Hansel: No

Hansel found Jonn in the crow’s nest, playing with his compass. He tried to hide it automatically when Hansel appeared over the side, like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, then realized there was no chance of getting away with it and just looked a bit sheepish. Hansel didn’t bother to tell him off for it. He hefted himself into the nest and settled down cross-legged beside the kid. There was only just room for them both.

“We need to talk.”

Jonn made a face. “Do we have to?”

Hansel didn’t like it any more than he did. Probably less, because he knew what was coming. He was the one who had to start it.

He sighed. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.” He thought of the empty bottle of truth serum in his bag. He didn’t want to think about what might come out of Jonn’s mouth if he slipped him some of the gold liquid. It was better to just tell him; he would do as he was told, within reason. “Really honest. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I need the truth.” And he wished there weren’t so many people in his life that he had to clarify truthfulness with, but here he was.

Jonn looked deeply uncomfortable, but he nodded.

“Flynn,” Hansel said. “Did you … did you really care about him?”

Jonn opened his mouth and closed it. He fidgeted with the compass, turning it over in his hands, fingers finding the seams in its leather case, then the copper fittings.

Hansel knew the answer.

He had before, he just hadn’t wanted to -- Flynn had been a sweet kid, and Hansel had wanted to believe that he’d been enough to win Jonn over, to make him feel something. Jonn had been good to him, at least. He’d pretended well enough that Flynn had been devotedly by his bedside when he was ill, taking care of him. Hansel pushed away the sick feeling. He should’ve warned that sweet kid. He’d still be alive if he’d known better. If Hansel hadn’t let stupid hope get the better of him.

“I don’t mind if you didn’t,” he lied softly. “I understand.”

Jonn’s shoulders dropped their tension. “I mean, I didn’t want him to *die*.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Hansel told himself it was better that it was out now. “So this thing,” he went on, ”with you hating Mishka. It’s real, though, right?” It seemed real. Part of Hansel hoped it was real just so that didn’t mean Jonn hadn’t gotten so good at acting he could fool even him. It would make things easier if it was fake, though. “Tell me about it. Why?”

Again Jonn looked like he didn’t really want to say. He turned the compass over and over in his hands.

“I won’t be mad,” Hansel promised, and kind of wished it wasn’t true.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay. I -- you asked me if I liked him, right? And I said that I kind of did. And I did.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want to. I know what he did to you.”

“That’s fine. I’m not …” It was moot at this point, god knew. “It’s fine.”

Jonn chewed on his lip. “I had fun hanging out with him. He bought me a nice dinner and -- we didn't just talk about you, you know? He did *really* wanna know about you, but it was fun avoiding his questions and lying to him and him lying to me and --.”

He hesitated, ducking his head, looking away.

“I thought he was … like me,” he muttered. “I haven't met anyone like me. He's not. I figured that out.”

Hansel tried to figure this out. “You're mad at him for tricking you?”

“No, I'm --.” The kid grit his teeth. “I'm fuckin’ mad because he beat me. He's better at being me than I am. It's not *fair*.”

“Not … fair?”

“He shouldn't be able to do shit like that. I know he has feelings.” Jonn said the word like it was dirty, his fingernails digging into his own palms. “People like --.” He stopped himself, reconsidered what he was going to say, settled his hands. “I should've won. He cared too much. I should've won and I don't understand why he beat me and I just -- I want to *win*.”

Hansel stared at him. He'd perfected his placid, non-judgmental look, and he was sure it was in place, but he had no fucking idea what to say to this. He guessed Jonn had never come across anyone so thoroughly out of his league -- even to be apparently handicapped by something as terrible as having feelings. Mishka was a hundred years older than him, Hansel wanted to say; of course he was better at being a heartless bastard. He'd had more practice. He was at least good at pretending he was.

The kid was silent for a moment, too, before adding in a mutter, “He used me against you. I don't … I wouldn't even do that. I wouldn't fuck with someone's family. I don't know why he can do that and I can't. It's not *fair*.”

That gave Hansel something to work with. All right. He was being sullen and petty and childish, which meant that this was a passing tantrum, and meant Hansel could probably get through to him with gentle suggestion and persuasion. It would be fine.

“Jonn,” he said, “listen -- it's *good* that you wouldn't do something like that, all right? I'm proud of you for that. Maybe you wouldn't fuck with someone's family because you care about Luci and me.”

Jonn picked at his boots, not looking up. “I guess.”

“Mishka doesn't really have a family.” He thought of the sister Mishka has told him about. Maybe that would get through to Jonn. Probably not. “That's made things … hard for him.”

Jonn twitched and then stopped fidgeting abruptly. “Well, he had you, and he fucked that up.”

“Yeah.” He wasn't wrong. “Well. It's, uh. Complicated. I can't explain it all right now. I need you to understand that Mishka's … The situation with him is more complicated than I realized, all right?”

Jonn looked up at him slowly. “Complicated how? What does that mean?”

