Chapter Text
It hadn’t even been a full 4 hours when he cracked open his eyes. It got to be a certain point before Hunter started to wonder if his brain was just defective. Not registering the sleep cycles. He knows people dream. He’s had plenty before across his short life after all. His uncle always said dreaming was a way minds reflect the soul’s sins. Casting it in a light manifested from God, one we couldn’t hide from, even when sleeping.
If that were true, though, then was he such a sinful thing to have all of those monsters appear? Green venom dripping from their mouths as their fangs pierced his skin. Chewing his bones into dust, he left screaming for anyone, just one person, to stop it. But it always stayed the same. The monster with its 8 limbs, wiry black fur, and coarse against his body, as it pinned him down. The sickly sweet perfume from their breath enveloping him completely.
He should be grateful when God decides his soul has been tested enough and he gets to skip past those nightmares. There were others, but that spider demon always came back. Sometimes he would die in a completely different way: crushed, gouged, or suffocated. It never ended. It was probably about a month ago when instead of being eaten, it just cracked him open, but instead of blood and guts spilling from him, he splintered like he was made from wood. A dark, grey plume of dust shooting out, misting the air.
He woke up whimpering, almost loud enough to be heard over the left on TV in the den. That wasn’t a great night. Maybe he should pray for guidance or even ask Uncle what he thought. But he had a feeling he knew what the advice would be. The way his uncle would put on a face of concern and say with his disappointing drone that he was saddened to hear how poor Hunter’s soul was.
He was always going on about his ‘soul’. How soured it was, tainted by a past life Hunter never knew he lived. That’s just how things were, though. It didn’t matter he was 14; what mattered was he came from bad blood, and he had to make up for it somehow. Groaning, he sat up just to be blinded by the rays of sun coming in through the bare window.
The ratty blanket he used to cover the single panes must have fallen down in the night. He thought about just leaving it for now. What did a little sun matter? It warmed the draughty room up considerably. Which was great when he considered the heater was broken again. More like they didn’t have the money to keep it running as it got colder outside.
That was fine though; maybe he could convince Uncle to take him to the thrift store to find some extra blankets. Uncle didn’t mind spending some money if it was on something cheap and useful. After finally convincing himself not to put it off for later, he gently kneeled down besides the bed after getting up.
Moving his hands up and down underneath the sagging mattress until he touched the terry cloth. Pulling a face after having to touch the dust and cobwebs smothered in the fabric, it’s really not that much different from the rest of the corners and ceiling in the house.
Now if only he could also find the thumb tacks too. “Son of a-!” Shaking out his hand, he pressed it to his lips to stop the bleeding. The flow was staunched after a few attempts in his mouth. He tasted the iron and pulled his finger back out.
It’s not like it would do much damage to his already dead-end nerves. Flexing it out, he could feel the pins and needles still buzzing. Pale scar tissue caught on the lights, making them appear like ghostly gashes.
He didn’t like looking at his hands, or really any part of his body. That wasn’t much of a problem since his uncle decided mirrors reflected the sin of vanity and pride. After one of his episodes, he managed to smash every single one in the house to bits. After that, no more reflections.
Hunter didn’t really care for them anyways; it was only annoying when he needed to apply a cream to his face or he was checking on any damage he would receive from punishments. The last one was mainly his fault; Uncle also said he had a smart mouth. That wasn’t a compliment like Hunter had originally thought the first time he heard it. It was definitely a stinging lesson that lasted, but not for long.
He wishes Uncle would accept one day he’s grown mute so Hunter wouldn’t need to struggle to find the impossible combination of words that would satisfy Uncle’s relentless demands for answers. Staying ‘silent’ stung too unfortunately.
Turning around to press his back against the wall, he sighed softly. It was difficult to concentrate, feeling the aches already starting in his wrists down to his forearm. Maybe he could pretend to dream.
Dream about waking up to no pain, softly, instead of jolting violently awake as if hours hadn’t passed. Hearing breakfast be made outside his flimsy plywood door, out in the kitchen.
