Dust to Dust

Part V

The horse spooks just as the sun starts to set, rearing up on its hind legs, pawing at the sky as if it holds everything it fears, not just swirling dust. It will, soon enough, so Hansel can't fault it, especially not when he can actually hear his own heart hammering. Tightening his hold on the reins, he manages to coax the horse into putting all four of its hoofs on the ground. Then, he gets it to stand still, but only long enough for him to dismount; the moment he's off of its back, it rears again, as if daring him to try to stop it, before charging back in the direction they came.

Hansel doesn't watch it go. After setting his jaw and taking a deep breath through his nose, he flings his gun over his shoulder and continues to forge ahead, ignoring how quickly the sun is falling, how the moon is shining brighter and brighter until, just like that, it's the only light he has to guide him. The dust hanging in the air tints the moon a reddish orange, and he can't help but shudder, remembering the night when he almost lost his sister to a crazed coven that wanted to rip her heart from her chest and use it to live forever. His eyes are burning, but he blames it on the dust and keeps moving, reminding himself she's safe with every step he takes. She's not out here with him. She's back at the inn. She'll be able to handle the mayor and his cronies if they turn on her. Not that they will—they know they need her. They know, just like he does, he won't finish the job.

Hansel tells herself Gretel will be able to. She's stronger than him, always has been, always will be, and she'll be fine without him. Maybe, without having him to worry about, she'll be able to reinvent herself. Maybe she'll buy a plot of land. Maybe she'll open an inn. Hell, maybe she'll get married and start a new family. Whatever she does, he hopes (and will even pray, if it will help) she's happy. After everything she's been through, she deserves happiness, and he's ready to lay down his life right here and now to make sure she has a chance at it (however slim it may be). He doesn't let himself consider Gretel might need him to be happy. The way he sees it, since Trier, he's been nothing but a burden.

And he was supposed to protect her. When their father left them in the woods, he didn't say, "Protect each other." No, he looked him right in the eyes and said, "Protect your sister." Those words gave him his purpose—even though he's younger by just over a year, even though his life depends on injections, even though magic courses through her veins, not his, from that moment on, his life became about defending hers and nothing more. If Gretel knows he feels this way, she's never let on. Not even after Trier.

It was Hansel's fault. If he hadn't snuck off with the tavern girl, he would have been there for her. The sheriff's son wouldn't have tried to have his way with her. She wouldn't have smashed in his nose with her stein. He wouldn't have rounded up his friends and chased her to the edge of town. She wouldn't have resorted to using a spell to fight them off. If Hansel had been there, her secret would still be safe, and they would have left that damn city in the morning for the next town and the next witch (or two or ten, because it can never be just one).

But he wasn't there. And that, not his bleeding, broken leg, was the reason he wanted her to leave him on the side of the road between Trier and Luxembourg. She shouldn't have to protect him, especially not when he had failed her. Since then, that's all she's done, and he'll make sure that ends now because he can't live with…

Hansel's torn from his bitter reflections by a sharp yelp of pain, and his heart plummets. He's too late, just like he was in Trier; when he returned to the tavern, Gretel was long gone, and he was ambushed before he had a chance to process what could have happened to her. Even though he knows better, and his leg protests every step, he breaks into a run when the cry is followed by a scream. Damn it, he won't be late again. He can't be.

For the first time in too long, luck is on his side. Hansel arrives seconds before the witch, a particularly hideous creature with curved horns growing out of her head and eyes the color of blood, thrusts Fern onto a strange altar made of crumbling stone. "Hey!" he shouts, for lack of anything better to say, and she wheels on him and fires a spell. He smiles wanly when it passes right through him, as usual. "Let the girl go, and I'll consider not killing you."

The witch laughs, and Hansel bristles even though he's well aware he's not as intimidating as he once was. "Where's your sister, dearie?" she mocks in a cloying voice that reminds him of the candy the first witch force fed him. "My invitation was meant for both of you."

"Ya don't say," Hansel quips in response as he edges a few steps closer to her. "Well, you'll have to settle for jus' me. 'S nothin' personal so don't feel too…"

Magic may not work on him, but a dagger propelled by magic into his gut will do the trick. His knees buckle, his gun clatters to the ground, and he lets out a strangled cry that's quickly echoed by Fern and then drowned out by the witch's laughter. The world sways dangerously, but he slowly struggles to his feet. Not like this. He won't go like this. He has to save Fern. He can't fail her too. Fuck, why didn't he see the dagger coming? Why didn't he shoot the witch when he had the chance? Why wasn't he there?

Why?

