Hansel: Trying

“Hansel, sweetheart.” Marion rubbed his back, firmly. “Breathe. In and out. In and out.”

He tried. He tried really hard, but it kept coming in gasps, more in than out, and it was making his vision go gray and fuzzy.

“Hansel.” She always said his name a lot, when he got like this, and it make him feel like he was in trouble even though she was saying it calmly. “Look at me, baby. Here. Look at me.”

He managed that. Stared at her through his lashes. She readjusted herself to duck and fit under the table with him, facing him, bunching her legs up uncomfortably. She put her hands on his face, gently pulling it up from where he'd hidden it against his knees.

Marion drew in a long, pointed breath, letting it out slowly, keeping her eyes on him, keeping her hands on him. He felt himself slowing down, too, somehow, matching her. “That's it,” she said. “There you go. You're okay. You hear me? You're okay.”

He swallowed and nodded, but in the other room Leigh cried and he felt it starting all over again. Marion grimaced and glanced away, and that made it worse -- he grabbed at her arm, trying to make her stay with him. He wasn't okay. He wasn't okay. He needed her.

“Hansel.” She leaned in to kiss his forehead, but tugged away. “Sweetie, you're okay. Keep breathing. Ah -- count for me, okay? Just -- count. Focus on breathing and counting and tell me how high you get, all right?”

He whispered, “No,” drawn-out and plaintive, but she was already climbing out from under the table to go to the baby. He hid his face again and rocked. “No.”

He got to ninety-four before giving up on her coming back.

###

“Hansel Bell.” She never used his last name when she was mad at him, just the first and middle. He cringed away. “The hell is this?”

“I didn't mean to,” he said quietly. She wasn't going to believe him. He hid himself behind the stairs up to the loft, peeking out between the rungs.

She was still looking at him sharply, standing over the shattered glass front of the cabinet. “How exactly does a person break a cabinet door by accident?”

“I didn't mean to slam it.”

“Come here.”

He did it reluctantly, hugging himself, boots crunching on the glass as he came close. She regarded him with a hard expression, tilting his chin up to make him look at her.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

“Nothin’.”

She closed her eyes and took a breath, opened them again. Her voice turned softened. “Hansel, tell me what happened.”

“Kids from town,” he made himself say, not looking at her. “Throwin’ stuff at me.”

“Made you kinda mad?” she prodded gently.

“No.” He shifted.

Then she winced. “Okay. Come here.” She pulled him in to hug him. He stayed stiff, anxious, and she briskly rubbed his arms, trying to wear it out of him without much luck. “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not angry with you.”

He couldn't really relax, but he tried.

She kissed the top of his head. “You ran, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's good. You did the right thing.” She paused. “Honey, when you -- you know when you get shaky, you need to take a second to calm down before you touch things you might break. Count to ten, remember?”

“I wasn't trying to break --.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know. Listen, I used to do the same thing. Broke my momma's plates all the time. You gotta take deep breaths. Settle down first, all right? Come find me and I'll help talk you through it. I'm not gonna be mad at you for being mad.”

He nodded against her. He really hadn't been mad, though. He meant it. He'd been scared -- so scared -- run all the way home -- just wanted a glass of water, and -- the door had just broken -- been so loud -- he just knew his dad would hear --

“Hansel, baby, breathe, it's okay.” She squeezed him tight. “I got you. It's okay. Deep breath in.”

She didn't have him, though, she didn't -- she was busy -- she had Leigh and he was so small and so sick and -- Hansel wasn't supposed to need her, wasn't supposed to have her -- had Elijah instead and Elijah was always mad at him -- couldn't do anything right -- kept breaking things -- deserved what he got --

“Oh, sweetheart.”

She sounded like he was hurting her. He didn't want that, god, no, just -- just couldn't stop himself from shaking, couldn't make himself breathe right, and it was hurting her how broken he was. No. No no no.

