember his closest companion by.
“We could bury something symbolically, if you want.”
“Like what?”
Gus shrugs. “Is there something of yours that reminds you of him? Or, no, I guess you wouldn't want to get rid of anything that important…”
“Maybe some food that he liked,” Skara suggests. “Something that would have reminded him of you?”
“Or we could make something new,” says Willow. “Something just for this.”
Hunter hesitates; his friends seem to pick up on it and quiet down, waiting for him to speak.
But what is there to say? He has few little possessions of his own, and even fewer to remind him of Flap. What can he bury that has not already died? What single thing could represent the life cut short, all the stolen years?
“It's okay if you need time to think about it,” says Luz. “We can do this whenever you're ready.”
“I don't think I'll ever be ready,” Hunter admits. “But… I want to do this. For Flapjack.”
It takes several more days of planning before he decides on something. Luz and Gus help look for the right spot, Viney and Skara help make something to commemorate it, and Willow and Hunter work to carve one red and black feather.
There's no palistrom wood around, but Hunter never intended this creation to come to life. It will be stiff and silent, but at peace.
Willow helps steady his hands as he carves away, sliver by sliver transforming a small oak branch into something more familiar. More than once, hot tears splatter across the dark wood, and Hunter stops to mourn his friend all over again.
When the shape is done, the Owl Lady brings paints, and the two of them work carefully to recreate the beautiful shades of red that made up Flapjack's coat.
Darius helps him apply the coat of sealer, and they set the feather aside to dry in the sun. The wet coat shines in the sunlight, and Hunter finds he has to look away before his eyes fill with tears again.
Finally, the day comes.
Hunter walks on his own, leading a small group to the clearing Luz and Gus had scouted. It sits in the heart of the forest, near the Bat Queen’s domain, and a long way from the castle.
Sunlight falls through the canopy into the center of the glade, where a small hole has been dug before an ornately carved tombstone.
No one speaks as Hunter lowers himself to his knees, gently placing the wooden box he carries into the open grave. Inside is the feather, wrapped carefully in soft cloth so it won't chip inside the box.
Hunter closes his eyes, and holds back one more sob. He pulls off his gloves and begins to cover the box in dirt, carefully patting it down as he goes.
More hands join him. Soon everyone is gathered around the grave, working silently and in harmony.
The final clump of dirt is thrown on the pile.
Hunter pulls his hands away, looks at the thick layer of black under his fingernails, and smiles. He stands, still facing the grave.
“Hunter? Would you like to say a few words?”
He's been thinking about this for weeks. He's tried to write the right words over and over, crossing out entire libraries worth of speeches. The right thing is on the tip of his tongue, but -
He sniffles.
“He was good.”
Three words cannot sum up everything Flapjack meant to him, and yet, there are no more words required to understand him. He was good in every way, so much so that it…
“I’m… going to miss him,” Hunter says. “He was the first one to ever believe in me. He - he saved my life.”
“And we will always be grateful,” says Darius, when it is clear Hunter cannot go on. He puts one hand on Hunter's shoulder, and Hunter leans his cheek against the new warmth.
“Thank you,” says Eber.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Flapjack.”
A chorus of gratitude rings into the forest, and for a moment, the birds fall silent, and the wind picks up, and Hunter feels like -
Like Flap is saying goodbye.
The small gathering grows smaller. One by one, his friends bid Hunter a silent farewell; a quiet nod, a hand on his shoulder, or a quick, warm hug.
Darius doesn't move. Not until later, when the sun has dipped lower in the sky, and the clearing begins to grow dark, and Hunter rises on unsteady legs, cold and tired.
“We can come back any time,” says Darius, wrapping his cloak over Hunter's shivering frame. “He will always be here, waiting for you.”
Hunter nods. He steps forward, a thousand gratitudes waiting on the tip of his tongue.
“Sleep well,” he whispers instead, pressing two fingers against the top of the headstone. It really is beautiful. It breaks his heart in pieces. “I hope you dream of… of someone who deserves you.”
He will never forget Flapjack’s sacrifice. It will be a long time before he fully understands it, but…
He is no longer alone. He has a family. Friends. People who believe in him, who will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
Hunter steps back. He leans into Darius, who pulls him in for a careful side hug.
“Wherever Flapjack is,” Darius says, “I know he's dreaming of you.”