Work Text:
Hunter stands frozen in front of the shelf, buried deep in the historical section of the Gravesfield library. He had abandoned Amity and Gus the moment they entered, winding his way through the sections until he found what he was looking for, fingers skimming just above the titles, head tipped to the side to read them. The idea had been rattling around his mind for weeks like a pebble in a tin can, niggling like that same pebble in a boot. He ignored it at times, and poked at it at others, but the fact remained: he wasn’t a witch.
The thought was not cold or warm, not comfortable or uncomfortable. He wasn’t a witch. Alright. He had never been a normal witch, always aware of the nothing coursing through his veins, the pulsing weight that should have been on his heart. He had done his mourning years ago. Late nights staring at the ceiling, at the stars, at the Titan’s Head had calmed the hurt. Not half-a-witch, not a witch at all, but a grimwalker.
Hunter had little problem with what he wasn’t, is the point. No, his issue is with what he is. A grimwalker. A clone. His uncle had made him, cast bone and magic into the dirt, and called him forth. Had made him with a very particular idea of who he would be.
He had to know more about who he was meant to be. When Amity declared she was going to the library he jumped at the chance to tag along. But now that he was here, facing down the spine of the book that surely held his answers, he couldn’t bring himself to lift his hand and grab it.
He can see it clear as day in his mind’s eye. All he has to do is raise his hand, clench his fingers around the spine, lift it and Witch Hunters of Gravesfield would be his, and he would know who he was meant to be.
All he has to do is raise his damned hand.
This is stupid. Hunter shuts his eyes and grimaces, fists clenching. It’s not like the book is going to bite him. All at once, he grabs the book, forcing himself to move before he can overthink any longer. The book is thick and heavy, with yellow pages barely clinging to the ancient binding. There, hidden amongst the shelves, Hunter sits down and flips to the table of contents.
Gus finds him later. “Hunter, man, we were looking everywhere for you.”
“Uh-huh,” Hunter says, still nose-deep.
“What have you got there?” Gus leans down to look at the title. Hunter slams the book to the floor, hand covering the title. Yellow pages settle like autumn leaves around them.
Gus blinks at him. Hunter, heart hammering in his chest, slides the book a little closer, tucking it under his leg. “Uh,” Hunter says. “Local history.” Gus nods.
“That sounds really cool.” Before he can say anything more, Amity pops her head around the corner and spots them.
“There you guys are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Ms. Camila is waiting out front; we gotta go.”
“What happened to the bus?” asked Gus.
“She said it’s too dark out.”
Gus nods sagely. “Human buses are finicky creatures.”
As they wander out of the building and pile into the back of the warm van, Hunter discreetly tucks Witch Hunters of Gravesfield under his hoodie. He has the name now. Caleb Wittebane, born 1624, and mysteriously vanished 1650. He stares past a chattering Gus at the red glow of the taillights. He has a name, a face (his own face, he shouldn’t have been so surprised to see his own eyes looking back from an illustration but-), and knowledge that his progenitor had been personally involved in the death of at least one woman.
Hunter’s tidy sleeping bag and neat stacks of clothing and trinkets are a far cry from Gus’s tangled blanket snarl. Everything Gus can call his own is somewhere in that pile. It brings Hunter to despair sometimes, watching Gus produce an outfit from its depths. Luz had laughed so hard she fell over when they had settled down for a basement movie night and Gus had pulled an entire bucket of popcorn from his piles. Hunter worried sometimes it would eat Gus.
Flapjack, of course, loved the pile and everything it stood for. Damn traitor. Hunter was choosing to ignore his past hoarder nests. He was no one’s guest at the time and therefore it doesn’t count.
Hunter sits crosslegged on his sleeping bag, staring at Gus’ sleeping face by flashlight. He loves his friends so much. If they knew what he was, what he had been made to be, they’d hate him. There was no excuse, nothing that made it okay for him to be a witch hunter, handcrafted to kill people like them.
