Hunter's throat burned as he wormed his way awake. He was halfway asleep again when a nurse came in to make sure he was actually firmly conscious. The blonde forced his eyes open to see his roommate already up and mostly dressed. The vertigo was back in full force as he pushed himself to be sitting. Everything hurt, and his heart thudded in his throat. Nausea was an ever-present beast coiled tightly in his sternum.
Breakfast involved more of the same; forcing himself to eat food while the same colorful male nurse from earlier told him about anything and everything. About an hour after eating, it all came back up along with more bright red. The amount of it in the toilet was concerning. After he came out of the bathroom, they immediately thrust his Sertraline into his face for him to ingest.
Mrs. Rose pointed out that he seemed distant and confused for much of their session, and he explained it away as having a hard time adjusting to the sleeping situation, claiming he'd never had a roommate before. Luckily, she seemed to buy his words.
The blonde had no idea how he'd managed to continue lying to his therapists for an hour straight, day after day, but somehow he did it. The lies were piling up and it was harder to keep track of what he was saying. It was hard to keep track of everything in general. Every time he stood up, the world blinked out and he had to fight just to keep himself upright.
Strange things flitted across his vision. At one point, he swore that he saw Belos's headless body skitter across the hallway from one room to another. But then he blinked, and the trail of goo left behind was gone, simply imagined. As always, this should have concerned him much more than it actually did.
Everything felt sweaty and clammy, and it was increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts in a straight line. After a strangely slimy bowl of soup at lunch, he plunked down in an armchair, allowed his eyes to drift closed, and he slept for three hours , completely undisturbed.
In the Coven, he'd been trained to react on the flip of a coin to any noise. He slept light on purpose, that way if there was anything amiss, he would know. This, of course, had changed with the introduction of his sleep medication, but he still consistently woke up to some noises. For Hunter to sleep in a busy common room for so long without waking up once came as a shock and surprise.
Worse still, he felt horrible when he woke up. Another trip to the bathroom yielded more blood in frankly an alarming quantity. He vaguely wondered how much blood was inside of a Grimwalker's body, and how much one could lose before it became an issue.
He was a tough kid. He could handle a bit of blood loss, right?
A strange, yet fast consuming sense of dread began to wash over his thoughts throughout this day, and the ones after. Everywhere he looked, he feared that people were talking about him, looking at him, scrutinizing every moment. Did they know that he was from another realm? ...Did they know about all of the terrible things that he'd done in his life? His heart beat in his ears, worsening the nausea.
"Earth to Hunter, anybody home?" A nurse called. He snapped back into his body, the sudden jolt sending his senses briefly spiraling. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was. Breakfast sat in front of him; hash browns, canned fruit, pancakes. The same nurse as usual, the one with the over bright demeanor and slight accent, was encouraging him to eat. Hunter finally noticed that he'd been wearing a nametag the entire time. The guy's name was David.
"Sorry," He barely got out. He spooned sugary, metallic tasting, room temperature fruit chunks into his mouth. He spaced out again for just a quick moment, eyes distantly staring at a wall across the room. When he absently looked down again, Belos's rotten severed head stared back, teeth sinking into the soft pancake.
Immediately, he threw himself back and stumbled out of his chair with a gasp. Vertigo hit like a crisp slap across the cheek. Despite the blackness blocking his vision, he stared intently at the food on the table. The nurse was up and reassuring him, gently resting his hands on Hunter's shoulder.
"D-don't touch me, don't touch me," Hunter barely got out, pushing the man's gentle touch away like his life depended on it. Immediately, David pulled his hands away like he'd been burned,
"Sorry, my apologies. You're okay, just breathe, what happened?" The adult scrambled out, looking panicked. As Hunter's vision slowly returned, he looked around after confirming that Belos wasn't in fact mingling with the syrup. Now other people were actually staring at him, and he felt their eyes scorching his body. He itched at his scars, scratching desperately in an attempt to relieve the waves of paranoia and anxiety.
