imagine my surprise that i'm updating this series again,,, updated on ao3 a few days ago if you'd rather read it on there.

anyways i just wanted to write hunter and raine interacting that's All This Is. Also hunter's characterisation is a bit? in this? i love writing my boy but he's like,, all over the place in this (which makes sense ig, because like, fragile mental state and all that)

anyways - this is most likely the last part of this series because i have exams in a matter of wEEKs and i will eventually burn out of writing this as a stress relief project. if u yell at me enough i may write some more post exams. with that being said, i hope you guys have enjoyed this series! i've loved writing it :)) poor hunter the skrunkle scrimbo

tw/ for mentions of suicidal thoughts and implications of a character suffering from ptsd

also thank u sm for all the love on this series it's been mad? massively boosting my confidence so cheers for that!

listened to my hunter playlist [ playlist/19KirIdxD7JkhtHg0vpDOL?si=80e1f93555814d92] whilst writing this,,, it has an uncomfortable amount of glass animals i am sorry but yeah it's here if anyone fancies a listen

anyways i'll stop rambling - hope you guys enjoy this!

[title from 'which witch' by florence + the machine]

Hunter wakes up with a choking, terrified grasp, fingers balled in the sheets like he's holding on for dear life, eyes wide and terrified.

The last thing he can remember is light. A shattered, golden beam of light, blinding him. And hands, thousands of hands, grabbing him, tugging at his clothes, dragging him down into the earth. He remembers the feeling of rough metal against his hipbone, clashing against his knuckles, pressing against his arms.

He feels-

He feels surrounded. He has to sit up, and breathe, heaving for air, chest aching like he's been running for miles.

(He's been running all his life, he just didn't realise it-)

He doesn't remember where he is. Not at first. Everything is a muddled blur. He sees things in faded snatches - the sting of spilled Apple Blood on his hand, the chill of the water he'd been poured, the exact teal of Raine's pyjama shirt. He knows - vaguely, everything is vague with him - where he is, and how he got there.

He just doesn't know if he wants to be here. The room hadn't seemed welcoming when he'd eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep, but in the light of day, it seems downright menacing. He sees his own reflection in a battered mirror, marred with a crack, and has to look away. Flapjack clings to his shoulder, and he strokes cautiously, rapidly at his palisman's feathers.

He's never liked the look of himself. Well. That isn't entirely true, he'd once preened and thrown himself finger guns in a mirror when he was decked out in his full uniform. He'd appreciated the neat way his mask framed his face, the way his hair would swoop over the top. The fact his scars, his eyes (which were so obviously out of place, looking back, he's stupid, stupid, stupid-) were hidden. But he's never liked the look of himself like this. Raw, and messy, and-

And looking far, far too young. He blinks at himself, raises a burnt, calloused hand to prod at the tracing scar on his cheek, and looks away. He doesn't - he still doesn't really know what he is, he just -

He just doesn't want to be himself anymore. He didn't sign up for this. Didn't sign up for a lifetime of doing everything for the man he'd once called uncle, to obey his every beck and call. He hadn't signed up to be a player in somebody else's game.

He really doesn't know what to think. Everything he's ever been told is a lie; that thought seems simple enough, but he knows there must be some reality within the lies. He knows his family weren't killed by wild magic, but maybe- maybe he still had a family? He can remember some things, vaguely, from the time before Belos took him in. Before he joined the Coven.

But he doesn't know what he is without the Coven. Without Belos. As much as he's beginning to loathe to admit, he and the Emperor are entangled together. Their paths mesh, merge together messily, unavoidable to think about. He doesn't know if that's him, or those who had came before him - that long, trailing line of past Golden Guards, past Grimwalkers - but he just knows that severing that tie wouldn't be easy. Knows that he has a legacy to shoulder. Knows that if he's truly aware of it or not, or if it's just a murky thought in his subconscious, he's made up out of the Golden Guards who came before.

He doesn't know how many of him there have been. He knows there's been a lot - he saw their discarded masks.

He just-

Out of all the Grimwalkers-

All the Grimwalkers-

He doesn't know who's legacy he's carrying. Doesn't know if he's just a shadow of someone else. He looks like someone, he knows that, but he doesn't know if he's just- just a copy.

(He wonders if he really is just a copy. If he's not even himself.)