Closing his wine-red eyes, his mind drifted. Allowing himself to focus on the hum of the refrigerator, the sputtering of his uncle’s fan behind his closed bedroom door, and the clink of a bottle falling over on the worn-out coffee table.
Wait.
Bolting up, he went for the door, but before he could, it slammed open before him. His uncle stood at his impressive height, towering over the much smaller boy. Blue eyes darting down towards him, to stare at his nephew’s rumpled clothes, musty with nightly perspiration and enough holes to be mistaken for a polka dot pattern.
“Decided to sleep in? I thought I told you I needed to be woken up before the sun rose,” he drawled in his faint accent.
It was a wonder where he learned to talk that way. But no amount of reconciliation could help Hunter recall if his father ever spoke with one either.
He mostly remembered his father not speaking at all, except when absolutely necessary. It had been quiet when he was little; minus the outbursts from Uncle, there was never a lot of noise in the house.
Quickly casting his eyes down, trying not to shuffle his feet, Hunter wracked his head to remember exactly what his uncle had said the night before.
There wasn’t much conversation. Uncle being extremely displeased with draining the last of his alcohol and tossing the empty aside. Hunter just mainly tried to stay out of his way last evening.
Before he got too much further into his inner examinations, though, Phillip grabbed the boy by the arm, slightly twisting it in the process, and pushed him back further into the room. Stale cigarettes and the last remnants of spoiled wine coated every word that floated out above Hunter’s head.
“Have you lost your sense as well as your manners?"
“No s-sir, so-sorry sir. I must have misremembered what you said is all.” Hunter finally managed to stutter out after several false starts, the sounds still getting tangled in his head before he could respond. He was beginning to panic, but with the pressure on his arm, it was hard to think.
He glanced up, taking a chance to read his uncle’s face. To see how bad the hangover was and how annoyed he might be. Hunter didn’t mind when Uncle would start drinking; if he was in a good mood, he was less likely to get mad at his nephew’s existence.
There were plenty of nice moments, like when they would cook dinner together, it wouldn't be much, but it was something. Uncle could even be very affectionate and gentle with the way he would softly smile and pet Hunter’s hair, combing his fingers through his blond curls. If there wasn’t church service the next day, they would sit together on the couch with a shawl draped across both of their shoulders, watching the nightly sermons.
Sometimes Uncle would make a shushing motion with his finger, pressed up against his chapped lips, like it was some secret, and he would put on old black and white programs from the BBC channel.
But the aftermath could be rough in the morning. He knows it’s not his uncle’s fault. It was the effects of his drinking. It was when he was completely sober; it was when he was the scariest. He means the most stern. Hunter corrected his thinking before any thoughts could show on his face.
Now looking up at the elder man, he could tell he was sober. Uh oh. The Sneer was fully visible. This wasn’t a drill. Something was about to hurt.
“Don’t give me that attitude; I had a very important call this morning that I almost missed because of you.” Still gripping Hunter’s arm tightly, he increased pressure just enough for him to cry out.
Trying and failing to keep his breaths even, Hunter gasped out, “I swear, I’m sorry about your call. I’ll do better tomorrow; I’ll wake up really early and make sure it’s still dark out before I wake you an-and”, he was cut off from the backhand of Phillip’s slap.
If it hadn’t been for the titan grip the older man had on the boy’s arm, surely he would have found himself on the floor. Instead, Hunter remained upright, his brain taking several seconds to reboot.
Unconcerned by his nephew’s cease in rambling, he continued as if nothing had happened. “My call was today, not tomorrow. But for now, I’ll drop the matter. Fortunately, for you, I was awake to receive it,” he began, tugging Hunter closer to the door and out to the hallway.
“This also means I have to get ready as well. I was going to bring you with me, but I will not tolerate this laziness of yours.” Finally releasing his grip, Hunter stumbled into the kitchen.
It wasn’t uncommon to feel like a rag doll around his uncle. Being moved on his whims alone. The hard part was over for now, at least.
