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letsplaythermalnuclearwar · 2 months ago

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It doesn't hurt much

Fandom: The Owl House Summary: Hunter has chronic pain post-possession. He doesn't tell anyone Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: no archive warnings apply, references to child abuse (also on AO3) Written for the Disabled Whump & Hurt Comfort 2025 Event. Prompt list here.

Hunter was used to pain.

He was used to broken bones and bruised ribs. He was used to split lips and twisted ankles. He was used to stress headaches and bloodied knuckles. He was used to gritting his teeth and dealing with it, because the only alternative was more pain.

He was not used to his skin being on fire.

Scars itched—Hunter knew that very well. Sometimes they itched so bad they hurt. And sometimes they just hurt, full stop.

The scars he’d gotten from the possession were different. They burnt. Burnt through his selkidomus skin, burnt past his flesh and the muscles, burnt straight through until the fire reached his bones, and burnt them too.

Hunter had never been burnt before. The boiling rain was just a hot shower, the boiling sea a warm bath. His selkidomus skin protected him. He wished it didn’t. Maybe then, he’d be used to that specific brand of pain.

As it was, he could barely focus enough to work. And there was work to be done.

The Isles needed to be rebuilt. A refugee town was being constructed to house the former inhabitants of the Left Arm. Governmental and religious systems were being overhauled. Giant, sparkly stars stuck out the sides of buildings. Roads were unusable. Rubble needed clearing. Everyone needed to help. So, Hunter gritted his teeth, and helped however he could.

This worried his friends to a frankly confusing degree, since he hadn’t told anyone that the scars hurt. Apparently they thought he was running from his grief for Flapjack.

Which Hunter wasn’t. He was just doing whatever he could to make up for all the hurt he’d caused as the Golden Guard—all the witches he’d arrested, all the lives he’d ruined, all the palismen he’d killed—in whatever way he could. And would continue to do so until the day he died. Because he could never make up for that much hurt. So what if that meant he threw up in bushes because the pain made him nauseous? So what if he fell asleep crying most nights because another day was almost more than he could take? So what if he wanted to rip out his lungs to stop them from burning with every breath? He wasn’t dead, which was more than he could say for Flapjack.

He told his friends that being productive helped him relax. They accepted this with minimal ’whenever-you’re-ready-to-talk-about-what’s-really-happening,-we’re-here-to-listen’-ing. Which was sweet but totally unnecessary because he was fine.

***

Moving his eyelids hurt. Which did not bode well for the rest of the day.

Hunter gritted his teeth—which also hurt—and sat up.

His head span. His throat went dry. He was shivering and drenched in sweat, which was just gross.

He focused on the grossness instead of how his skin was pulsing like some sort of terrible heartbeat, as he crawled out of bed, onto the floor, and managed the thirty feet between his bed and the shower. He sat in the water with his pyjamas on and let his thoughts drown.

He’d been in there for too long before crawling out. He lay on Darius’s ridiculously fluffy bathmat for too long before sitting up. He’d been sitting up too long before he peeled off his wet clothes. He’d been sitting there, naked, for too long before he snatched his towel off the hook. He sat there with his towel for too long before drying himself off, one limb at a time, taking too long for each one.

He crawled back into his bedroom slowly, until he finally reached the standing mirror Darius had gotten him.

He lay there in front of it for a while, breathing, and ignored the tears sliding down his cheeks. They were just an involuntary pain response, like gasping for breath after getting winded. Nothing more.

His pentagram was lying next to his right arm. With much effort, Hunter reached over and tapped the screen, causing it to light up.

8:42. A few months ago, he’d have finished yesterday’s paperwork, completed a patrol, dealt with the paperwork that Lilith or Kikimora had let slide through the cracks, reported to Belos, and headed off on whatever his job was for the day by now.

He’d have been beaten bloody for being this late.

That thought gave him enough energy to sit up and face the mirror.

