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Sat on the cold bathroom tile of the Noceda residence, late at night, Hunter couldn’t help but try and convince himself that Belos had, at least at one point in his life, cared.
He wasn’t always kind to him, sure— but Hunter couldn’t really recall an abundance of cruelty, either, at least not by his own standards. At one point, when he was younger, before he had gone and given too little, disappointed his Uncle one too many times, made Belos hate him, just as he does anyone with a brain who spends more than a day with him, Belos had cared for him. He had to have.
There wasn’t any other explanation for the soft memories of Belos holding a small, frail Hunter in his lap and guiding his chubby little hands as he taught him how to whittle, the sparse moments of praise and slight smiles, the way his Uncle always guided him when he was smaller with a gentle yet stern attitude. Belos had loved him before he didn’t.
He’d tell him bedtime stories about the human realm, and occasionally ruffle his hair, and made an effort to learn his favourite foods, and make the kitchen staff cook them for him when he’d done particularly well. He’d let him read whatever he wanted. He let him run around the castle unattended when he was small. He bandaged up his injuries when he came to his quarters crying, having scraped his knee. He got him a plush after he’d became particularly interested in a show he’d been watching on a crystal ball— the one and only physical gift Hunter had ever been given by Belos if his scars didn’t count. Belos had loved him before he didn’t.
What changed was him. He’d grown, he supposed, and as he did, Belos expected more. And Belos changed, too; he’d grew colder after each passing year, distancing himself from his nephew. He stopped spending time with him, stopped wanting to be around. Left him to his own devices and meet him with distain anytime Hunter tried to be near him in any capacity that wasn’t professional. Hunter had learned to live with this quickly. He was fine with having more expected of him, fine with his Uncle seeming to care less and less about his wellbeing. The last “moment” he could remember them ever having was the night before Hunter left for his scout training. He had to have been twelve, and Belos met him at his quarters, wished him luck and kissed the top of his head. Told him he had faith in him. That the Titan had big plans for him. That he could do anything so long as he set his mind to it. That he loved him.
Belos loved him before he didn’t.
Belos loved him before he didn’t, and that meant that Hunter was the problem. If he could run away his only family with so little effort, just by being himself, just by growing, that meant that Hunter was the problem all along; it meant that it all lie on him. Belos had loved him before he didn’t.
Anyone could get sick of him eventually spending so much time near him, he knew that. His voice was annoying, he was worthless and expendable, and he wasn’t even real. He was made up of other creatures’ bones and scales and lungs. He could be replaced, and he could bet others would be better off for it. All he ever did was weigh them down, after all, even if they refused to admit it. He was a burden to them and their mission back to the Isles. Because no matter how hard he tried to make himself useful, he always knew that was the Titan honest truth at the end of the day. He was a burden. He always had been.
And as it would appear, the universe seemed to agree, providing him with a primed example. As a benign voice split through the pounding of his Galderstone heart in his ears, he recognised Luz’s inflection, saying his name just outside the bathroom door in a hushed whisper. “Hunter? Are you alright?” He didn’t reply, digging nails into skin and irritating previous wounds. His breathing quickened, hating for her to see him like this, but she persisted despite.
“Hunter, I’m coming in,” was the last thing he heard, and his world seemed to crumble as she stood in the doorframe for but a moment before dropping to her knees to see him eye-to-eye.
“You- bleeding,” She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear too well, only catching slight snippets. “You- okay? Ne- bandage-“ she stood up for a moment, reaching into the cabinet above the sink and grabbing them, before crouching back down to his level and holding out her hand. “Can- touch-?”
He couldn’t respond, only dig his nails deeper in hopes of grounding himself further. She grabbed his hands from him anyways, apologising briefly over his protests, and went to work bandaging his wounds. They weren’t terrible - certainly not the worst she’d seen him sport - but they were still there, and still enough for there to be blood. “Hey,” she muttered once she finished, catching his attention, “hey, look at me. Follow my breathing.” He didn’t seem to understand, so she held up a fist, using her fingers to count out the number of second she would hold in a breathe before letting it go. It took a moment, but the blond in front of her followed suit, sucking in shallow breaths and letting them go with a rhythm. With the bandaged hand she’d let go of, he was tapping the pattern out on his thigh; she took this as a positive sign.