“I need you to lay off him.” Hansel put every bit of 'firm, authoritative dad’ he had into it, which wasn't much. “It's --.” God, he couldn't say *complicated* again, so something else tumbled out instead. “He loves me.”

Shit, that wasn't going to help.

“He doesn't love you,” Jonn spat immediately in clear disbelief. “He's done nothing but hurt you for two fucking years.”

“I know,” Hansel said gently, keeping his tone level. “It's complicated.” Fuck, there he went again.

Before he could try to explain further, Jonn snapped, “No, it's not fucking complicated! Don't say it's complicated like I'm too fucking stupid to understand! I understand, Hansel -- I've fucking been here. I was here for every little fucking letter he sent you. I was here the entire time he was trying to make you so miserable you killed yourself. I kept it from fucking *happening*.

“*I* love you.” The kid's eyes were damp but furious. “I know what that means. He doesn't. Don't tell me it's fucking complicated. If he loved you he never would have hurt you on purpose. He would've stopped when he realized what he was doing. And he fucking knows what he's done.”

Hansel could only stare at him. He made a solid argument. Hansel tried to put words together in his head about the dragon, the cursed bracelet, the way Mishka's voice had cracked when he'd said *Hans, I don't know what the fuck to do.* None of that would matter to Jonn. He didn't care about Mishka -- he was never going to care about Mishka, not even a fraction of the way Hansel did.

But he did love Hansel. Loved him in a way that made ice slip down his back sometimes. Loved him in the same way he loved his sister -- enough to gut anything that even looked at them wrong, even if it was ten times bigger than he was. If Hansel pointed him towards the dragon and said *this is the problem* he'd have to hold the kid back from trying to carve its eyes out right away.

Thing was, Mishka was a lot smaller than the dragon.

Jonn was glaring at him. Fuck. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to *say*. Maybe Mishka would -- he was so good with words, even if he wasn't the greatest at honesty, and maybe honesty wasn't the best approach here. But it was all Hansel had.

He grabbed the kid in a hug, crushing him against his chest. “Jonn, I love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“I know.” His voice was muffled, but still annoyed. He knew this wasn't an answer and he didn't hug back. “For fucksake, Dad.”

Hansel had to try. He kept holding Jonn tightly. “I don't think you're stupid. You just … I need you to understand, all right? It's complicated and I can't explain it all right now. I --.” *I love him. It never mattered if he didn't love me. I love him. I was never going to let you touch him.*

Jonn pushed at him to get away, and reluctantly, Hansel released him.

“I don't like it when you don't tell me things,” the kid said darkly.

“I know.”

“He never should have hurt you.”

*He regrets it,* Hansel wanted to say, though he wasn't sure it was the truth. Mishka had done everything he'd done positive that it had been the right thing to do -- he was sure of that. He didn't know if Mishka regretted things or just found out, later, that they'd been mistakes. He didn't know how to spin it to make it acceptable to Jonn, either.

“He's sorry for what he did,” he said finally, because he knew Jonn understood sorry, at least. “He knows it was wrong.”

The kid chewed this over for a moment, and Hansel thought he might have lucked out, actually managed to say the right thing.

“He knew it was wrong a year ago and he kept fucking doing it.”

Shit. Hansel couldn't pretend to really understand how Jonn's brain ticked. He'd just spent enough time around him, listening to the slightly-off things he said and finding out about the very-off things he did -- had done -- Hansel had to believe he didn't do them anymore -- that he'd worked out some patterns:

Jonn didn't care about anything alive except his sister and Hansel. Everything else was fair game to steal from, or knife, or skin, or torture. It was all inanimate. He was bored and curious and everything in the world was a toy that he was figuring out how to play with.

It was only Luci and Hansel who had any sway over him. Don't hurt people, they'd told him -- then had to explain what that meant, piecemeal, as he discovered and invented different types of hurt. And he would obey them, driven to please them by that uncanny love, Hansel thought. Not out of any sense of rightness, or goodness, or empathy, or morality.

Hansel couldn't fucking believe he was on this side of a argument about morality with *Jonn*.

He sighed. “I … I can't explain right now,” he said again, uselessly.

“He never. Should. Have hurt you,” the kid repeated. Hansel didn't like his tone. Didn't like it at all.

“No, he shouldn't,” he allowed carefully. “But he apologized, and I forgave him. It's over. All right? It's done with. That's how this works. He apologized.”

He paused. He wanted to bring up some time Jonn had done something terrible, and Hansel had reprimanded him, and he'd apologized, and Hansel had forgiven him and moved on -- but he also didn't really want to remind Jonn of what sorts of things he was capable of. He preferred to think of Jonn as reformed, rehabilitated. He didn't want to trigger a setback.

“I need you to promise me you won't try to hurt him,” he said instead, firm again. Jonn would be pissed, and he'd sulk, but he had a short attention span and Hansel would come up with some distraction to --

“No.”

“What?”

“I don't think you know what's best for yourself anymore,” Jonn said cooly, and before Hansel could begin to respond, he'd swept away, leaving the crow's nest feeling somehow massive.

No?

He had never just said *no* before.

Fuck.