He didn’t wipe away the tears running down his cheeks. Instead, he lifted his hands and covered his face, pretending his fingers were a mask.

Hunter was done for the day. Hunter couldn’t function with the pain. So it was the Golden Guard’s turn.

He stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes, and got dressed. It was too warm for a hoodie, but he grabbed one anyway. He wanted to hide as much of his skin as he could—it had gone pale.

He brushed his hair into something presentable, washed his face, and headed downstairs.

Darius was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and drinking tea when Hunter walked in. “Good morning, Little Prince.”

“Morning,” Hunter said, grabbing a granola bar. He was pretty sure he’d throw up anything heavier. He headed for the door.

“Ah, Hunter, wait,” Darius called. Hunter turned around. Darius was half-standing. “Where are you going?”

Well. That was a stupid question. “To work,” Hunter answered. Like he’d been doing every day for the past three weeks.

“…You don’t have a job anymore.” Darius it slowly, gently. With that worry in his eye that everyone got around Hunter.

Hunter was getting sick of it. “I know that. I’m working to rebuild the Isles. Like everyone else.” Except for the Clawthornes. They were figuring out the Collector’s portal door instructions.

Darius pursed his lips. “Why don’t you stay home today, hm? Get some rest.”

Hunter reminded himself that Darius had graciously allowed him into his house, and that Hunter needed to be respectful and grateful. And that yelling at him for daring to imply that Hunter would ever have a home again would not be respectful or grateful.

“I got up at five AM every day in the Emperor’s Coven,” he said instead. “I’m resting plenty.” This was true and not changed by the fact that everything took more energy than it used to.

Darius sighed, and stood up. Hunter wondered if he’d used up all the grace that he’d gotten these past few months and was about to be punished. He also wondered if being so numb about that idea was normal.

“At least let me fly you there,” Darius said instead of whatever Hunter thought was going to happen. He strode past Hunter, summoning his staff as he did. “Where are you headed today?”

“Uh, the third-left rib,” Hunter said, trailing after him. “The message board said they need volunteers to clear the stars.”

“I wish that child had taken the stars with him,” Darius said, “it would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

“I wish they’d fixed the Titan’s arm,” Hunter grumbled. At the words, his left arm gave a twinge. Hunter quickly thought about something else, before all the pain could come rushing back.

“Didn’t he say his magic didn’t work on Titans?” Darius opening the front door.

The Owl Lady was standing there, one arm raised like she was about to knock. “Heya, Darius.” She glanced at Hunter. “Kid.”

Darius froze. “I forgot the meeting.”

“You sure did,” Eda said cheerfully. “Raine’s been calling me all morning.”

“What meeting?” Hunter asked.

“Raine’s talking with some people they trust about how to fix the political system,” Eda explained, “and Darius was meant to be there a half an hour ago.”

How could Darius forget something like that? If Hunter had been invited, it’d be all he could think about. “I can walk,” he said to Darius.

Darius looked torn. “I—if you’re sure—”

“I can drop him off,” Eda said, lowering her staff for Hunter. “Where you headed?”

“The third left rib,” Hunter said, getting on.

“Please be careful with my ward,” Darius said, getting on his own staff. “Apparently this is the longest he’s gone without breaking a bone and I would like to extend that streak.”

“You worry too much,” Eda said, before telling Hunter to ’hold on tight’ and taking off.

Eda flew at a leisurely, steady pace, which was somewhat disappointing to Hunter, but made holding on easier. He didn’t have to grip the staff too tightly, which would aggravate the scars around his fingers and make them pulse and burn and—

“How’s Lilith doing?” Hunter asked to distract himself.

“Eh, okay,” Eda answered, “she’s heading to the meeting too, so she felt very important about that. How’re you doing, living with that old fart?”

“Isn’t he younger than you?”

“Nah, he’s way older. Like, a whole year older,” Eda said. “The curse aged me a bit—I still look hot though.”