Which was partially why he hadn't stayed with Luz. With her, the Owl Lady, the rat-dog, and their owl tube. It was a far cry from what he knew, who he was. Their home was entrenched with wild magic, he wouldn't be able to get away. Wouldn't be able to think.

He thinks, then, that maybe this is for the best. This middle-ground. This inbetween. Darius and Raine, they know. They know what it's like. How hard it is to survive when you're choking on a legacy. When your shoulders are heavy, wearing thin from carrying a burden placed upon you long before your footsteps were first heard in the castle. They know what Belos is like. Know his temper, know the look on his face when he needs feeding. Not quite as well as Hunter does - they had never been there in the throne room, after Hunter had failed a mission - but they know.

But then again-

He still doesn't feel quite- quite safe with them. He knows Darius, sure, thinks Darius has a bit of a soft spot for him, but he's smarter now. He knows not to swallow bait like that so easily. It could still be a lie, he thinks. He could just be here, and waiting, motionless whilst the Coven gained on him.

He needs to-

He has to-

He needs to move. Needs to run. Run, run, until he can't run any further. Run until everything behind him is blurred, faded, run until there's nothing for him to see on the horizon. He doesn't -

He doesn't trust anyone. Can't trust anyone. And staying here might just kill him.

He swallows. Inches out of bed, swinging his legs round, planting his socked feet firmly on the floor. His boots sit by the wardrobe; he glances across at them, but doesn't put them on. They'll make too much noise.

Instead, he opens the wardrobe, wincing at the violent creak the old piece of furniture makes. He waits, stock-still, for a few moments. Nobody comes in.

Swallowing, he reached into the wardrobe. Flapjack flutters onto his shoulder, yanks at the sleeves of a shirt. Hunter reaches for it. Whilst it isn't ideal for combat - it'll be easy to grab onto - it'll keep him warm. There's a scrawled name inside - handwriting too messy to be readable, but he can make out a scratch of an E, something that might be a CL.

He slips it on. It hangs down loosely to his thighs, and as he looks at himself in the mirror, he looks even more like a child. It's a sight he doesn't like. He's spent so long protesting that he isn't a child, that he's a prodigy, that he deserves his place at the Emperor's side, that having that all suddenly turned on its head is-

He doesn't like it. But he doesn't want to spend that long thinking about it.

He creeps forward, hand on the door handle. He carefully, carefully opens the door, magenta gaze surveying the room in front of him. Everything seems the same. Same faint stain on the dining room table, same floral curtains.

There's another door - this one leads outside. He just needs to make it there, and then he can - he can get away. Get away properly. Leave the shadow of Bonesborough. Maybe, he'll make it as far as the Knee before Coven Scouts catch up to him. He'll just rather take his chances on his own. Rather than being stuck here, waiting for the inevitable to catch up on him.

(Deep down, he knows he's being illogical. Knows that this is the best chance he has. Knows Darius and Raine mean well.

But he's been lied to one too many times.)

He sets his shoulders back. Balls his hands into fists. And steps forward, setting a beeline for the door.

He doesn't get there.

"Hunter?" Raine's voice is quiet, slurried with sleep. The Bard looks tired when Hunter whirls around to look at them, rubbing at their eyes, "Where are you going?"

"I'm-" Hunter swallows. He doesn't want to tell the truth. Because he doesn't exactly think that Raine would let him go without saying something, without trying to stop him. "I just want some fresh air." He lies.

Raine looks like they don't believe him. They take a slow sip of their tea - Hunter can smell the drink from where he's standing, something floral and light. "I can open the window," they say, "But you can't head out there just yet?"

"Why?" Hunter asks. He blurts, really - but his curiosity has always managed to get the better of him.

"Darius and Eber are setting some spells around the boundaries of the house," they explain, pushing their rounded glasses up the bridge of their nose, "And they probably don't want to be disturbed- shoot."

"Everything okay?" Hunter asks, concerned, before he realises where Raine had a slight slip of the tongue. He doesn't quite understand Raine's reaction - he was bound to find out eventually. And Eberwolf as a traitor isn't exactly a surprise - they'd always seemed rather dismissive and easily distracted in Coven meetings.

Raine shakes their head slowly. "I wasn't supposed to tell you," they say, "Not yet, anyway."