After catching his breath, “I understand, sir. Is there anything I can do while you’re out?” Being meek was safe; reminding his uncle he could do chores or organize his lectures often helped soothe any bumpy situations. Often he would prioritize uncles’ work over the homeschooling materials he had yet to finish in hopes of staying in good graces.
Just buying some time to let the man cool down more was always a safe bet. Mostly. About 50/50, really. Okay, it didn’t always work, but if Uncle was leaving the house, Hunter could find something to clean or do, and by the time he got home, maybe everything would be fine!
Phillips’ eyes gazed over the kitchen, filthy and rancid. Dishes piled on the counter, stripped bare of any protective coat; knife marks and leftover grease staining the surface. He gestured towards the pile flippantly. “Clean that up; if it’s cleared, maybe I’ll be in the mood to make something on my return. I suppose it’s been a while since we’ve needed things from the market.” He cleared his throat and patted his pockets to make sure he had everything from his money clip to his keys.
Irritation filled Hunter, leaving a sharp and bitter taste in his mouth. He knows for a fact that they’ve been out of food for practically a week. The only reason he is even mentioning the market is because he ran out of wine and vodka. They’ve been eating stale bread and expired cans of chicken noodle soup.
His stomach growled, but thankfully by that time his uncle had already walked away without even a backwards glance. Which was good; he couldn’t see his face. The boy was like an open book. If that open book happened to be at the Pre-K level of reading.
“Behave,” Uncle’s voice carried from the back door, “if any calls come through asking for me, take a message. I’ll be back tonight,” and just like that, he was gone with a thud and soft click of the keys turning.
Hunter released the breath he was holding and moved to hold out his arm. There was already a nasty bruise forming. Pale purple and tender to the touch, it still wasn’t the worst it could have been, probably worse than the one he could feel on his face as well.
It could always be worse, he muttered that to himself like a mantra until he believed it through and through.
With that in mind, he turned towards the bare cabinets in search of anything he could have before tackling the depressing amount of plates and bowls off to the side.
Digging deep into the way back, he somehow managed to find a store brand nutrigrain bar that wasn’t too badly squished. It must have fallen outside of the box a while back. When was even the last time they had bought those? It was fiiiine, probably. He thought, or at least hoped. Anything was better than air. Or that suspicious looking container labeled “rice pudding” neither of them remembered ever buying in the back of the fridge.
After devouring the bar, which had to have been a record for the fastest time consuming one, he found himself glaring at the sink. It wasn’t going to get any better, but it couldn’t get much worse either by staring at it for a few minutes at least.
Ignoring the stench of mold and decay, he started by stacking things that belonged with each other. There was something almost soothing in stacking plates and bowls and pots. He wished his uncle would at least lay things in the sink the same way instead of just throwing them in. It made it so much easier to start washing them if everything was together.
Trying to ignore the slimy feeling of the dollar store soap lathered between his fingers, he took the sponge and started with the top, working his way down. He wasn’t sure if the counters were something that needed to be done, or maybe even the floors, but after seeing a roach crawl by, he shuddered and prayed they had bleach left or maybe some countertop wipes. If not, a rag would do the same amount of work.
He would clean more often; it was just… hard to do. When he got started, that’s when all the pain in his joints would start to fire and make even the smallest tasks impossible. Uncle said it was due to the fact he was born weak. Bad blood and the Lord was testing him.
Which is fine and all; he just wished the Lord would stop piling on the exams. He could have graduated at least twice by the amount of credits he would have accumulated.
It took a few hours but he was finally finished his goals. After scrubbing every dish, the counters too, and doing a quick sweep of the floor, the kitchen actually looked, well, still awful, but better than before!
Uncle wasn’t even really that bothered by the state of the house; sure, he would sometimes get into a funk and scream at him until something was wiped down, or thrown out, or stashed in a closet, but other times, it didn’t really matter. There wasn’t much to do now; well, there was.