His fingers tap against the book under his knee. He’s read it cover to cover, absorbed every bit of information he could draw from its depths. The little hope he had that maybe witch hunters weren’t all bad guys had died around page eighty. Sure, Caleb had apparently turned on Belos at some point, but the damage had been done. Hunter was modeled after a murderer, raised by another. He’s doomed, essentially.
Gus stirs on the couch. Hunter freezes. Blinking heavily and rubbing his eyes with one fist, Gus lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. When he makes eye contact with Hunter, it’s steady. “Can’t sleep?”
“No,” Hunter admits. He does not elaborate.
“We all have our nights. Do you wanna, uh, talk about it?”
“No.”
Gus scruffs a hand through his hair. “Wanna watch a movie?”
Now that, Hunter is totally game for. “I’m totally game. Whatcha in the mood for?”
Gus lights up. “Well, there’s always a good gorefest, or something with witchcraft, if you wanna laugh. Or a slasher! Or something with a human demon in it, they’re from religion and they’re evil, nothing like real demons. Well, not that demons can’t be evil. Found footage stuff is really cool, I wanna make one someday. Luz was telling me about a claymation– which is like this really cool technique where they take pictures of sculptures to make it look like they’re moving but it takes forever– movie with zombies and witches and stuff. She said it’s more funny than scary but we gotta check it out.”
Human horror movies are, according to Gus, the best thing that has ever happened to him.
“Claymation sounds good to me,” says Hunter.
The claymation was a mistake. Hunter was doing great until the witch hunters appeared. From there on out it was a quick descent back into the dark crevasses of his guilt. That poor little witch girl. Norman at least got a happy ending but poor Aggie, dead and buried but never at peace. As the credits roll, Gus sighs loudly and stretches, arms reaching from the blanket heap like arms from a grave. Hunter hums and slides off the couch, rolling across the floor to rest on his sleeping bag. “Feeling any better dude?” Gus whispers.
Hunter doesn’t have the heart to tell him. It’s the thought that counts, right? And besides, he must admit, he’s feeling a little sleepier than before. Perhaps if he closed his eyes now he could drift off and not think for a couple of hours. “Thanks, Gus. You’re a great friend.”
“Don’t mention it,” Gus rolls over and burrows in, going silent.
Hunter closes his eyes.
Dirt trapped under the fingernails, pressure on the nailbeds. Clawing scratching desperate must go up must break free must BREATH and on and on as the dark gets lighter and the pressure grows stronger. Scratchy eyes, nothing to breath must GET OUT.
Breakthrough.
Blue eyes above a hand reaching out Caleb Caleb it’s you it’s you my brother. Breathing kicking, up but not out, blue eyes narrow. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” and the hand is holding a knife a pitchfork a sword a torch and
Entombed and fighting. Lungs ache legs ache hands ache struggling to reach air to breath to be free. Break through sit up. Pretty girl stands there, hand over her mouth, eyes wide behind glasses, “Titan what is that thing,” look down SEE and moan and crumble to dust and
Under the dirt clawing screaming broken fingernails aching desperate. A hand reaches up and through and thrashing, birthed from the earth into an empty room. The back of a mirror. Step around and hooked nose sharp chin my face but– blue eyes. Fall back and find no voice with which to scream and
Hurting them burning them hurting them but the hands do not stop gripping the staff and the legs chase on and he calls, voice booming deep in the chest as the figures run run away and they’re right to run from the monster the killer the grimwalker the witch hunter.
It’s not morning when Hunter wakes, shaking. No time seems to have passed at all, for he’s still trapped in the wee hours of the night. The witching hour, Luz had called it, giggling. He fights his sleeping bag and wins, stumbling to his feet. Gingerly, he climb past Gus up the kitchen. He stops to fill the kettle, not bothering to turn on a light, staring out the window at the empty street as the water runs. Settling the kettle into its crook, he flips the switch and goes to sit at the table to wait. Something inside him still caught on the nightmare makes him hesitate. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but he has the desperate urge to make sure his eyes aren’t blue. Like Belos. Like Caleb.