Hunter didn’t comment.

“What are you doing out by the ribs anyway?” Eda asked.

“I’m helping remove stars.”

“Oh yeah, those things are a real pain in the…” Eda fell silent.

“…you can say ass,” Hunter said after a bit. “I’m sixteen.”

“What? Oh, I know that kid,” Eda continued, “I was just wondering how you remove the stars without any magic?”

Hunter felt himself bristling. “I’m not useless. I just pull them out.” It took longer than it would for someone else, but that didn’t matter. It still helped. It was still something.

“Easy kid, I didn’t say you were,” Eda continued. “Just…Raine’s been dealing with some real bad pain ever since…well, ever since Belos possessed them. I assumed you were too.”

“Nope,” Hunter said too fast, “no, I’m completely fine.”

“…Right,” Eda said after a moment. “So the work isn’t exacerbating any injuries?”

“I’m fine,” Hunter continued, perhaps a little desperately. “Maybe it affected me differently because I’m—I’m young.”

Eda nodded in front of him, in a slow, thoughtful way. “Maybe.”

They rode in silence for the rest of the trip.

Eda landed carefully and Hunter scrambled off the staff. “Thanks for ride,” he said, before turning around and heading for the nearest star. He needed to get away from her before she figured him out even more.

“Wait.” Eda flew in front of him. “Here.” She was holding a tiny vial of glowing blue liquid.

Hunter frowned. “What’s this?”

“My hair’s full,” Eda said with a shrug, “so I figured you could hold onto this for me. As payment for the ride.”

Hunter glanced between her and the vial. “Sure…” he said, taking it slowly, like maybe it would blow him up. “What is it?”

Eda gave him a look that was definitely meant to say something but Hunter wasn’t sure what. He returned it with his natural confused expression. Eda’s look morphed into something horrified. “Have you never seen a healing vial before?”

Hunter shook his head.

Eda stared at him for a long moment. “Any chance that you’ve never been in pain before?”

Hunter snorted (which made his nose feel like he’d shoved it in burning embers but whatever).

Eda sucked a breath through her teeth, gaze dropping to the side. “Titan, that is…” she shook her head, looking back at him. “It helps with pain. You drink a little when you have a headache, or burnt your finger, or whatever. Don’t drink it all at once, you gotta take little sips. It can make you kinda sleepy, so watch out for that.”

Hunter stared at the liquid. “This,” he said slowly, hands trembling around the vial, “this makes pain go away?”

“Not go away,” Eda said, “more like reduces it. Dulls it.”

Hunter felt tears well up in his eyes. “You’re—” he swallowed, throat stinging in protest. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Yeah. This vial cost me two snails,” Eda said. “They’re—look, kid, there’s no reason you shouldn’t have been taking these whenever you got injured, alright?”

Hunter couldn’t believe these had always been around. “Okay.” His voice was wobbly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Eda said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m going to head home now—unless you’re in pain and want a ride?”

“No,” Hunter said quickly, wiping his eyes, “no, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Eda said dubiously. “You know, I’ve been in a bit of pain ever since I got cursed, back when I was about your age. And I pretty much ruined my life trying to hide it from the people who loved me.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, ignoring the ache in his left shoulder. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Eda continued like he hadn’t spoken, “getting help with stuff other people can do alone. It can feel shameful. But the people who love you want to help. They want to take care of you. They’d rather share the burden—the pain—than have you go it alone.” Eda’s lips quirked into a smile. “You’ve got a lot of people who love you, kiddo. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, not meeting her eye.

“I know. Call me if you want a ride,” Eda said, then took off into the air.

Hunter waited until she was out of sight, then opened the vial and sipped it. The effect was much quicker than the painkillers Mrs Noceda had given him. The pounding in his head lessened and pulsing pain in his skin dulled. He sighed in relief, eyes drifting closed for a moment.

Then he turned around, and headed for the nearest star. He had work to do.

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