"I was always gonna find out," Hunter points out, "Besides, I saw you three trying to do that-" he pauses, clears his throat, screws his eyes shut briefly, "That- that spell. And they don't look, like, exactly inconspicuous. I was halfway there to working it out myself anyways."

"I suppose," Raine says softly, "Just- when Darius eventually wants to tell you, please pretend to act surprised?"

"Okay," Hunter murmurs, "I will. Sorry." He adds, and he doesn't know why. Adding an apology as a tag has become oddly second nature to him - and it's strange. He never used to be like that. He used to -

He used to do a lot of things. Be a lot of things. None of them matter.

"Don't say sorry," Raine murmurs, and takes a sip of their tea, "Would you like something to eat? For breakfast? I have some Griffin eggs… I could scramble them? Fry them?"

"M'alright," Hunter mumbles. He feels oddly out of it. He wonders how he could have ever contemplated running for it - he feels bone weary. His strength has been sapped, he's still exhausted from - from everything that happened. His face is scraped, he knows that much, but it's starting to sting. To ache. He wonders if the marks where the earth bit into him will leave a scar.

He hopes not.

"If you're sure…" Raine says, wary, "I don't blame you, though, I'm a terrible cook. Especially with people watching." They shudder. Just slightly.

"I can go back into my- your room. If you want to make something." Hunter offers quickly. He doesn't want to take up too much space. He wants to shrink, if possible, to become tiny, unnoticeable.

"No, no," Raine says quickly, "Don't worry about it. I already ate."

Hunter nods, and there's a moment of still, awkward silence in the kitchen. He's quickly learning that he can't stand silence - he hates it almost as much as he hates noise, the wretched screaming and pained shouts he hears when he closes his eyes.

"Did you want something else to wear…?" Raine offers, somewhat timidly, after a while, "That old thing seems to be a bit too big on you."

Hunter looks down at his feet. He doesn't want to - to ask for too much. Something in the back of his head fears that Raine may toss him directly to the Emperor if he does so.

(He knows they won't. He just keeps seeing the worst possible outcomes.)

"I…" he folds up the sleeves of the shirt, and shakes his head, "I'm fine for now. Thanks."

"If you're sure…" their tone is tense, fretting, "It's not a big deal. You're with us now, yeah?"

"I guess…" Hunter replies, and there must be something insecure in his voice, because Raine gives him a pointed look.

"You are with us," they say, stepping closer. They reach out a hand, go to grasp his shoulder. Hunter flinches, jolts like he's been shot, and Raine drops their hand. "And we'll keep you safe."

"You can't promise that," Hunter counters quickly. He feels irrationally annoyed - he knows he really shouldn't be, knows Raine is really only trying to help, but he's just - he's tired of being patronised. "He could have scouts surrounding us within like, hours. And he might just blast us to bits."

"He won't," Raine says tiredly, "We're too close to the Day of Unity. S'too much work to find a replacement now."

"That isn't exactly reassuring."

"Yeah, I- I know it isn't. Sorry," Raine murmurs, "But - you're safe with us. I promise you that. And besides, we're three Coven Heads. And you're the Golden Guard-"

"I'm not-" Hunter cuts in, shaking his head, eyes narrowed, "Not anymore. I'm just-" he pauses, gestures at himself, tugging wearily at his oversized shirt, "I'm just - just Hunter. Just a Grimwalker." He says, and freezes, because he wasn't planning to tell them. Not like this. Not so soon. And Raine is years older than him - they must surely know what he is, the sudden twist in their expression must mean that he's- he's dangerous. That he really is just a beast-

"Is that what you found out?" Raine asks. They've set their mug down on the side; steam spirals out of the lip of the cracked mug into the chill of the air. (The mug is easy to focus on, and Hunter does so. It's a design that he wouldn't have linked to Raine - it's bright, colourful, brash.)

"Yeah," he mumbles, looks down at his hands. He's clasped them together, tightly. His nails are chipped, bitten to bits. It's something he has a tendency to do when he's stressed, and the past day - well. It worsened that habit. "I don't… I don't really know what it- it means, though. I just know that I'm. Well. I'm not a witch, not even a powerless one, I'm just- I think he fuckin' - I think he made me."

