Archive of Our Own ^beta

Boiling rain patters against the mist-covered window of Hunter’s bedroom in the Emperor’s Castle, and an uncomfortable mixture of sweat and dried blood drips down his aching arms. He shifts them up and down, methodically and slowly, while he twists his uncle’s hair into the beginnings of a loose braid. His spot on the bed feels like a prison, and he crosses his legs tightly against his smaller body like he’s trying to guard himself.

Belos is scarily quiet, and Hunter doesn’t dare to break the silence with any regrettable words. The desperate wish for a chance to at least clean up his fresh bruises lingers in the forefront of his mind, but he sits firmly in his place and does as he’s told.

Each time they fight, the aftermath seems to hurt more and more.

What caused their newest argument doesn’t matter. It never matters, not with Belos. Even the most well-intentioned ideas can cause a violent reaction if Hunter approaches him with them at the wrong time. The unusual part of this situation is the new secret that’s hiding under his bed: his palisman.

Flapjack has only been a part of Hunter’s life for a short period of time, but there’s already been far too many moments where he’s almost been spotted by Belos. It’s not hard to figure out that this massive betrayal of his uncle’s trust will certainly earn Hunter the worst punishment he’s ever faced if Flapjack gets discovered — and he’s faced some terrible punishments in the past.

He’s always feared the distressing moments when Belos enters his room ever since a young age, because they never lead to anything good, but they’ve become even more stressful now that he has to balance his own emotions and hiding Flapjack at the same time. Losing his only friend and the respect of his parental figure would be a hellish combination, and Hunter definitely isn’t prepared to deal with it before he can even get his newest cuts bandaged up.

The tall and imposing figure of the feared Emperor Belos looks out of place sitting on Hunter’s plain bedsheets, like he’s somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t be. Private moments between the two of them are always the most intimidating, even if Hunter still instinctively clings to him like a frightened child whenever things go wrong. Being together gives Hunter the same prickly sensation he gets whenever he touches the thorns of roses in the Emperor’s Coven’s miserable excuse for a garden; he can’t stop himself from reaching out, even though he knows how much it always makes the scars on his hands burn.

"I wanted to apologize for what I did. I'm going to take you to the Healing Coven later today," Belos finally says, several minutes into their time together. Hunter tenses up the instant he starts speaking, but he keeps braiding. "You know how I lose control of myself sometimes. It won't happen again, I promise you that."

It will happen again. Hunter knows he's lying, because he was told the exact same thing the previous three times this happened. But he bites his tongue and buries this obvious observation deep in his chest. Keeping the waters calm is always the safest option, even if it involves doing things he doesn’t want to.

"I understand. That's alright. Thank you, Uncle."

It's an automatic and robotic response, said in the low and nervous tone that nobody else has ever heard the noble Golden Guard speak in before. There are many things that are kept private between them, and Hunter's true self is one of them — if he even knows what that is yet.

He trembles a little while he does his work, his eyes constantly darting down towards Flapjack’s hiding spot, and the sprinkling of rain outside turns into a downpour. His palisman is all too aware of the importance of avoiding Belos’s gaze, so there’s no real risk of him doing something that would get himself caught, but Hunter worries regardless. He’s always doing that — always worrying. Always holding his breath. Always putting up with things that make his stomach twist into knots and his hands shake.

“I want to ask you something,” Belos says, interrupting Hunter’s spiraling thoughts. Hunter can’t see his face because he’s sitting behind his uncle, and that limitation makes him uneasy. He’s never been any good at reading expressions, but it’s comforting to at least be able to make guesses.

“Of course.”

Belos doesn’t turn to look at him, but the feeling that he sees and knows everything Hunter is trying to hide is all-encompassing and makes his skin crawl.

“If you had the opportunity to go to the Human Realm, would you take it?”

A million different answers and possibilities rush through Hunter’s mind, but all of them feel dangerous to try. The scratches on his arms, ones that will probably close up into new additions to his collection of scars, sting like they’re being poked with needles. It’s a trick question — it must be. There’s no way that this is the same uncle who attacked him mere minutes prior for just briefly bringing up wild magic.

And so, Hunter teeters on the edge of what’s allowed and what isn’t like he’s balancing on some type of tightrope made up of fragile emotions. “Can you…clarify?”

“What do you think I’m trying to ask you?” Belos insists. His voice is as steady and firm and ever, like he’s always making an intentional effort to avoid yelling. “Tell me what your honest answer is.”

Hunter doesn’t have an honest answer. Pure, unfiltered truths are never worth their cost in the Emperor’s Coven. He’s a terrible liar, but holding back information to protect himself is his specialty; it’s a natural side effect of constantly having a mask covering his feelings, even when he’s not physically wearing one. The advantage of their current positions on the bed is that Belos can’t see his face either, so he puts on a brave Golden Guard demeanor and carefully crafts an acceptable response.

