Dust to Dust

Part IV

Just because part of Gretel always knew it was coming doesn't mean she's not blindsided by her brother's admission. She stares at him for a long, painful moment, struck mute because she can't find the right words to convince him that it's okay. They don't have to do this anymore—they don't owe anybody anything, they can open a tavern or buy a plot of land and farm, they deserve much, much more than this (and they always have). She wants to tell him all of this but doesn't get the chance.

Instead, she's forced to watch helplessly as Hansel shatters; somehow, he still manages to hold back the tears brimming in his normally dull eyes, causing them to shine in a way they haven't in so long. "I, uh, I'm sorry. Don't know what just, uh, got into me. Just tired or somethin' and I'll be alright in…"

"Hansel," Gretel breaks in, her voice far sharper than she intended so she makes a concentrated effort to soften it when she continues, "We don't have to keep doing this, not if you don't want to. And, since you're being honest with me,—" Gretel hesitates, struck by the horrible realization he must be in so much more pain than she even suspected to have admitted this "—I'm going to be honest with you. I've wanted out since Trier, and I…"

Hansel rarely raises his voice with her. Gretel can't remember the last time he did, but it was probably years ago, back when they were still cocky teenagers who naively thought it was better to be feared than respected. They had a few particularly vicious fights then, over how they'd spend their money, how much he drank, how she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself (and everything and anything in between). Eventually, after too many close calls to count, they stopped, neither willing to lose the other over a petty argument, neither willing to hurt the other more than they already had been.

But he does now. "Why didn't you tell me?" he barks through gritted teeth, each word a pointed accusation in itself. She feels the anger, the frustration, rolling off of him in violent waves, and it terrifies her even though she knows he'd never do anything to hurt her. When she doesn't reply, he sighs heavily and slumps further against the desk. Then, he asks again, his voice impossibly small this time, "Gretel, why?"

"You know how you always try to protect me?" Gretel begins with a question of her own, and she waits until he nods ever so slightly before continuing, "I was trying to protect you. Let's face it: we don't talk about Trier because you don't want to talk about Trier. And, after Trier, as soon as you were able to walk, you wanted to get back to hunting. You wanted to act like nothing had happened, nothing had changed, so I let you."

Hansel huffs an airy, bitter laugh. Then, he pulls the flower out from behind his ear and stares down at it intently, his eyes still shimmering with the tears he hasn't let fall. "Yeah? So it's my fault then?"

"I didn't say that," Gretel snaps, irrationally frustrated that, of everything he could have taken away from her confession, he came to that conclusion. She's aware, on some level, she shouldn't be surprised; she told him the truth, and she should have known the consequences of doing so.

"Yeah, you kind of did," Hansel mutters as he idly spins the flower between two fingers. "You wanna know why I don't talk about Trier? All these years, I thought we were doing something good. We were helping people. And then…they treated us like the monsters we've been saving them from. It used to…before it didn't bother me what people said 'bout us. But…"

"We're not what they thought we were," Gretel says gently, covering the distance between them in seconds and lifting his chin so he's forced to look her in the eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure," Hansel whispers, blinking furiously to fight back the tears that are starting to spill over. A few manage to, but he brushes them away before they have the chance to trickle down his face. "Sometimes, I wish you jus' did what I tol' you to an'…" He pauses to try to choke back a sob, but he can't. And, with that, the rest of the tears burst past his defenses, and Gretel is rendered speechless. She has never seen her brother cry, and she never wants to again.

Not knowing what else to do, Gretel draws Hansel into a tight hug and lets him bury his face against her shoulder. As his violent sobbing racks his body, she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, ignoring the dust she unsettles. When he finally stills in her arms, she doesn't know how much time has passed, and she still doesn't know what to say. She doubts anything she says will make a difference, but she has to try. "Hansel, you're my baby brother. I just, I-I couldn't leave you there, and you know you wouldn't have either if our situations were reversed. And…you told me just last night, 'If you keep letting it control your life, they win.' You know they were wrong about us. You know that. I know you do."