Gretel, I'm sorry, he mouths, already too weak to ground out the words. He grits his teeth against the pain, thrusts a trembling hand against his wound and manages a step forward. And then another. And another. The dust has kicked up again, and he can barely see through it and the gray fog that's gathered at the corners of his vision. It doesn't matter. He still has a chance. He can tell the witch hasn't noticed his approach; no, she's clearly written him off for dead, and Fern is keeping her hands full by putting up quite the fight—kicking, scratching, thrashing, not willing to go calmly into the waiting arms of death. She reminds him of Gretel, and his sluggish heart catches in his throat. "Stay still, darling," the witch growls as she draws back her wand. "It won't hurt if you don't strug…"

Drawing on the last of his strength, Hansel pulls the knife from his gut and plunges it through the witch's neck. As soon as he severs her head, he collapses to the ground and curls in on himself, biting his lip hard enough to flood his mouth with blood to keep from screaming. Gretel, I'm so sorry, he thinks as he lets his eyes slip shut, welcoming the darkness like an old, trusted friend.

The horse returns alone. Its eyes are wild, its coat glistening with sweat, and it takes the sheriff and all four of his men to subdue it. The moment they do, Gretel juts out her chin, strides over to them and grabs its reins. "Are you fucking happy now?" she snaps, her voice almost as sharp as the pang of grief she felt when she first heard the horse's hoofs clattering on the cobblestones. After the men look down at their feet in unison, she adds, "You better pray he's alive. Because, if he isn't, you won't just answer to God."

With that, Gretel climbs into the saddle and urges the horse forward with a snap of the reins. She doesn't spare a glance over her shoulder at the sheriff and his men, even though she feels their eyes on her back. They're the least of her concerns now (but, yes, she'll be true to her word, and they should be more afraid of her than Gold himself). Once she's passed under the crumbling stone gate, she digs her heels into the horse's sides to spur it into a gallop.

Gretel tries to focus on the task at hand—finding her brother (not saving him, she can't let herself think he needs saved)—and not dwell on what happened to bring them to this. But she can't help it. At some level, as much as she never wanted to acknowledge it, let alone accept it, she always knew it would come to this. The longer she rides through the darkness and dust, guided only by the orange-hued moon, the more the flood of memories starts to overwhelm her. As she sees him curl up without complaint on the cold, hard ground beside her bed, watches as he lets her have the last precious drops of water from their canteen, catches a glimpse of him changing his blood- and sweat- stained bandages by firelight when he thought she was asleep, she curses herself for failing to make him understand he was important too. She tried; fuck, she tried, but nothing she said, not the gentle reminders, the teasing rebukes, the shouted reprimands, made any difference. In her mind, they were equals, far stronger together than apart, reliant on one another to survive in their cruel world. In his mind, she led and he followed, shouldering her burdens on top of his own way. After Trier, their burdens grew too heavy for him to carry on his own, but he became even more defiant in his insistence he bear each and every one. She knew he would collapse under their weight, but she hadn't tried hard enough to stop him and…

Without warning, the horse skids to a halt, nearly pitching Gretel over its head. When it seems to realize she's still in the saddle, it begins to buck, and it's all she can do to keep it from bolting out from under her. "No you don't, you fucking coward," she growls, pulling on the reins so hard, it whinnies in protest. "I'm going to find my brother, and you're going to help whether…"

"Help! Please!"

It's a girl's voice, high-pitched, filled with fear and oddly familiar. Gretel pulls up on the reins, forcing the horse to stand still as she waits for the voice to cut through the silence again. It could be a trap; she knows that all too well but doesn't care.

"Please! Help us!"

Fuck it, if it ends up being a trap, Gretel will let herself be hopelessly ensnared. For once, she's going to put Hansel first. She spots a short tree, bent by the relentless wind, on the horizon and directs the horse towards it. She dismounts only after she's tied its reins to a solid, low-hanging branch. The horse surprises her by not struggling, even though it could easily break free if it did, and she sighs softly in relief. If Hansel is injured (not dead, she can't let herself think he's gone), she'll need it to carry him back to town.

"Is somebody there? Please! Please help us!"

Gretel follows the voice until she finds them. The girl—Fern, she remembers right when she throws her arms around her right leg and begs her to save him—is alive. Hansel had kept his promise to her parents, but he had paid dearly to do so. As tears begin to cloud her vision, Gretel disentangles herself from Fern's grasp, sparing her a pat on the shoulder and a whispered "it'll be alright" even though it won't be, and then drops to her knees at her brother's side.

She wants to bury his face against his shoulder and cry. She's too late, and he died alone and afraid (she hopes his death was quick and painless, but fate has never been kind to them in life so why would it be in death?). He's folded in on himself, his face turned away from her, and she gently maneuvers him onto his back and pulls his head into her lap. Choking back a sob—if he's watching, wherever he is, she doesn't want him to see her cry, not when he was always so strong for her, not when she suspects doing so would break him further even in death—she leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

And that's when she feels it: a faint puff of air on her cheek. Gretel starts but recovers quickly, resting a hand on her brother's chest. She waits and waits and, just when she's starting to think she had imagined it, his chest rises.