He flips on the bathroom light and peers into the mirror. Yup. That’s him. He’s not sure what exactly he was fearing– what, did he think he’d suddenly turned into Caleb during the night? – but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he can’t bring himself to look away. He’d memorized Caleb’s face. It certainly hadn’t been hard. His uncle was right. He truly is the spitting image.
Leaning in closer, he examines his eyes. The mark of a grimwalker, a book had called them. Magenta. Round. Completely normal looking. He slides a hand around his left ear, pulling it forward. A normal witch’s ear, but for the notch. He can’t help but wonder why they’re like that. Grimwalker side effect? Or worse, planned, a disguise, to help him walk unnoticed around witches, playing a part, hiding in plain sight, until…
Until. That doesn’t matter anymore. Belos is dead and gone, and the only thing remaining of his legacy is Hunter.
The kettle sings, as if from very far away.
Hunter is all that remains of Belos’ centuries-long campaign to end witchkind, the only thing left that can hurt his friends. But Hunter is here, with them, where they ought to be safe and far from harm, away from whatever the Titan had happened to the Boiling Isles. Hunter is here, and he could hurt them. He wouldn’t. He would never. But he could and that thought is so terrifying he abandons the mirror.
Arms wrapped around himself Hunter emerges into the kitchen. The light is on, and the kettle is sitting beside two steaming mugs. Camila, wrapped in a robe, is watching him. “I heard the kettle,” she says gently.
“Oh,” says Hunter, not sure where to look. “I’m sorry.”
“My home is your home. Never apologize for making yourself comfortable. I was just wondering if there’s anything you’d like to talk about?”
Hunter slides out a chair, wincing at the loud scrape. He pulls one knee up to his chest while he sits, Camila sliding over the warm mug for him to wrap still shaking fingers around.
“I had a nightmare,” Hunter says at last.
Camila nods. “Those are hard.”
“And,’ says Hunter, drawing up his courage. “I’ve been worried. About. Some things.”
Camila takes a sip of tea, looking completely at ease, like there was nothing more she’d rather be doing at this time of night than listen to him. “Like what?”
“What if I wasn’t a witch? What if I was something else? Something worse?”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with being a demon, Hunter. Your friends love Vee, and they would do the same for you, no matter what you are.”
“Not a demon,” says Hunter. “Just… something really bad.”
“Does being something bad mean you have to do bad things?” Camila takes another sip. Hunter copies her. He thinks.
“If I was made to do bad things, it’s inescapable, right? There’s no excuse.”
“Like destiny?”
Hunter thinks for a moment about telling her everything. She’s kind and unflappable. And human, like Luz, who doesn’t hate him. But the risk is too great. “I suppose it is like a destiny.”
“I don’t believe in destiny. Nothing and no one can decide for us who we are and what we’re going to do.”
“I was told all my life the Titan had great plans for me.”
“That’s the boiling isle’s god, right?”
“I was made for something Ms. Camila, is my point. Something bad.”
Camila nods. “For a long time, with Luz, her teachers told me she was a bad kid who did bad things. They didn’t say it like that, but that’s what they meant. That she was a problem. But I know my Luz. She’s a good kid who tries her best, and with the right environment, she would amaze us all. And look at all the good she’s done. The people who said she was bad were wrong.”
“No one told me I’m bad. I just am.”
“Have you done bad things?”
Hunter thinks immediately of the Golden Guard cape, and everything he’d ever done to be worthy of it. “Yes.”
Camila is unperturbed. “Will you keep doing bad things?”
“No! I stopped, as soon as…” he trails off. “As soon as I realized he was wrong.”
“And you stopped,” Camila repeats, smiling at him. She reaches out slowly, and he lets her take his hand. “Hunter, mijo, you are a good kid who’s had a hard time. I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through, or what you’re going through. But you’re a good kid, and I have faith in you.”
There’s something in the back of Hunter’s throat, a fist around his Adam’s apple. “But I’m not,” he says.
Camila squeezes his hand. “You’ve lived in my house for how long? I know a good kid when I see one.”
“Thanks, Ms. Camila.”
“Just Camila is fine, dear. Is there anything else you’ve got on your mind?”