When she was certain that he had calmed down, at least to some extent, she watched as he took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. Looking at her, her eye bags could rival his, and he disliked that greatly. She was risking rest to put up with him, someone who didn’t deserve that at all, and— she squeezed his hand again. “Whatever you’re thinking, hermano, it isn’t true. I promise. You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
Could he, even? She’d hate him if she knew how terrible he was, if she knew he was a monster who still missed his Uncle the Emperor, the person they’d spent so long fighting against. He doubted she’d care after she knew, probably take matters into her own hands and throw him to the curb in order to get rid of him herself. He could imagine the others waking up tomorrow, and her telling them the truth, to be met with celebration. He looked to the ceiling, taking in the pitter-patter of rain on the roof of the home. Would she let him pack?
They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Luz squeezing his hand every now and again and humming to herself with closed eyes as she waited for either a response— or for him to stand to his feet and return to his room. Sometimes, on nights like this, he wouldn’t talk to her, simply leave when she tried to start the conversation, and she understood that. She didn’t usually bring it up for that reason, knowing he would either get defensive or flee when she did. It just took patience to understand what he felt in the moment.
“Belos loved me,” he said, finally, voice scratchy and hoarse. She made a sound of puzzlement. “Belos… used to love me. I have good memories of him, memories from when he was just my “Uncle,” and I was just his “Nephew,” and that was all he expected of me. When I was smaller, he loved me,” he could feel his heart rate pick up again, memories bursting the shoddily mended floodgates he’d just patched. “He would tell me stories, and have my favourite food made for me, and praise me when I’d done well, and bandage my minor injuries, and look after me. He loved me. He loved me before he didn’t and- and that-“ Hunter felt his voice hitch, reaching up to grip his hair out of habit and only being stopped by the person in front of him. She grabbed both of his hands yet again, holding them in her own, and squeezing them to give him something else to focus on.
He hated when Luz - or anyone, for that matter - saw him cry. It make him seem weak, vulnerable, and not to mention, irritating. If his voice wasn’t annoying already, it certainly was when he cried. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to show this weakness to her, because no matter how frequently he had before he never believed he’d get used to it.
“I miss him,” he muttered, quietly. “I miss him, and I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. He’s hurt so many people. He- He was…” here was the chink in Hunter’s armour. Even after thinking back to what Belos had done to him and others time and time again, he could never bring himself to admit he was “bad” in any capacity, even if he knew he was. Some part of him always insisted that Belos wasn’t bad, just hurt. His curse had taken away so much from him, and Hunter had spent so long trying to find a cure. Made the curse was what did it? Maybe it had destroyed some part of Belos’ mind, whatever part cared, leaving him cold and uninviting. Maybe something had broken in him, and he decided Hunter needed to feel the same he had.
He knew it wasn’t true. He knew Belos had always been this way; that he’d killed tens of hundreds of guards before him, and that he wouldn’t stop at Hunter, wouldn’t even show an ounce of remorse. Belos died before Hunter was even made, sprouted from dirt and soil. Even if he lived on, he has dead, a ghost in the wake of a broken, bitter man. Belos had died the moment his brother left. The day Caleb, the man Hunter knew himself to be a clone of, took his final breathe, knife lodged into chest guided by the hand of his younger sibling. And he remembered nights praying to the Titan that they would keep him safe. Give him the strength he needed to put up with the treatment he’d receive from his Uncle. He remembered wishing he could disappear, making himself smaller than a pinprick, if only to make Belos happy. He had always hoped the ends would justify the means.
Before he had time to process, strong, warm arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him into their chest. He was crying, he knew he was, muttering apologies in hysterics, but they only shushed him and pet his hair. “I m-iss hi-m,” he sobbed, bringing his hands close to his chest. “I - I know I shouldn’t, but- he- he loved me before he didn’t, a-nd that means I was the problem. It means I h-urt him. I di-d something to m-ake him stop loving me. I’m-“ all at once, like a tidal wave crashing down into him, he realised how pathetic he must have looked before her. “I’m a mo-nster. I’ll always j-ust be a monster. But he lov-ed me, despite that, and— and I— and I had to go and mess it up, drive away the only family I’ve ever had. I miss knowing who I was supposed to be. I miss when I meant something to someone. I miss my Uncle. I miss my Uncle and— I want to go home!”