"I know a bit about Grimwalkers," Raine admits, "I promise - I didn't know that you were- well. One of them, but I know a little bit about how they can be made. Honestly, I thought it was all a myth. Or a children's story. Like the nursery rhyme?"

Hunter cocks his head to the side. "I don't know the rhyme." He says, and Raine nods.

"I wouldn't suppose you would," they say, and they hum a faint tune to themselves, "Something about, uh- sweet-talker, why don't you go make yourself a Grimwalker… and then there was something about Galderstones and something-or-other Scales," they flush faintly, "It's been a while since I heard it, though."

"Right," Hunter nods, "When you- when you heard about Grimwalkers, were they- like. Seen as scary?"

Raine chews at the inside of their mouth, adjusting their glasses as they think. "Not scary. Just… unknown." They shrug, "Honestly, I didn't think Grimwalkers were real."

It's funny, really. This kind of discovery - the fact that something previously thought to be a children's tale, or a myth wasn't made up, was real, and live and breathing - it was something Hunter would usually eat up. He lived for things like this - discoveries of rarities, examples of magic at its most incredible.

Except for the fact that he can't stand to think about it. Can't stand to think about it, and what it might mean for him.

"Yeah, well," he swallows, "Neither did I."

"Sorry," Raine murmurs, meeting his gaze. Their eyes are kind, Hunter realises. Softened. He wonders, absentmindedly, if what Darius had said yesterday about them and Eda had held any weight. They don't seem like the kind of pair to slot seamlessly together. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. And I won't pass it onto Darius before you're ready to tell him."

Hunter nods, once, a slight jerky movement. He swallows, and blinks, looking up at Raine.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, "I've - you both could have just left me. In the woods. There's no - you didn't even like. Check if I was with Belos, or-"

"You thought we were with Belos," Raine says gently, "And we helped you because you're a child, Hunter. We weren't just going to leave you in the woods."

"Yeah, but…" he huffs, "I might have been with Belos. Never said I wasn't," he swallows, "I dunno. Maybe I should just go back to him. Might be easier than getting you into trouble."

"I was always going to get into trouble," Raine says, "It's practically my middle name." Their tone is mock-confident.

Hunter cocks his brow at them. "I don't really know you," he murmurs, "But I - I'm pretty sure that isn't true," he frowns, trying to work out what he wants to say. Trying to articulate the slurry of thoughts that whirl inside his mind. "But I- I mean that. Maybe if I just- just hand myself over to him, it'll be easier. He'll just… he could wipe my memory, or something. Brainwash me." Or kill me, he silently thinks, finish the job I should have started back at Eclipse Lake.

"No, no, no," Raine shakes their head, "Look. Kid. Really, I- you staying with us isn't any trouble. Belos has no idea that we're-"

"Rebels?" Hunter fills in, and Raine nods.

"That. He doesn't know. As far as he's concerned, we're on a mission to collect Palistrom wood." Raine gives him a weak smile, then, "Speaking of which - does yours need anything?" Hunter shakes his head, quickly - Flapjack is fine, as far as he knows. "Good. But - I promise. You're fine with us, and I'll- well. We'll tell you that as many times as you need it."

"I didn't think Eberwolf could talk," Hunter fills in, something almost sly in his tone.

Raine almost laughs. "Believe me, they can. Just not in the way you and I are used to," they pause, and wait, and catch Hunter's gaze again, "Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to be fine. I promise."

"Okay…" Hunter murmurs, voice soft, and timid, and fringed with insecurity. "If you- if you say so."

Raine opens their mouth, goes to say something else, finds themself cut out by Darius entering the room, Abomination gloop curled over his shoulders like a cloak. Eberwolf skitters in after him, right on his heels.

"Don't track mud into the carpet," Darius scolds, sounding irritated, "Wipe your paws on the doormat, at the least, honestly, do you not know any manners?"

Eberwolf tuts, shakes their head, and rubs their paws - Hunter thinks they have hands, really - into the carpet more firmly.

"I'm dreadfully sorry about them," Darius says to Raine, "I promise, they've got nothing against you - it's just to piss me off. I'll have a wor- oh. You're awake."

Hunter didn't think he'd been cowering, but he presumes he must have been. He'd just been tucked slightly behind Raine, still drowning in his oversized shirt. He still doesn't feel like he's properly woken up, not just yet - he keeps seeing the same horrible things from his dream, still feels the ghost of phantom hands clutching at his skin.