He thinks again of telling her everything, but a warm embarrassed feeling had settled into his chest when she said she has faith in him, and so he says “No, I feel much better. Good night,” and stands up, gathering the empty mugs to place in the sink.
“I think Vee said she wanted to take you all to the park today, meet some of her friends. You guys have fun, okay?” Camila says on her way back up the stairs.
Hunter is still in the kitchen, watching the sun come up when Luz comes thundering down the stairs. “Hunter!” she hisses, “Hunter, Vee is taking us to the park and—“
“I heard,” he says.
“And,” Luz barrels on, “there’s a giant ass statue of Caleb in the middle of the park so I was wondering if you wanted to smash it with me.”
“What,” says Hunter.
“Well, it can’t be there when we go with everyone; you’re kinda a dead ringer for him, so! I thought: smash!”
“Smash,” says Hunter, deadpan.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Do you have a better idea?”
He does not. “Yeah, I’m in. Let’s do it.”
“Great!” She disappears into the front hall, Hunter trailing after her. She’s got one shoe on and is hopping up and down trying to get the other when Hunter remembers he’s in his pajamas.
“Shouldn’t I get dressed?”
“And risk waking Gus?” She rummages through the closet, pulling out two jackets and smacking him in the face with the one with the big pockets. He pulls it on, slipping his feet into sneakers. Now is not the time for crocs; vandals should always be ready to run.
She leads him around the front of the house to the shed, throwing open the door with a bang. “I left my bat in here somewhere, I think. Unless Vee used it.”
Armed with her beloved bat, Luz sets a strong pace up the road, breath fogging the air as she nearly jogs. Hunter’s long strides leave him with no problem keeping pace, spinning a hammer in his hand.
Luz pauses at the bus stop on the corner, squinting at the schedule. “It’s faster to walk, I think.”
“And you have a bat.”
“And I have a bat,” she concedes.
Hunter is glad for the jacket as they make their way toward the town centre. Autumn has begun to wane, the crispness having some bite; there’s frost glimmering on the nearly bare trees. Luz slows down marginally as she says “I told my mom we were going for a walk, she said you were up pretty late. Everything alright?”
Hunter feels strangely relieved to be able to say it aloud. “Just. Y’know. Grimwalker stuff.”
“Mmm. What sort of grimwalker stuff?”
“They’re gonna hate me when they know.”
“Maybe. But if we smash ol’ Wittebane then they won’t find out today.” She smacks her bat into her palm for emphasis.
A grin snakes its way across Hunter’s face. She’s right. He can keep them from finding out today. Smashing may not solve all his long-term issues, but it certainly solves the one right in front of him.
The statue, it turns out, is larger than Hunter had thought. “Wow,” he says, looking way up. “They really liked this guy, huh.”
“Weird confession time: I used to pretend he was my boyfriend prince cast in stone.”
“Huh. Weird.” Hunter decided that thought did not deserve pursuing.
“Yeah. I thought you looked familiar. You want Belos or brother?”
“His name was Caleb,” Hunter tells her, hefting his hammer. “You can have Belos.” It takes him not ten seconds to scale the statue until he’s face to face with it. He plants his feet and starts swinging.
“Dude. There’s something, like, metaphysical about watching you destroy your own face.”
“It’s not my face. I’m hotter.”
She laughs and he leans down to pull her up. There’s not quite enough room for all their feet on the plinth, but back to back they manage. Hunter’s left with one foot hanging off the edge and Luz braced against his back, but he doesn’t mind. Her bat almost catches him on the ear on the backswing, and he hears the satisfying crunch of Belos’ nose giving way.
Luz whoops with joy as she brings the bat around again, and Hunter laughs along as he swings again.
Slumped shoulder to shoulder on the frosty grass, Luz blows warm air on her hands. Hunter whistles softly through his teeth. “I should have brought Flapjack.”
“Shut up. I’m still impressed. We don’t need magic.” They hadn’t managed to reduce the statue to rubble as Luz had clearly been hoping, but they had managed to thoroughly destroy every trace of a facial feature on both figures.
“But Luz, consider: pile of rubble.”