At this, he wrapped his arms around her midsection, wailing into her chest. He knew he was being too loud, knew with any luck he’d probably wake up the others, and while he hated the idea of them seeing them like this, the idea of trying to hold it back for any longer felt like holding his breath. He always gave in eventually. “I wan-t to go h-ome,” he continued, muffled by the shirt of his pseudo-sibling, “I want to go hom-e, It’s not fair!”
He imagined what Belos would say, seeing him now. He’d likely scold him, voice dripping with poison, for showing any sort of weakness. Weakness could get him killed, he’d learned this by now, after so often having shown any semblance of vulnerability to his Uncle and being met with punishment. “I hate him,” he whimpered, sucking in a breathe as his expression turned sour. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him for everything he did to me, to you and to our friends, I hate him for- for- for making me this way, I hate him for making me so dependant on him, I hate— So why…” The last part of his outburst came out in a hushed tone, disgust and repulsion filling his chest and coursing through his veins. “Why do I still love him? There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?“
Hunter upturned his expression, bleary eyes meeting those of his sister in every sense but literal, and watched as she furrowed her brow, drew her lips into a thin line, and met him with a face he could only know to describe as pity. He supposed it was better than flat out anger, but that did not stop it from making his skin crawl. All at once, he released her body, lifting himself from where he’d sat in Luz’s grasp and harshly wiping his reddened face with his arm. Luz hated him now, she must have. She knew how pathetic and wretched he was, knew he wasn’t worth her efforts. She’d want him out of her house soon, wouldn’t she? He braced for the news.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, finally, voice even. “Nothing at all. Promise.” This caused his head to spin, and he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off quickly by her. “There’s never been anything wrong with you. It wasn’t your fault that he hurt you, Hunter, it never, ever has been. He was a sick, sick man, and you shouldn’t be responsible for what he did to you. It wasn’t your fault. It’ll never be your fault, okay?”
He looked down at her in total disbelief. She hadn’t raised herself from the floor, simply staring at him with those eyes that seemed to peer through his very soul, idly— nervously —picking at her fingernails. She seemed to mull something over in her head, before taking a steadying breath, and speaking once more. “I promise, Hunter. I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise.“
She looked so small now, sat underneath of him. So small, and yet somehow she remained a beacon of light, of hope. She was everything he wished he could be and more. Kind, compassionate, caring. Trusting. She’d trusted him, she’d given him a chance, even when he knew he didn’t deserve it— that he’d never deserve it.
He had taken so much from so many people. He had done things, seen things he could never atone for. He was the monster his Uncle had raised him to be, just as he had the guards before him, and just like he’s sure he would’ve the guards after, if the Collector hadn’t… Titan, he didn’t want to think about that, about the Collector, about what was currently happening on the Isles, about all those innocent people, about seeing his Uncle… die, Belos was dead. He had to have been. Belos was a monster. Hunter was the exact monster his uncle had moulded him into, a carbon copy of himself. Why couldn’t anyone but him see that? Why were they all so obsessed with second chances?
He sat back down, crossing his legs underneath of him and taking a steadying breath. He noticed all too late that Luz had left the bathroom door wide open, and Flapjack had, at some point, flown in and perched on her shoulder. He, too, looked at Hunter with a sort of pity. It made him feel sick.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered with a certain finality, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that. It won’t happen again.”
She looked at him with a sad sort of grimace, and it was clear she was thinking the same thing he was; that she knew it was a lie. They knew his “episodes” had been happening more and more over these past few months, and based on the way things were going, they wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. “It’s fine, Hunter. I’m not mad,” he couldn’t understand how, “I just want you to be okay. You’re my friend. I love you.”
She loved him. He was a monster, and she’d still loved him. She still had faith in him. She still forgave him. She had hope in him. And he had to have hope in himself. She grasped his hands in hers once again, giving him a gentle smile.
He may never feel safe, not truly. There was a chance he would never get over his Uncle and the things he’d done to him. But he felt safe now. He felt safe here, with her. It may not last forever, but for a fleeting moment, listening to the sounds of the rain on the rooftop and holding her hands in his, he felt safe.
“Come on, hermano. Let’s go to bed.” They stood, her hands never leaving his, treating him with such gentleness as if he was made of porcelain, as she led him out of the bathroom. And as he followed her into the darkness, he felt safe. He felt seen. He felt loved.