“It's okay.” She petted his face and kissed his forehead, kissed his hair, voice soft. “It's okay, baby. I love you. It's gonna pass. I know it's hard right now, but it'll pass, it'll always pass and you'll feel better again. I promise.”

He nodded again, desperate to believe her.

“Breathe,” she said, and held him. “It's gonna pass. Remember that. I love you.”

###

“No,” Jonn said sharply. He bolted upright and started towards the door, and Leigh caught him around the waist automatically.

“Hey, whoa. Slow down.”

Hansel tensed, but Jonn didn't lash out at Leigh -- kid let himself be corralled, and Hansel got to the door before he changed his mind.

“He can't come here,” Jonn ground out. “He'll hurt you again.”

Leigh watched Hansel for a sign, kept holding onto Jonn carefully until Hansel pulled him away. Jonn was rigid. He let it happen, though, if only because he didn't have much choice.

“It's gonna be fine, kid,” Hansel tried to explain. “Hey. I know he freaks you out --.”

“It's not gonna be fine!” Jonn struggled away and bolted again, just across the room, hands fluttering at the edge of his cloak, clawing and tugging at it. “It's not gonna be fucking fine! He's gonna kill me, he's gonna hurt you, he's --.”

Hansel wished he had that spell, sometimes, the one Luci used on Jonn -- the one Goro had used on him. He didn't know what to do when Jonn got like this except hold him until he burnt himself out, and try to talk to him, explain things. He wasn't fuckin’ rational about Mishka, though, or -- maybe he was and Hansel wasn't.

“Kid, kid, hey.”

He came closer and Jonn scurried away, hopping onto a chair and taking a light step on the back of it to launch himself up to the loft, scrambling up even though there was a perfectly good staircase. Hansel recognized it as just … instinct. Kid wasn't thinking. He was just goddamn scared. Made his heart sink and his gut clench.

Hansel wanted to see Mishka so fucking bad. Hated being apart from him. But he fuckin’ hated being apart from Jonn, too, and he couldn't figure out how to keep the pair of them stable and all right in the same house, even if they swore up and down they weren't going to kill each other -- god, the bar had gotten so low, and he still wasn't positive it was going to be met.

Jonn paced frantically up in the loft, chewing his fingers. Hansel wanted to go to him, but he was afraid the kid would just run away again, dodge past him, over the rail, under Leigh's arm, out the door, be fucking lost again, forever maybe, this time. And even if Hansel told him *okay, Mishka won't visit, it's okay,* he was still goddamn going home to his husband eventually, and how would Jonn react then? The thing he'd said about Hansel picking Mishka over him broke his heart, but -- it was kinda fucking true, and -- thing was, he remembered how Mishka had asked him if he was even mad at Jonn at all, how betrayed he'd sounded, how he probably thought Hansel was picking Jonn, so he guessed he couldn't do either thing right and no one fucking won --

He sunk down in place, hissing through his teeth, trying to breathe. Really breathe out. Goro was fucking smart about that shit. Mishka had helped him with it, too, back in the day, and when he still woke up with night terrors now and then -- god, he fucking wanted Mishka here, needed him -- couldn't help thinking about the way Jonn had helped him through the night terrors, too, though, taken care of him when he'd been broken, been abandoned, been alone -- and now he couldn't help them both, couldn't have them both, couldn't fucking do anything right --

“Hansel.”

He jerked away from the touch automatically, covering his head with his arms, hiding his face behind his knees, crumpling himself up small like maybe he could just avoid being noticed.

“Oh.”

It registered on him then that it was his mother's voice. He hadn't heard her coming back in -- but he heard Luci, too, then, talking to Jonn softly, heard him crying. Fuck. God, he kept fucking this kid up, kept breaking him more, wasn't any goddamn good at protecting him, terrible fucking excuse for a father --

“Hansel.”

Marion said it more firmly this time, and he got this ghost of a feeling that he'd done something wrong and she was going to be angry at him, and cringed, trying to pull further into himself, make himself smaller. He flinched again when she put her hand on his shoulder, but she didn't let up this time.