Before, she had ignored the blood, running hot and sticky down his right side, staining the dust around him a deep, dark shade of red. Now, she scrambles to find its source. It doesn't take long, and she can't help but gasp audibly. They've each had more than their fair share of injuries, and this one is worse than all of them, even the one that nearly took his leg, and then his life, in that tiny cavern between Trier and Luxembourg. The wound is too deep, and all she can do is press her hand against it and try to get him in town before he…

"'S bad, huh?"

There's blood in Hansel's smile. She watches, struck mute, as he manages to lift one hand and rest it on hers. After she takes it and gives it a squeeze, ignoring the blood trickling sluggishly through her fingers, she whispers, "You look like shit, you know that?"

Hansel chuckles feebly. Gretel forces herself to hold his gaze even though her heart aches at the relief she sees in his glazed eyes. "Yeah? 'S not been my best da-…" An ugly, wet cough erupts from his lips, sending a trickle of blood dribbling down his chin. When he tries to continue, Gretel shushes him, wipes the blood from his mouth and draws him closer.

As Gretel strokes Hansel's hair, hardly noticing it's sticky with sweat and blood, she begins to hum a song their mother used to sing. She may have long since forgotten the words, but the melody is as clear in her mind as it was the day she last heard it, nearly 20 years ago. Almost immediately, Hansel relaxes; his once brilliant blue eyes flutter shut, and the lines and creases that mar his face like the scars on his back ease away. She feels the tears welling up in her eyes—he looks so young and vulnerable, lying there in her arms and the dust, and she realizes she should have always been the one protecting him—but she doesn't let any fall. She only continues to hum, begging any higher power who may be listening to let him find peace wherever he goes next, to recognize he doesn't just deserve it; he's earned it.

She's so lost in her frantic prayers, in the soft, lilting song she's humming, in the gentle rhythm of her fingers running through his hair, she doesn't realize her hands are glowing. By the time she's noticed, it's too late to call back the magic that's pulsing through her, just as it was when she unleashed the spell that snapped the sheriff's son's neck in Trier. She can only watch in mute horror as the light envelopes her brother. "No, no, no," she whispers, clutching him even tighter even though she's source of the light. "Damn it, no!"

The light burns brighter and brighter until, finally, she can't see anything. And then, in a flash she can physically feel, it's gone. When she finally manages to blink away her tears and the dark spots dancing on the corners of her vision, she realizes Hansel is looking up at her, his eyes wide with awe, and a little bit of fear.

"Gretel?" he asks, his voice thick but not slurred anymore. "Gretel…what did you do?"

Gretel doesn't answer because she doesn't honestly know. Instead, she hesitantly reaches down, not yet willing to believe what she already knows to be true. Sure enough, his wound has closed; the only trace of it is a thin, faint scar, the only reminder he all but died in her arms the blood staining his clothes and the ground. "Hansel," she breathes, and she can't hold back her tears anymore.

"Hey," he whispers, pushing himself into a sitting position without any help and drawing her into a tight, almost fierce hug. She buries her face against his shoulder, as she's done so many times before, and she doesn't curse herself for her weakness when she realizes he's crying too. "Hey, it's okay. I'm alright. I'm alright…Hey, say, do ya think we could open a tavern or somethin' now?"

Gretel can't help but laugh. And, suddenly, it's almost like it was before—before Trier, before Berlin, before even Augsburg, where they learned what she really was. "I don't know, baby brother. I don't think I have enough patience for drunks, and I don't think we're allowed to burn 'em if they give us trouble."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Hansel says, a warm smile spreading across his still careworn face. With effort, he gets to his feet and brushes the dust from his jacket, though it does little good. Gretel pretends not to notice he's still limping when he walks over to where Fern is sitting on the ground, even when he lifts her onto his still shrunken shoulders and tells her she'll be home soon.

As they slowly make their way back to town, Gretel watches the sun rise in the sky. And, in that moment, she realizes tomorrow won't be just another day. It'll be a new one.

Well, that's the end of this story. Were you surprised? When I originally started writing it, it was supposed to be three parts and end with Hansel dying from not having enough medicine. So...yeah...it changed pretty dramatically.

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I LOVED writing Hansel and Gretel. Yes, I'm well aware that Witch Hunters isn't exactly the deepest movie, but there's so much going on it's not hard to imagine them in this situation one day down the line.

So, if you liked it, let me know! I love hearing what people think. I don't finish many stories that are longer than one shots (as you may have noticed) to this is a big deal for me. And I'd love to know if you liked the finished product. Until next time (whenever that may be). ~Moore12