“Pretty compelling argument. However, we should get out of here before the joggers and dog walkers show up.” She hauls them both upright, slings her bat over her shoulder, and sets off down the across the field. “You could come back later with Flapjack to finish the job. Just don’t get caught. Where is the little guy anyway?”
“He went to bed early last night. Long day.”
Luz coos. “Poor little guy, is he all bundled up?”
“I shoulda taken a picture, honestly, he’s the cutest thing.”
“What does he think of the whole grimwalker thing?”
“I love him but he is a bird, Luz. I don’t think he knows what a grimwalker is.”
“He could! Some birds are very wise.”
“I somehow doubt he’s one of them.”
They’re still chattering as they enter the house, sans bat and hammer, and shrug out of their jackets. Vee is puttering around in the kitchen, eating her breakfast. She shoots Luz a confused look. “Don’t you have school today?”
“Oh. Oh, crap!” Luz sprints up the stairs.
“So,” says Vee, leaning against the sink. “Funny thing. Luz had quite the reaction when I reminded her about that statue in the park that looks like you.”
Hunter whips around, heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah. Funny thing,” he says, forcing his voice steady.
Vee throws up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant, I guess, to tell you I’m on your side.”
“On my side?” He’s still staring at her with wide eyes.
“I’m like you, I think? Made by Belos. And I don’t know what you are, but you’re not alone, is what I wanted to say.”
“I’m a grimwalker,” he says, hearing his voice come out of his mouth without quite giving it permission, but deciding to carry on. “Belos’ brother betrayed him and he killed him and he’s been trying to replace him ever since. I’m the last.”
“I’m sorry,” Vee says.
“I’m sorry too. I could have saved you.”
She looks at him, for what feels like a very long time. He remembers her, that curled reptilian form in the bottom of a cell. She was the problematic one, he thinks. Not his department, but still. He was aware.
“I forgive you,” she says.
“You can’t. You shouldn’t. “
She shrugs. “You didn’t know any better. You’re sorry. I forgive you. The end.”
“But—“
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Vee says firmly. “It’s in the past. I’m safe now. I have friends and family and it’s over.”
“They’ll hate me when they find out what I am,” says Hunter.
Vee cocks her head to the side. “Why?”
“Because I’m a witch hunter.”
“Um,” says Vee. “I thought you were a grimwalker?”
“A grimwalker of a witch hunter.”
“Those are like, two totally different things.”
“They’re close enough,” says Hunter.
“You’re not the same person as him, though. You’re your own person.”
“No I’m not.”
Vee looks at him blankly. “Yes you are,” she says slowly. “You are your own person, Hunter. You’re not Belos’ brother.”
“I’m literally his clone.”
Vee shrugs. “I can look like anyone. Doesn’t make me any less me.”
Hunter scrunches his brows. Vee brings up a very solid point, one he honestly hadn't considered before.
“I was made from his bones.”
“And other ingredients. Normal babies are made from other people too. Has Willow ever told you how her fathers grew her?”
This is definitely something to think about. He sits down heavily. Vee nods and drops her bowl in the sink. “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me,” she says on her way out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna go tell Luz it’s Sunday.”
It’s almost noon when Willow finds him on the roof. “Hunter? We’re leaving for the park soon to meet up with some of Vee’s friends,” she calls up from the backyard.
He doesn’t answer right away, just examines her face. “Will you come sit with me?” he asks.
She raises her eyebrows but summons a large vine, all the same, raising herself up to his level and stepping daintily onto the shingles. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“I think I will be,” he says, leaning back. The sky is very blue, peeking out from behind grey clouds. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“I was scared, because I thought you’d hate me.”
“Hunter, I could never hate you.”
“Not even when I was the Golden Guard?”
“Not even then. I was scared of you, yes, but also scared for you.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and Hunter cannot tear his eyes away from the little strand she misses.
“I’m a grimwalker,” and it’s so easy for the words to come out, relief swelling like the water balloon Gus overfilled until it burst in his face leaving him wet, shocked and giggling, relief like the splinter Willow’s careful hands pulled from his finger. “I’m a clone of Belos’ brother. A witch hunter.”
