ChaoticNonbinary

“I think.. this is one of the worst weeks of my life..” Hunter said quietly to himself, looking through a small section of the scrapbook Willow had put so much work into. Ultrasounds taped to paper, sticky notes full of possible baby names, a photo of the positive pregnancy test and several more of just daily life. Things seemed so perfect on the paper. So tranquil.

But life is fragile. It can slip away in an instant.

Everything had been set up perfectly, they had prepared for every event, every possibility… Except this one. The family they had wanted to start for the last three years seemed impossible by now. Attempt after attempt after attempt. It’s discouraging, of course it is. But the time it actually worked, the time they thought they’d get their wish… gone. Eight and a half months. For eight and a half months, everything was fine, they were thriving, they had worked so hard. Hunter had spent days working on the nursery and baby-proofing the cottage. But it seems it was all for nothing now.

Even eight years after he had learned it was healthy for him to have emotions at all, and to express them, he can’t help but bottle the up. It feels so much easier to do so in the moment.. he feels like less of a burden. He can’t be the sobbing mess that he knows he would be right now, he has to be there for Willow. After she had gone through so much to grow and nurture and bring their daughter into the world.. they had gone home empty-handed, and with their hearts torn away.

He bit the inside of his cheek, letting out a long and shaky sigh as he sagged further into the couch, setting the scrapbook down on the side table. Waffle chirped softly, coming to land beside him and hopping up onto his arm. Hunter gently stroked the blue feathers of Waffle’s head, fighting back tears for what was probably the thousandth time that day.

“I keep fucking up… it feels like no matter what I do, something goes wrong… Logically, I know it was completely out of our control… but.. Titan, I feel like it’s my fault… And Willow thinks it’s her fault- and she’s so upset she’s barely gotten out of bed all week..”

He’s been hurt before. He’s experienced things that many could safely say is one of the most painful experiences ever. Emotionally, physically, psychologically… but those were so insignificant compared to the hurt he’s felt ever since that day. It hurt more than anything Belos had ever done or said to him, it hurt more than being impaled by a unicorn when he was ten during the mountain trial and having to carry his intestines back down the mountain. It hurt more than being lashed so intensely he passed out and woke up unable to stand for a week. It hurt more than the time he had his skull nearly caved in when Belos had gotten so mad that he threw him against the walls of the throne room. It hurt more than if the entire duration of the time he was possessed by Belos was boiled down all into one moment and intensified tenfold. It somehow hurt more than it did when Flapjack died.

This loss… this pain…. it’s as if his heart— or rather, galderstone, had been torn out of his chest. It’s a wound like no other. It must be even worse for Willow…

“Damn it, get yourself together…” Hunter chastised himself, standing up and mentally gathering up all the psychological energy he had left.

Willow lay sedentary in bed. She hasn’t bothered moving all day. Everything hurt. Everything. Every bone, every muscle, every inch of skin, even her hair seemed to hurt. She ran out of tears to cry about an hour and a half ago, her throat hurt from relentless uncontrollable sobbing. Now all she has the energy for is occasionally adjusting the way she was laying..

Hunter paused in the doorway, he felt like he was wading through molasses that went all the way up to his chest. He watched her just lay there, he felt his lip tremble. His knuckles turned white as his grip on the handle tightened. What would he even say? Was there anything that even could be said in a situation like this? He bit his cheek, a bad habit he’s had since as long as he can remember. But at least he didn’t make himself bleed anymore..

Oh, never mind.. The familiar coppery taste of blood touched his tongue as he bit through the skin of his cheek. He winced, internally cursing himself once again. He managed to push himself away from the doorway, entering the room slowly. He rarely made a sound when he walked— just another habit from the coven that he never broke.

He sat on the other side of the bed, not speaking a word. His eyes stayed fixed in the wall in front of him. It has a cork-board with polaroids and sticky notes and drawings, there’s fabric swatches pinned to the bottom, hanging just above all of his crotchet needles and the tan woven basket full of yarn. Beside the basket was a half-finished blanket. A baby blanket. Hunter sighed, wrapping his arms around himself, the twisted and disfigured scars on his arms from the possession were something he had gotten used to, but that he’d never quite accept. A shuffling and rustling of the blankets came from behind him, and he felt Willow’s muscular arms wrap around his waist, her head pressed against his back. He turned, gathering her in his arms, pulling her into himself. His hand ran through her dark curls in a soothing manner. He felt her tears falling into his shirt. Willow trembled and held onto him tighter, as if fearing that if she were to let go, he too would disappear.

He spent several minutes searching for the right words, for somethinf to say, anything that could make it all better.

“Willow… I……”

Nothing. There wasn’t anything he could say to fix this, and as much as he wished he could make everything alright again, he can’t. Only three words came to mind that might possibly to anything.