Dust to Dust

Part III

They both see it like this: if one is lost, their story ends. They've unknowingly reached the same conclusion.

Today's gonna be better than yesterday. Every single day since Trier, Hansel has told himself that upon waking. Today's gonna be better than yesterday—at once, it's the fragile hope that keeps him going, the promise he makes to himself even though he knows he can't keep it, the twisted lie his life has become. He silently repeats those words over and over and over as he trudges through the swirling dust towards the latest witch who's just begging to be burned.

But, honestly, today's already better than yesterday (and almost every day that came before it too). Part of him knows Gretel shouldn't have wasted the money, but she really did manage to surprise him. The Maultaschen was so good, and he's irrationally thrilled he won't have to worry about salvaging his undershirt after this hunt. Hansel feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he lets it break free because, well, today's already better than yesterday. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be even better, and things will go back to the way they were...

Hansel is ripped from his thoughts by an inhuman scream. Beside him, Gretel tenses, clearly itching for a fight, but he just feels numb. The hunt lost its thrill many, many years ago. Even though he can't see more than a few feet in any direction because of the damn dust, he knows the witch is nearby. After shifting his gun off his shoulder and pointing its barrel out in front of him, he takes a hesitant step forward. When Gretel moves to do the same, he pushes her back with his elbow. Something doesn't feel right about this, and Hansel's about to tell his sister just that when there's a second scream, this one even more chilling than the last because it's right behind them.

Hansel's instincts take over from there. He's not as fast or as strong as he once was, but he's smarter. Or, well, experience has taught him to think before he acts, and he applies that hard-learned lesson here, wheeling around immediately but not firing a shot until he sees something moving to his left. The shot is muffled by the relentless wind, but the howl of pain that follows reverberates for miles.

It can't just end there, of course. That would be too easy. But, luckily for them, the wind starts to die down, steadily settling the dust back to the ground. Gretel spots the witch before he does and bolts after her with the reckless abandon that used to be his (not her) defining trait. He runs after her, gritting his teeth against the pain that pulses down his right leg every time his foot hammers the ground. Before he can catch up to his sister, she catches up to the witch; spurred on by panic, he breaks into a sprint when the witch abruptly turns and launches herself at Gretel, knocking her crossbow away with frightening ease.

No, it can never be easy. Because that would be too damn easy. Hansel can't risk taking a shot, not with Gretel wrestling with the witch on the ground, both their hands clasped around a wand as sharp as any blade. He reacts without thinking (yes, he's smarter than he once was, but he still can't help putting himself between any threat and his sister) and tackles the witch, somehow managing to come up with her wand in mere seconds.

And, with that, Hansel plunges the wand through the witch's neck. She screeches, but he knows how to shut her up and finishes her off in one well-practiced motion

Almost immediately, the adrenaline coursing through him, which had driven him well past his limits, drains away, and he realize his chest is heaving, his vision has blurred around the edges, his hands are trembling. Despite all that, after sucking in a deep breath, he quips at Gretel, who had apparently rushed to his side, "That was too fucking easy."

Gretel offers him a hand up, and he takes it, both grateful and reluctant at once. As she pulls him to his feet, he chuckles to mask the groan he can feel building in the back of his throat and asks, "Say, can we leave the head on the mayor's doorstep? That'll teach 'im not to fuck with…"

"Hansel," Gretel interrupts, her voice so gentle, it puts Hansel on edge. He hates it when she uses that tone with him; he's not the one who needs protected, after all. "Hansel, is your," — she hesitates, and he takes that as an opportunity to pull away from her and casually brush some of the dust from his coat, his way of saying, "see, I'm okay" — "How's your…leg holding up?"

Not good. Fuck, it hurts. But Hansel quirks his lips into what's probably a grim parody of his once carefree grin and replies, "It's good. My leg's," — a jolt of pain cuts him off; in response, he bites the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood and shifts as much of his weight as he can to his left leg, which, of fucking course, draws an arched eyebrow from Gretel — "Aw, fuck, sis, it hurts, but I'm okay, alright?"

What's left unsaid is he's okay because it always hurts and he's starting to learn to live with it (and he knows he will, one day, because he learned to live with his damn sugar sickness). He suspects Gretel already knows this, and he's relieved when she just says, "Come on, baby brother, let's get back to town. I need a fucking drink."

Hansel barks a laugh. "I need ten. And I'm gonna get 'em 'cause the mayor's paying."

Yeah, today's definitely better than yesterday.

After only taking two rather half-hearted swigs, Hansel pushes his stein to the side, and Gretel can't help but frown. Of course, he notices; his eyes darken for a split second, but then he offers her a cheeky grin and asks, "How 'bout the mayor's face when we dumped the head on his desk? Fuck, he looked like he was gonna piss himself."

"I think he actually did," Gretel chirps, earning her a rough chuckle that does nothing to assuage her concern. Something is wrong. But, when she continues, she acts like nothing is wrong, well aware her brother will retreat even further behind his sturdy(but slowly crumbling) walls if she lets on again she knows it. "You know what? We should do that again on our next hunt."