“Oh,” she says, and her warm strong hands wrap around one of his. “I could never hate you for something like that. You’re my friend, Hunter.”
“What if I turn out like him?”
“He turned on Belos, didn’t he? So he must’ve been a good man.”
“Maybe in the end. He killed a girl in the human realm.”
“But you’re not him.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying.”
She leans into his side. “We care about you.”
“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay,” Hunter says.
“We’re allowed to worry. We’re your friends.”
“Luz and I smashed up a statue this morning. That’s gotta be illegal.”
“Yeah,” Willow laughs, “Luz is a great friend like that. Have you heard about the time she got me and Gus kicked out of school?”
“Did you come up here for a reason? Before we get any more off track.”
“Oh! Shoot! We gotta go, they’re gonna be waiting for us,” Willow says, dusting herself off and stepping onto her vine, holding out her hand for Hunter to take. He does, focusing on not blushing as she brings them to the ground.
Gus is raring to go out front. He’s wearing a candy-striped scarf several times as long as he is tall and looks ready to leave without them. “There they are! Let’s go!” he cheers as they come around the side of the house.
“I was just about to hear how Luz got you kicked out of school,” Hunter says.
Luz giggles. Amity hides her face. “It was a group effort,” she says. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“Oh, now I gotta hear it.”
Gus launches right into the story, Willow cutting in here and there, Luz just happy to bask in the chaos. The story fades seamlessly into another from their school days, then another, and then they’re at the park. Immediately his gaze goes to the centre of the park, where the vandalized statue stands. Someone has put fluorescent tape around the base and swept up the dust and gravel. The faces look even more brutalized during the day. Luz follows his gaze and winks. Vee leads them right past it, her three friends sitting on a blanket under a nearby tree.
“Everyone, meet everyone,” she introduces. There are nods and waves all around.
“Wish I had the guts to smash those dudes,” says the friend wearing the most black. “Talk about sticking it to the man.”
“They were like, a part of the town history though,” says the tallest.
“It’s not like it matters,” says Vee, flopping on top of the black-wearing friend. “They’re gonna put it back by next week.”
“Who are they?” asks Gus.
“Witch hunters.” says the tallest.
Gus’ eyes go very wide. “That’s so cool,” he says fervently. “Did they ever catch any?”
“Uh, I think they killed a couple of people? Unlikely they ever saw a real witch, though.”
Hunter chokes on a laugh. Unlikely indeed. Luz is making a face that looks like how he feels. Willow is looking at the statue curiously. “I would have liked to see it whole,” she says.
“Wait a week, they’ll fix it,” Vee says.
“Try six months,” says the black-wearing friend.
Gus has gone up to the statue to look at the plaque. “Hunter?” he calls.
Hunter comes up behind him, the conversation carrying on without them. “What’s up.”
“Does this statue have to do with your secret?”
“My secret?”
“Whatever makes you so sad and scared at night. Why you snuck out last night. The thing you can’t talk about.”
Hunter looks around. There’s no one near them; their conversation is quite private. “Yeah,” he admits.
“You can tell me, you know. When you’re ready. You’re my friend.”
Hunter feels a rush of gratitude for Gus, kind patient Gus. Still, he doesn’t dare look at him. “I’m a clone of Belos’ dead brother.”
There’s a long pause beside him; Hunter dares to look down at Gus, who’s rapidly glancing between the plaque and Hunter. “I know this is the wrong response,” he says, “but that’s literally the coolest origin story I’ve ever heard.”
Hunter laughs, the tension breaking.
“You know I’d never hurt you?” says Hunter.
“I know,” says Gus.
And Hunter knows he means it.
He looks across at Luz, at Willow, at Vee, and at Amity, who he still has to tell. It’s less daunting now, though. It’s scary, but he knows his friends have his back. As he and Gus slide back into the group, he slips an arm around Luz’s shoulders.
“We one hundred percent didn’t have to smash that statue,” he whispers.
“Then you can tell my mom for me,” she whispers back. “I promised her I’d stop destroying public property like last year."