Hansel only sniffles softly in response, and she pulls him closer, wishing she could do something to alleviate his pain even though she knows he won't let her. As soon as he repairs his crumbled walls (and he will, of that she's certain), this will become yet another thing they don't talk about.

So they have to talk about it now. Just when Gretel's about to suggest they leave town tomorrow for Mannheim, where they can open the tavern she knows he's always wanted to, somebody starts pounding on the door to their room. They both tense, but neither moves until Mayor Adler shouts, his voice filled with murderous rage, "Open up, witch hunters! A child has been taken!"

"You can't expect us to go out there this close to nightfall," Gretel snarls, practically baring her teeth at the mayor like a cornered animal. Hansel can hear the fear in her voice, and he hopes the mayor didn't hear it too.

Apparently, he did. As a cruel smile tugs at the corners of his lips, the mayor gestures to the sheriff and his men, and they quickly form a ragged circle around the witch hunters. In another time, and another place, Hansel wouldn't have been afraid of them. Now, he can barely keep his hands from shaking, and he curses himself silently for being so damn weak. After stepping just inside of the circle, the mayor replies, his tone as threatening as his cronies, if not more, "That is exactly what I expect."

"And it will accomplish nothing," Gretel says through gritted teeth, and she presses closer to Hansel when the mayor's cronies begin to tighten their circle. He wants to find her hand, give it a squeeze to tell her somehow, someway, this will all work out, but he's frozen in place. "Let me ask you something: if we go out there tonight, who will k-…"

Whir…click…click…click.

Gretel's voice falls off at the sound of his watch. Hansel wants to wait, but he's already starting to feel lightheaded, and his watch keeps whirring and clicking, unaware (or not caring) that he has an audience. And every last person is watching him now; he can't help but mutter the vilest curse he knows under his breath as he pulls a syringe from his pouch and plunges it into his thigh in one fluid motion even though his hands have begun to shake. Once he's done, he straightens and then takes a single step towards the mayor. Lifting his chin and forcing himself to hold the man's cold gaze, he says curtly, "What my sister was gonna say is this: if we die, who's gonna kill your fuckin' witch? 'Cause I dunno if any of these guys are up for it. I mean, if they were, why the fuck would you've hired us?"

For a moment, as the mayor stares at him blankly, Hansel is convinced they won. Just when he's about to assert they'll go first thing in the morning, and, of course, they'll do everything in their power to bring the child back alive, the mayor recovers and his smile becomes even more deadly than before. He turns to one of his cronies and says, "Bring in the girl's mother and father."

Hansel nearly drops to his knees when the girl's father walks in. Almost of its own accord, one of his hands reaches up and brushes against the flower he had tucked behind his ear right before the mayor and his cronies practically kicked their door down. He hardly notices the girl's mother is sobbing because he can only hear what her father said to him earlier that day: "You shouldn't be talkin' to the likes of 'im." And, now, he wheels on Hansel and howls, "This is all yer fault! My little Fern…the witch took 'er! What did you do to 'er?"

I'm sorry, Gretel, Hansel thinks as he's reduced to fighting back the tears he thought he had cried out earlier. But, somehow, by some miracle, his voice doesn't quiver when he turns to the mayor and says, more in response to the girl's father than to him, "Get me a horse. I'll ride out now."

"Hansel, what the fuck are you doing?" Gretel demands, and suddenly it's as if they're the only ones in the room. Her eyes are wild with all of the emotions she's been trying to hide since Trier, and he wants to wrap her in a hug and never let go, like she did for him earlier. But he can't. And he knows he may never again. "The sun's going down right now. We're not going."

Hansel gives her a smile. It's the very least he can do for her. "You're right, sis, we're not. But I am."

Thanks for reading! As you can probably tell, we're coming to the end of this story. I'm on the fence about how to end it, but I have a few ideas. I've really enjoyed writing this, but I'm a little sad that it hasn't gotten much love (thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed!). So, if you like it, let me know! I love hearing from you! Until next time. ~Moore12