He noticed the living room was in disarray, from the mound of glass bottles piled into the corner to the dirty laundry thrown over the back of the sagging loveseat sofa. Not to mention the cigarette butts and ash tilted in such a way that made him believe one big gust of air could have the dirty carpet covered within seconds. Dragging over a trash bag, he got started.
Only for about 15 minutes in does he get distracted by the wired telephone ringing. Hunter practically sprinted for the phone; he couldn’t have one more thing go wrong today, not until after Uncle started his nightly routine and was feeling better.
“Hello? Wittebane residence!” cradling the phone to his ear, he waited as the static hissed on the other end. “Yes, I am trying to get ahold of a Mister Phillip Wittebane. Is he in? This is a matter of his application.” The lady on the other line sounded stiff.
“No, ma’am, but I can take a message and a number for him to call you back.” He tried lowering his voice to sound older than he was, hoping that it didn’t crack at the wrong time.
“No need, just inform him to get back in touch with me as soon as possible. This is Joan from Blight Industries calling on behalf of Mrs. Blight. He can call from the same number I am dialing from.” Before she could hang up, panicking that they had no caller ID or fancy machines in their house, Hunter quickly sputtered out, “Yes, ma’am, of course! Just on the safe side, can you p-please confirm the number for me?” He had no idea what application this lady was talking about, but he knew he didn’t want to screw up.
What would have happened if he had given the message to his uncle and he turned around to reveal he never had the saved number to begin with? Hunter would be massacred on the spot. Or at least very sore the next morning. Hell, he was already going to be sore, but no use in furthering his own misery if he could help it.
The woman, Joan, sighed in such a deep annoyance, you would think she had just been asked to stay late to cover a tardy coworker’s shift. But she complied and rattled off a series of numbers and promptly hung up.
Scrambling to find a pen and paper, Hunter managed to snag an old pamphlet and scribble out the digits and the very brief information he had. Now all that was left was to lower himself down into the sinking cushions and breathe.
It’s funny, breathing. If he thought about it for too long, just the process behind it, he could almost feel his body having to do it manually. It was still early, though; Uncle had only left about an hour ago, and it sounded like he wasn’t planning on returning until late.
Hearing a gurgling from his still empty stomach, he groaned out, “I really hope he was serious about making something.” After the anxiety spike of the phone ringing, the motivation to clean was just gone. Not to mention the aches have definitely started up by now.
Maybe a nap was in order. It almost felt like a wasted opportunity to not steal a few hours watching junk TV without being scrutinized. When his dad was with them, he would flip through a few channels Uncle didn’t approve of, but he didn’t try to stop his brother from watching them.
They didn’t fight a whole lot; when they did, the house would turn into an active war zone, Hunter being caught fully in the cross-fire. Learning to hide and ride it out had been a necessity. Even if it meant both were stinking drunk and forgot to feed the youngest, hunger was better than trying to gently remind them he was there.
Hunter didn’t like how Uncle would drag him in and use him against his father to make a point. Normally his dad would still argue but then finally deflate, getting that look, the look Hunter never really got. It was like his eyes drained of all color and became cloudy. Then suddenly, all was calm once again. Uncle having won yet another argument. His father was exhausted, and Hunter was just confused but glad the tension was gone.
All these thoughts and memories swirled together. This was dangerous thinking.
If he started to think about that, then he’d start to think about everything else from Before. The crash, the sirens – he would remember the others. “Stop. Just stop. It’s no use.” He didn’t know why he was whispering. But that was enough.
Instead, he pivoted back to that strange call. What in the world could that application mean? He wasn’t even aware his uncle had applied anywhere. That would mess with his benefits and the small stipend he received from the church. Maybe the lady was talking about some other kind of application, but for what? He was already growing tired, a migraine throbbing at his temples.
A nap wouldn’t hurt out here on the soft loveseat. A few minutes or half an hour at the very least. He had plenty of time, and he’s already cleaned so much.
Sending up a quick prayer to thank the Lord for the comfort of being able to rest, he closed his eyes. As he was drifting off, he felt a phantom hand hesitantly caress their fingers through his hair.