Instead, they only worsened. Eventually, with a lot of convincing (and a threat to call for a doctor), Hunter shakily sat down to finish breakfast. The other teenagers in the room continued to glance at him. He chose to stare pointedly at his breakfast, constantly attempting to reassure himself that Belos wasn't going to show up again to drip vile goo into his fruit chunks.
His life was turning into one big miserable routine, and it was slowly chipping away at his sanity. Supervised breakfast, vomiting blood and food an hour or two later, a whole hour of lying to his therapist, a group activity, supervised lunch, more belated bloody throw-up, more therapy, a brief meeting with a psychiatrist to tell her he was feeling awesome, then dinner, more blood, and then an evening activity.
Things really started to escalate and fall apart the day after he saw Belos's head in his breakfast, when Darius, Camila, Gus, and Willow visited. He was ecstatic to hear that they were waiting in the lobby for him and were planning to take him out to lunch. It had been a surprise reward for doing a great job with eating. Hunter almost chuckled when one of his doctors told him as much.
Despite his exhaustion and pallid demeanor, he was incredibly excited to see his friends. Maybe he'd really be able to enjoy a meal for once, now that he was getting a break from the disgusting hospital food. He chucked his dose of Sertraline down his gullet, put on his coolest t-shirt (handsewn, including pictures of wolves and birds) and raced to get downstairs.
By the time he saw them waiting at the entrance for him, he was winded, dizzy, and nausea was a dangerous and threatening dark cloud. He desperately shoved the feeling away, doing everything in his power to distance himself from it. Hunter was going to enjoy spending time with his friends and caretakers, damn it.
Off they went. Camila had always been a smooth and gentle driver, but despite this, he felt worryingly ill and carsick by the time they got to the restaurant. It was just some fast food place, seemingly insignificant. But to Hunter, it represented a brief reprieve, a taste of freedom. Gus and Willow excitedly talked to him about everything under the sun. The students at Hexside missed him terribly, Amity was doing some kind of big project involving an experimental abomination mixture; Luz and Vee were both attending school and loving it, now that they'd both become more confident and stable in their own individual identities.
As they sidled into a colorful plastic booth, Hunter couldn't help but smile. This was the closest thing he'd had to normal in what seemed like an eternity. In reality, he'd only been at the inpatient program for just over a week.
The food, despite its appetizing appearance on the huge billboards hung over the register, did not look nearly as appealing when it was passed to him in a little paper box. He ate it anyways, taking bites as his friends so casually munched on their own food. They made it look so easy.
As soon as he stuffed the final bite in his mouth, alarm bells went off in his head. It seemed like he was unwillingly purging everything he ate sooner and sooner. The blonde excused himself to go to the bathroom, and out of his mouth came what looked like a gallon of blood. It was probably much less than that, but it was a lot .
Several minutes were reserved to merely catch his breath and not black out in the grimy bathroom stall after the fact. Maybe ... Maybe when we get back, I'll tell somebody ... He thought distantly. Was it normal to throw up blood? Perhaps everyone else also did that and he'd just never noticed.
In a similar occurrence to the last time he had visitors, his time allotted to be away from the hospital came rapidly to a close. Hunter felt as though he'd simply blinked and the time had slithered right by him.
As they completed the short ride back towards the hospital, Hunter began to feel strangely giddy and energetic. He laughed at everything Willow and Gus said, and they laughed with him. Willow's smile made his heart flutter, only ramping up the unplanned but certainly welcomed gleeful ecstasy.
"Come by again soon!" The teenager called to his friends as they tearfully waved goodbye. He had tears in his own eyes. Despite the bathroom incident, he'd had so much fun. He felt fine, great even, so he didn't bother mentioning anything to the nurses that passed by him.
After lunch he had more therapy, and he quite literally skipped into the room to plop gracefully in a cushioned chair. His head felt light and almost airy. Maybe all that medication he was taking everyday was finally starting to work.
His therapist started with the usual basic questions, and he breezed through them, talking quickly with exaggerated gestures. His therapist was clearly having a hard time keeping up as he leapt and bound between disjointed and sporadic thoughts.
