I don’t want to think anymore
The basement was quiet, eerily so, even though it was occupied by two kids.
Gus was shuffling around on the couch with his blanket over him, trying to get comfortable. It was hard for him to find a position where the blanket didn’t feel weird against his back or legs, but he did eventually.
He wanted to fall asleep, but he also didn’t. First of all, the nightmares. They were scary for him. Usually, he could tell when he was in a nightmare and he could make himself wake up. He assumed his illusion magic did something to his dreams to make him know. But it also sometimes made them seem and look more real. He could feel the terror during a particularly bad nightmare like it was real.
Sometimes he didn’t want to go to sleep at all because of it.
And second, Hunter. He wanted desperately to talk to and to comfort him, or for it to be the other way around. Hunter must be feeling pretty terrible after finding out that he’s a Grimwa—
No, Gus reminded himself. Hunter doesn’t know that I know that yet. I can’t tell him, at least not now.
But aside from that, Gus was also terrified too, and anxious. He felt a strange comfort in Hunter, even though they haven’t really known each other particularly well or long.
Gus sighed softly.
Hunter glanced up at him from where he was laying in the sleeping bag on the floor.
“You good?” He asked quietly.
Gus looked down at him, hesitating. Hunter could not tell what he was feeling or thinking. He was never really good at that stuff.
“Uh, yah, yah, I’m good, don’t worry.”
Hunter kept looking at him for a few seconds, then glanced away.
“Okay.”
Now Hunter was just left to lay in silence, trying and failing to fall asleep.
Hunter had very… conflicting emotions about staying at Mrs. Noc— Camila’s house.
But he really didn’t want to think about that right now.
Actually, he didn’t want to think about anything, really.
He didn’t want to think about everything that had suddenly happened.
He didn’t want to think about how the core beliefs of his life had been shattered. His origins, his work, his identity, his purpose. All gone, senseless, confusing. Broken so harshly, with no time to pick up the pieces, and no idea how to put them back together.
He didn’t want to think about how Belos had been murdered right in front of his eyes. His eyes, hazy from the effects of the spell, staring in horror. Belos had been the only one to take care of him his whole life. Even if ‘take care of him’ definitely weren’t the right words. He knew he should be happy, be rejoicing, but there was one feeling he couldn’t shake, and couldn’t place a finger on.
He didn’t want to think about the Draining Spell. He had known it was coming, but he could never have been prepared. The golden tendrils snaking up his arm, coming from the area on his wrist with his sigil. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced. And he had experienced a lot. It was a strange and terrible feeling, like something was sucking away all the magic he never had.
Hunter traced his finger over his wrist subconsciously. He used to rub it when he was on missions and patrols, early in the morning, to remind him what he was working towards. However tired, burnt-out, exhausted, or frustrated he felt, he would think of his duty.
But now he did it just as an empty force of habit he couldn’t break.
Eventually, he fell into a troubled and nightmare-filled sleep.
Gus did too, after a while.
And then it was perfectly silent.