My best friend was talking about Frozen, and I hated the way Hans was thrown out of the way so Kristoff could be "the one," so this began. I mean, they probably should have explained more on his reasons, and no one can be as great as an actor as he was, since his character was so wrapped up in jealousy and a big bow of bitterness and cleverness to pull this off on the top.
Also, I am a fan of the Avengers, and mind control isn't a rarity in that case. (it was a little more like heart control in Hawkeye's case, but I digress.)
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words.
This will be multi-chaptered, but will have no particular updating system.
Hans can feel the insisting beat of falling rocks in his head, a resounding drum-thump-dum pounding to the soft undercurrent of violin strings. It feels wrong somehow, like a misshapen puzzle piece that does not quite fit, no matter how much you try to force it, but he just cannot recall the memory of what it was like without it. There must have been a time, he knows this with certainty, but it flutters out of his reach, a word on the tip of his tongue, a long lost memento, tossed away.
It twists inside him, bubbling and churning and he wants to throw up.
Instead, he stands before Queen Elsa's castle, and feels the sinuous tendrils leech itself around his mind.
In the flickering light of the fireplace, Anna seems even more ethereal, a far cry from her usual, delightful manner. Her honeyed complexion dwindles to a pale, rosebud cheeked image, and together with her silvery blonde hair, Hans is once again struck by the similarity to Queen Elsa.
As he leans down, his mind is cackling with glee, and he has only that moment's warning before the drumming floods his senses, turning everything a bright, vivid green, and it pounds deep in his soul as he laughs, but it feels like it is torn, twisting out of his mouth. He is being played like a pianist's instrument, a marionette's string, and it feels so wrong, and he can hear everything he is saying, but his mind shouts yes and his heart screams no, and it hurts so bloody much he cannot even-
Hans's scream bubbles and dies in his mouth as he extinguishes the demanding flames, and he wishes for nothing more than to turn back as he walks out of the ornate wooden doors, to hold the one he so wanted to be with, the one he believed would be the one, for all her innocence and stubbornness and strength. Hans wants to mend the broken threads, stitch it back together again and wash it free of the green and everything else, like it was, like it used to be.
Instead, Hans's footsteps carry him away, further from anything he knows, and the vitriol coming out of his mouth spew hatred and greed and bitterness, and they believe him, and that hurts more than anything else. He wants to shout and spit in their faces, and can't you see this isn't me? But instead the words come out, too soft to be heard, and the sadness is carried away in the brushing winter winds.
He is forced to watch as his own lumbering hands, covered in calluses from long days of sword training and bruised knuckles and small cuts swing down in a silver wind of deadly sharpness to Queen Elsa's pale, unblemished throat.
Hans does not hear it shatter, because his heart is too busy breaking alongside it.
No one can believe it, really, and why should they? (he has so many brothers, all big and strong and tall and just like him, ripe and pickings for the throne, should the current heir have an -accident.) In terms of politics, nobody cares, nobody fights, and he laughs to himself as his father looks down at him disapprovingly, all dull red hair with streaks of white and bright blue eyes full of disbelief and somewhat-indifference. Hans imagines he is near unreadable- driven mad by jealousy and envy, they say. Perhaps it is true, but not for the reasons any of them believe. It still hurts, like a part of him ripped out and shredded to pieces.
If he was an optimist (which he is not) he would still cling on to the tiny sliver of hope that Anna still has a place in her heart for him, and if he was a pessimist, he would say, perhaps, for her, he was a brief infatuation, nothing more. If he were a realist, he would say that there was no hope, and that was okay, because Hans would not forgive himself either. He is all of those things and none.
Eventually, when Anna comes to visit, he sits there, hands in his lap, and smiles sadly at the love of his life, hoping his eyes would say everything he wanted to.
"Why did you do it?" Anna asks, softly, like she still does not want to believe it.
Hans looks down at his smudged, dirty hands, and shrugs in lieu of a response. He does not quite know, either, because a part of himself wished it feverously, but his heart still ached, aches, and he can remember the exact shade of bright neon toxic emeralds. She is as beautiful as ever, her hair done up in a intricate updo and a dark plum traveling cloak, and it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth. The white streak is completely gone now.
"Hans...?"
Hans does not falter in the tapping of the beat against his thigh. The silence rings throughout the room. (or cell. Or box. It definitely was not a room.)
"Did you ever love me?" Hans says softly, the words startling him as much as it does Anna. His voice is hoarse and cracked from disuse, like the crumpling of paper and the crushing of leaves. Anna does not seem to know how to respond.
"I- I don't know," she replies stutteringly. Anna spins around in a swish of her deep colored cloak and makes for the door, and just as she is about to close it, Hans says to her fading color-
"I love you, you know."
Hans wonders if Anna heard. The clanging of the cell door brings about an absolute finality, and the metal sound echoes in his ears, till there is only his ragged breathing and the faint, so very faint bustle of the palace above his concrete floor.
Perhaps there would have been a world where she could have said yes, and Hans could have whispered it back. Instead, there is the sickly sweet scent of blood red roses hanging in the air, with poisonous, bright green thorns, and it clutches at him and suffocates him and pushes him further into the chasm of no return.