"Hunter, are you sure you're feeling all right?" The woman sitting across from him suddenly interjected. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you're feeling so well today, but this behavior seems like it came out of the blue..." She told him as she leaned forward to get up.
Suddenly, and without even asking first, she was in his face and peering into his pupil. As she peeled down his lower lid to look, he shot back, pressing himself into the chair.
"No need for that, thank you." He quickly explained. People touching his face was not on the list of things that he wanted today, or ever.
"Hunter sweetie, your pupils are dilated. Have you taken anything that I should know about?"
Oh Titan, now he was being accused of doing drugs. It was putting a major damper on his good mood. Whatever, he decided. He didn't have to deal with this shit. He wanted to have been done and over with the psyche ward three days ago; yet he was still here, getting poked and prodded in a random woman's room. She stood just a few steps away from him, waiting for his answer.
"Nope, I haven't had anything. Actually... Now that I think about it, I don't have to tell you that, and I don't owe you any answers about anything !" He exclaimed, throwing his arms out to the side to emphasize his words while grinning wildly. In a smooth, confident gesture, he threw himself out of the chair and sauntered out of the room, down the hall. The doctor called after him, and he chose to ignore her. Hunter had tasted freedom, and was desperate to go back for more. Maybe if he was nice, Camila would come pick him up.
As he strutted down the hall, blood rushed to his head from his sudden movements, and he stumbled a little. Push it down, ignore it, it'll go away. It always does.
There were multiple people jogging after him now. Clearly his therapist had called for help. No matter, it was time to use his powers, grab his stuff, and skedaddle. With a huff, he gathered Flapjack's teleportation ability deep into his chest, and released it. Instead of ending up in his room, he stayed exactly where he was in the hallway. Nausea surged violently, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
A coppery taste laced itself between every molar and his knees felt weak. Blood dribbled between his fingers, and another second passed before there was a whole puddle of blood covering his hand and the floor in front of him.
Whoops. That probably wasn't good. The doctors marching his way froze, their faces stuck in a grimace. He looked back at them, horror on his own face. Another heartbeat passed and they resumed their approach with frightening speed. This was bad. They were going to restrain him, put him away, never let him leave. His escape had to happen now or never.
As he commanded his body to move, his brain sent him into a tailspin and he stumbled until he smacked a wall. This caused yet another appearance of bright red; coating his hands, splattering his socks, staining his favorite shirt. He coughed, desperate to breathe. Dragging his body away from his attackers as fruitless, the tiles slick with bright red blood. Where had all of that come from? Did I make that happen? He looked down, splotchy vision blocking out much of his view. Suddenly, he flinched when multiple people started touching him.
Hands were on him, voices were calling for him, and when he looked at the offending intruders, they all wore Belos's face. They all spoke in Belos's voice. He struggled hard, harder than he ever had in his entire life. And yet, the more he tried, the more hands there were on him. He left bloody marks on their wrists and clothing. Nausea and fear was all he could feel as they quickly subdued him. Glacing at their faces revealed the Emperor's cold, rotting face stared back at him; unseeing eyes instilling a deep fear into his soul. One of them brandished something sharp, and he sobbed desperately between bloody coughs.
A sharp prick and cold liquid entered his bloodstream, which only made him panic more. Belos was trying to possess him, take over his mind again, force him to relive the worst moments of his pitiful existence.
Struggling and thrashing quickly became harder and harder, and tears slipped down his face. He pleaded, a real, genuine, and heartfelt request for Belos to let him go, but it was all fruitless. A different kind of numbness soon found his brain, intoxicating and inviting despite his desperation. Soon his legs were giving out on him as they unwillingly relaxed against the floor. His arms were floppy and weak.
The last of his strength was used to push Belos off of him with sticky, coppery hands. Of course, The Emperor would not relent.
In his last waking moments before the unwelcomed unconsciousness overtook him, he slumped against his Uncle's shoulder, and begged with a slurred voice for forgiveness as the last of his strength left him.