“Hansel, you need to breathe,” she said, quietly. She squeezed his arm. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

He raised his head reluctantly, but he just saw past her, to the loft where Jonn was leaning heavily into his little sister, face buried against her, sobbing, and over him she looked helpless and desperate, still trying to soothe him. He'd left them alone. Left them to fend for themselves for fucking years, and he was doing it again, and Luci was so fucking young, too young to have to deal with this, and he'd made her deal with it when she was even younger --

“Okay,” Marion said patiently when he ducked his head again. “Okay.” She kept hold of his arm. “That's okay, sweetheart. You do what you have to do.” She moved closer. “It's all right, Hansel. You hear me? It's okay. It'll pass. No matter how bad it feels right now, it'll pass, all right? You'll be okay.”

He shook his head. Nah. It'd just come back. Always came back, 'cause he never fucking fixed anything, never solved his problems, just made them worse.

“Mmhm,” she insisted gently. “Listen to me, baby. You're gonna be okay. Breathe. In and out.”

She leaned in close, putting her forehead on his shoulder, breathing slow and deep. He felt himself slowing down, too, a little, somehow. Matching her. Felt familiar. Felt strange.

“That's good. You're all right,” she said. “See? You're all right. Tell me what happened, Hansel.”

He forced a sound out of his throat that wasn't remotely a word, but cleared the way for them. “Shitty fucking father.”

Her breath hitched and he felt himself sinking -- fucked her up too, ruined everything -- but her voice was still calm. “Oh, honey. I know he was. I know. I'm sorry. But he can't hurt you anymore. You're okay.”

“No.” He was confused enough that it broke through the still half-strangled breaths. “Me. I'm fuckin’ …” Couldn't finish it, though. Shitty father. And husband. Boyfriend. Son. Brother. Everything.

“Oh,” she said again. “Oh, sweetheart, no. Is -- no.” She sounded startled at first, then just matter-of-fact. “No. You look at me.”

He didn't want to, but let her pull his arms away and his face up, hold it and make him focus on her.

“Hansel, Jonn is fine,” she said. “I know you didn't hurt him. It's not your fault. It's gonna pass, and he'll be okay, and you'll be okay. You hear me?”

He tried to believe it. Tried to only look at her, but his eyes slipped past her to the loft again.

Jonn was still clinging to Luci, but he'd settled down a little, wasn't choking out tears anymore -- and Leigh was on the floor with them, arms around both of them, murmuring something Hansel couldn't hear. Seemed like it was working, though. Jonn was … breathing.

“Hansel,” Marion prompted, bringing his attention back to her.

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.” He leaned against her, let her help him breathe, too. Held himself until he stopped shaking, mostly.

“Mmhm. You *are* okay. Hansel,” she whispered, like she was sharing a secret, “that boy loves you so much. He wouldn't if you hadn't been a good father. Okay? Don't think that, sweetheart. You're good. You're so good.”

He nodded. Tried to believe that, too. It was what Mishka tried to tell him -- *this doesn't change anything, I love you* -- and Goro did too -- *I love you so much, we're gonna be all right* -- but it was just fucking -- difficult --

He remembered his mom trying to tell him, too. *I'm not angry with you. Breathe. I love you*. Just got lost, somehow. Kept getting lost when he couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The loft stairs creaked, and after a second Jonn was pressed up against his side, shoving his arms around Hansel and his face into Hansel's shoulder.

“Sorry.” He sniffled, and Hansel put an arm around him immediately, pulling away from his mom a little. “Sorry. I'm calm. I remember what you told me. About Mishka.”

“Hey. No.” It was automatic. He drew away from Marion to hold Jonn closer. “I'm not mad at you. You don't have to apologize. It's okay.” He kissed the top of the kid's head. “I know you're just scared. It's gonna be okay, though. Promise.”

Jonn nodded against him. Maybe he'd believe it. Maybe if Hansel said it enough times, they both would.