"Good morning," he says, and it comes out as a whisper, "Sorry. I'll just- if you three want to talk, I'll get out of your -"

"Nonsense," Darius says, shaking his head, "I wanted to talk to you, anyway. I figured you may want to message your- were they your friends?"

Hunter looks blankly at him.

"The Hexside kids," he clarifies, "Remember? Bunch of scrappy looking witchlings? All wearing green?"

Hunter swallows, and nods. Whilst contacting the Emerald Entrails hadn't exactly been the first thing on his mind, he'd wanted to check in with them. Make sure they knew he was okay.

(Something in the back of his mind questions if they'd even care, and he quashes that thought down like a bug.)

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, "I'll- I do want to. I'll be quick, I promise."

"No rush," Darius says, waving a hand in the air in a vague gesture, causing faint sparkles of purpleish pink to dance from his fingertips, "I'll just be- through here, when you're done. We need to work out a plan, right?"

Raine drains their mug, sets it down on the side. "Yeah," they nod, "We do."

Eberwolf doesn't say anything - Hunter doesn't think they can speak - but they dip their head, and slip into the other room. They leave a trail of muddy footprints behind; Darius glares after them.

"For Titan's sake-" he swears, "I'll clean that up, don't worry, Raine. I'd make them do it, but they'll probably refuse."

"I can do it." Raine says quietly, and heads into the other room, following after their fellow Coven leader.

Hunter meets Darius' gaze, and looks away. He stares down at the ground, noticing the soft woollen texture of the carpet, the tracks Eberwolf left behind. There's a leaf by his foot.

"Did you," Darius starts to say, and falls quiet, "Did you sleep well?"

Hunter blinks up at him. He feels like it would be - be easier to lie, he thinks. To nod his head, and force a smile, and pretend that he's- he's feeling better. That he isn't choking on the weight of his past, on the sheer force of everything he's learnt.

And then he remembers the faded half-promise he'd made the night before. To change. To step towards recovery.

"Not really," he admits, "I saw- I think it was a nightmare. So I couldn't sleep."

"That's… I'm sorry," Darius says, and however many times Hunter hears him apologise, he still manages to find himself surprised. Darius has never seemed like the kind of man to apologise easily, and especially for something that clearly wasn't his fault. "If that happens again, you can find me, you know that? I'll be there."

Hunter gives a slight nod. He can remember Belos making a promise like that, once, before his head was filled with delusions of grandeur, and promises of the Titan having big plans for him. When he was just a scared little kid, wandering alone through a hollow castle. When he'd done nothing but dream about wild magic hurting him. Hurting his family.

Belos had never stuck to his word. His door had stayed locked.

"Thanks," he murmurs, "If it happens again, then - yeah. Sure."

"Good," Darius smiles at him, "I'll leave you be. Check in with your friends, yeah? And - oh. Yeah. Don't forget to message Eda." He holds out the scroll.

Hunter smiles, the corners of his mouth quirking up just slightly. He takes the scroll from Darius. "Thanks," he murmurs, and finds that he feels - slightly better. Just slightly.

Darius gives him a tight nod, and leaves the room. Hunter listens to the sound of his footsteps fade. He doesn't open up the scroll, not just yet - he just sits, and thinks.

Whilst he knows that the house must be surrounded by protective charms and spells, he also knows that he could slip past those spells with a few of his own. He has Flapjack, afterall, and he has his own brand of teleportation magic. He could run. If he really wanted to. He could run, and get away, and contact his friends, and-

And be done with the Coven. Be done with all of it.

But he wants to-

He finds that he wants to stay here. And whilst his thoughts can be fleeting, barely staying in place for a few seconds, he's certain of that fact in the moment. He wants to stay here. Wants to help the three rebels out how he can. He thinks, in some backwards way, that he wants to make amends. He's hurt a lot of people, he knows that.

But this could be his way to start fixing that. To - to become a better version of himself. To scrape something salvageable out of the mess he's found himself reborn as. Whilst he'll never be the Golden Guard again, he could just be-

He could just be Hunter. Just be himself.

He needs to work out what that means, first, but-

He thinks that maybe, maybe he could get there.