“If you wanted to bring me there, I would go with you,” he says. “I would need someone to show me around and teach me about everything, after all.”

Even the correct answer can be turned into the wrong one if Belos wants a justification to get upset with him.

“A trip like that wouldn’t be about you. That wouldn’t be the purpose of it,” he says curtly. “But yes, I’d like to go back there someday. That’s why I need you to behave more appropriately than you did earlier. You still have so much to improve before you'll be ready for what the Titan has planned for you — for what I have planned for you.”

The braided hair under Hunter’s exposed hands sticks between his fingers like the blades of knives. Keeping up with the steady rhythm he established is a challenge when his mind is everywhere else except the bedroom he’s currently sitting in. This would be less uncomfortable if he was wearing his gloves, but he isn’t allowed to do that when Belos says he can’t; the scraped skin on his palms itches and begs for any kind of treatment, but he just continues with what he was told to do.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

The boiling rain on the window becomes the only noise in the room once again, and the tension between the two of them rises like a wave. Then, Belos turns around and brings him into a hug. Hunter flinches and quivers in his arms, but he lifts his own up and returns the gesture.

“This is all for your benefit. Don’t forget that,” Belos tells him in a low voice. It’s the same thing he always gets told whenever he gets hit too hard, whenever threatening hands wander too close to places they shouldn’t go —  whenever he gets hurt. The bruises all over his body are painful and unwarranted, but they still feel deserved despite their lack of meaning.

Hunter freezes up and tightens his grip, practically digging his stubby nails into the back of Belos’s clothes, and tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He mumbles out a string of frantic apologies, like he’s pleading for spiritual forgiveness from a saint, and Belos answers this misguided prayer by patting his back like he’s still a helpless baby.

It’s been sixteen years of this never-ending cycle, but he still sobs and cries like a child gasping for air whenever the panic swells up in his gut. He squeezes his eyes shut and makes a futile attempt to find comfort in the same person who made him need it in the first place, just as he does every time they have a conflict.

A few minutes after his breathing slows back down, Hunter can finally speak again. “Thank you…for helping me work towards becoming the person I should be. I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

Belos frees him from the pressuring hug, and the room stops spinning as fast in Hunter’s blurry vision. He drapes the half-finished braid over his shoulder and stands up, leaving his nephew as a sniffling and pathetic-looking wreck on the bed. Abandoning him when he’s struggling is the norm between the two of them, but it never gets any easier for Hunter to handle.

The bedroom door gets opened with a merciful creaking noise, a sign that Belos is finally going to leave him alone, but Hunter isn’t sure whether he wants that to happen or not. Belos stands at the doorway, looks him up and down, and sighs like he’s disappointed in him.

“I hope you know how much I love you, Hunter,” he says.

Hunter silently nods, any potential answer caught in his throat, and wraps his own arms around himself. He clutches his sides like he’s just run a marathon. The emotional labor of the conversation overcomes him after the door shuts and they’re divided once more.

His tears come back in full force — but he doesn’t even really know why he’s crying in the first place — and his sobs make him shake.

All his stress almost made him forget about Flapjack. His palisman, his best friend, his greatest ally, his savior — the little bird in question pops his head out from under the bedsheets and approaches him with concern.

Flapjack’s fluffy feathers are soothing when pressed up against Hunter’s scarred hands, and he’s soft to the touch. He nuzzles his owner with a very different kind of love than the type Belos shows him, and he sits in Hunter’s lap like a comfortable weight.

“I…I was so afraid today,” Hunter admits through his tears. His voice is quiet and unsteady, and he holds Flapjack’s small body for dear life. “He hurt me again. A lot. But I don’t understand why. I never understand why.”

The flurry of affectionate chirps coming from Flapjack is reassuring and calming, but it does little to stop the downpour inside the bedroom. Wet teardrops run down Hunter’s scarred cheeks, but he makes no note of them.

“Hunter is very strong,” Flapjack tells him. “Very brave. Did nothing wrong. Didn’t deserve it.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Hunter says. “Especially not when I’m acting like this.”

Flapjack rubs his warm body against Hunter’s shivering one. “Hunter will be okay,” he declares. “Will be safe. Will be happy. Someday soon.”

With his heart pounding, Hunter locks his frightened gaze on the closed door. He dreads the next time it’ll open, but he yearns for Belos to return at the same time. Something is missing without his uncle around, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s something good.

Hunter weakly strokes Flapjack’s head, wipes his tears away, and puts on the best smile he can muster for the sake of his remaining dignity.

“I can only hope that you’re right.”