"Yeah…" Hansel tries for levity but fails, his voice falling off before he can complete a single word. The look on his face—mingled frustration, exhaustion, self-loathing and regret—is one Gretel's seen only once before, two and a half days after they escaped Trier, as he begged her to leave him on the side of the road when his legs finally couldn't carry him anymore. "Gretel," he had whispered, clasping her face in his trembling hands, "'M gonna slow you down. Go. Please."

Gretel didn't listen (sometimes, late at night when she hears him mumbling in his sleep the same thing, she wonders if he'll ever forgive her for it). Looking at him now, his dull eyes trained on the table, his face drawn in a grimace, she remembers she may have saved his life, but she still lost him that horrible day on the side of the road from Trier to Luxembourg. "Hansel…" she reaches out and grabs one of his hands on an impulse, but he still doesn't meet her gaze. "What's wrong? Please…please tell me."

Hansel only pulls his hand out of her grasp, his eyes never leaving the table. Gretel waits for him to say something, anything, but he doesn't; instead, he pushes his chair out and shakily stands up, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Hansel," Gretel tries again, doing her best to hide her concern, her panic, but failing, "Hansel, seriously, what's the matter?"

"Jus' want some air," Hansel mutters under his breath seconds before his watch starts whirring and clicking. His mind is clearly elsewhere as he pulls a syringe from his pouch and plunges it into his thigh. When he's done, he blinks a few times to clear the fog that's settled in his eyes and then turns away from her. She's about to get up when he says, his voice low and hash, a tone he only uses when he means something to be an order, "Need to be alone."

Gretel doesn't follow him. Not at first, at least. She waits until she's finished her ale, and drank over half of his, before she hauls herself to her feet and traces the path her brother took, ignoring the wolfish stares of the men at the bar because she's better-armed than they are anyway. She assumed he returned to the inn so she's surprised to find him sitting on a discarded barrel on the outskirts of the market, his chin resting against his chest and his eyes closed.

A girl who can't be more than seven years old approaches Hansel before she can, and Gretel holds her breath as she tugs on his sleeve and he starts, his hand tightening around his gun. But, the moment he opens his eyes and sees the girl, his expression softens. The girl says something Gretel can't quite make out, and her brother breaks into an uncharacteristically warm smile and replies, "Aw, it's nothing. Jus' doing my job."

Gretel can't help but smile herself when the girl produces a tiny, white wildflower from the pocket of her coat. When she holds it out to Hansel, his eyes widen in surprise, and he takes it carefully by the stem, as if afraid he'll accidentally crush it. "Thank you," he finally says, his voice catching slightly. "I really…"

"Fern Ada, get back here now!"

Since Trier, Gretel has come to believe fear is the most powerful emotion, able to overpower love and compassion, harness anger and aggression, channel disgust and hatred. At some level, fear is behind every act of violence, justified or not. She's not immune to fear, and neither is her brother. But their fear is rational, unable to be preyed upon by rumors whispered in church pews, over ales, during marketplace negotiations because they've experienced the purest of evils.

Part of her wants to intervene, but Gretel knows better than to try to fight Hansel's battles for him. So she watches mutely from the shadows as a man, who must be the girl's father, grabs her roughly by the hand and yanks her away from Hansel. "You shouldn't be talkin' to the likes of 'im, Fern" he spits, stepping between his daughter and Hansel even though his eyes betray he's very, very afraid of him, "let alone be thankin' 'im."

In the past, Hansel would have snorted and retorted something along the lines of "the likes of me keep kids like her safe. So, yeah, she oughta thank me." But now he only mumbles, staring down at the flower he's holding between two fingers, "You're right." He pauses before addressing the girl, who's peeking out from behind her father's leg with wide eyes, "You oughta, uh, know better, but thank you, thanks again. I'm gonna…"

The man drags the girl away before Hansel can finish his thought, and he visibly deflates as he watches them go. Gretel doesn't wait long to walk over to him, grab him by the shoulder and tell him they should go back to the inn because it's getting late. In response, he smiles tightly and gets to his feet. As they walk to the inn, Gretel complains about the dust, mostly to keep from commenting on what she just witnessed without him knowing or on the flower, which Hansel has tucked behind his left ear.

As soon as they're back in their room, Hansel limps over to the desk and sags against it. Gretel leans against the wall on the other side of the room, folding her arms across her chest expectantly when he finally notices she's watching him. After taking a shuddering sigh, he hangs his head and admits something Gretel never thought he would: "I don't think I can do this anymore, sis."

Thanks for reading! I have to admit, I've really, really enjoyed writing this story. I kind of think it's a little more realistic than the movie haha. I just wish it would get some more love than it has (though I know I'm late to the party). As a reminder, I write Hansel and Gretel as very close siblings. There will be absolutely NO incest in this story (I just wanted to be clear on this point because, in the fandom, incest comes up a fair amount).

If you're reading this, I would LOVE to hear from you. I love getting reviews, favorites and follows, and this story hasn't been doing very well even though I think it's one of the better ones I've written. Until next time. ~Moore12