Hansel: Motek

“Hansel, go check on Leigh.”

His mother didn't look up from washing dishes. Hansel saw her frowning as she kept her eyes on her work, but it didn't reach her voice -- that stayed calm and even.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He pushed himself up from the table where he'd been whittling straight sticks into arrows, passed the couch where his stepfather had passed out after dinner, under the little loft where he slept -- through the only door in the house that didn't lead outside, into the bedroom. There weren't any lights on, because Leigh was meant to be resting, but Hansel could see in the dark better than the rest of his family. Orc blood. Occasionally Elijah would grudgingly comment that it had its uses. Hansel's mother never said anything about it at all.

Leigh was wrapped up in blankets in the smaller of the two beds crammed into the room. It'd been Hansel's bed, before Elijah had conscripted him into helping to build the loft, and he'd been moved out there. Leigh had come along not long after. Hansel kept thinking that there was enough room for two small beds in the loft, and his brother would join him soon, but he hadn't yet.

He was sick a lot. Had to be kept an eye on. Hansel knelt down next to the bed, looking at him closely, trying to tell if he was awake. Didn't seem to be, but the way he was all bundled up even though it was warm made Hansel hesitantly brush the back of his hand against Leigh's forehead.

Then he regretted it straight away, when Leigh didn't feel feverish but did twitch and open his eyes at the contact. Hansel had woken him up.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and went to stand up and back away. “Go back to sleep.”

But Leigh reached out for him, sleepily whining, ”Nooo.” He was unfazed by Hansel drawing away, putting his hands behind his back where Leigh couldn't catch them. “Tell me a story.”

“Leigh, just go back to sleep,” Hansel insisted gently. The kid was barely awake, anyway. He'd forget Hansel had even been there in a second.

He was just as insistent, though, wriggling out of his blankets a bit to reach out and manage to hook Hansel's elbow. “Story,” he mumbled. He might not be feverish, but he sounded tired and miserable. And he was probably lonely, closed up in the back room all day and all night while he was ill.

Hansel sighed and relented. “Okay, okay.”

He pulled his arm away but stepped back closer to the bed and crossed his legs under him to sit down on the floor. Leigh settled, letting his eyes drift closed again as Hansel started reciting his favorite story -- it was one their mom had come up with, used to tell it to Hansel, too, so he knew it by heart. He trailed off once and Leigh prompted him to keep going, but about halfway through he tried it again and Leigh stayed quiet, sleeping peacefully.

Hansel stood and crept out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Sleeping?” his mother asked him. She was working on drying the dishes, now, and putting them away.

Hansel nodded and went to help her.

She handed him a plate she'd finished with. “Have to tell him a story?”

He nodded again.

Smiling faintly, she asked, “The one about the kitten?”

He nodded a third time.

“Hansel.”

He paused and looked at her. She beckoned him closer, and when he obeyed, she rose up on her toes to kiss the top of his head. She'd always done that, but he'd grown so much this past year that she couldn't, easily, anymore. Still did it sometimes, though.

“Thank you for the help, sweetheart,” she said quietly, and turned back to the dishes. “Get your father into bed for me.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

###

Elitash gave a harsh laugh as he doubled over to puke in the bushes.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” she taunted.

Hansel managed to gag out, “Fuck you,” before retching again.

“S'what happens when you challenge a goliath to a drinkin’ contest.” She patted his back in a way that managed to be patronizing. “You're a big boy, but he was a li'l bit bigger, huh?”

“Shut up.” He spat and his stomach churned again, but there wasn't anything left to come out. “Cory was s'posed to help me cheat.”

“See,” Elitash said, “y'fuckin’ called her Cory. She hates that shit. Probably thought it'd be funnier to watch you lose your money.”

“I call her Cory all the time,” he objected, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hansel, you stupid piece of shit,” Elitash said fondly. “That's why Corven doesn't fuckin’ like you, motek.”

“Oh. Aw.” He straightened, but only to stumble and lean on her. She caught him easily, ready for it. “I didn't … I didn't know that.”

She nodded sagely. “So you're telling me you missed the fucking death glares she gives you every time you do it.”

“I thought it was just … her face.”

Elitash snorted and started helping him back towards the ship. He felt ready to pass out, but she had him. That was nice. Corven and Mishka brushed past them, drunk too but moving faster without one of them having to support a three hundred pound half-orc who was mostly dead weight, and he caught an amused look from Mishka.

He felt hot suddenly, like he might throw up again. When he gagged Elitash angled him towards some shrubbery again, but he got it under control.

To distract himself and keep himself awake, he asked, “What'd you call me?”

“A stupid piece of shit.”

He made a noise at her. “Other thing. Orc thing.”

“Oh. S'like, uh …” She paused. “Term of endearment, kinda thing. Like -- sweetie, sweetheart. Kinda all-purpose, y'know, something you can call a friend, or your kid, or your partner, whatever.”

“Mo-deck,” he mumbled, trying it out. “Sweetheart.”

“Mo*tek*,” she repeated.

“Motek.” He closed his eyes, just for a second, and lost what little balance he had. She caught him again. He grinned at her toothily once she had her balance back. “*You* called me *sweetheart*.”

“Dumbass.”

“We're *friends*,” he slurred, half dropping his head on her shoulder and half butting it against her.

She scoffed, but jostled him in a way that was kind of like a hug. “You goddamn idiot, of course we're friends. The fuck did you think?”

He laughed, but then it choked into crying unexpectedly. He did know they were friends already -- it was just -- her calling him sweetheart --

“Ah, fuck, kid.” Elitash stopped dragging him along and put both her arms around him awkwardly to pull him in and let him cling to her and sob into her shoulder in the middle of the street. “Fuckin’ … there, there? You're puttin’ me in a position, here, Hansel. Fucksake.”

She sounded exasperated, but after a second she rested her chin on his head, then briefly kissed his hair. It just made him cry and cling to her harder. She took it in stride, though, sighing and rubbing his back.

“You got some fuckin’ issues, kid,” she commented.

He mumbled incoherently for a moment, then managed a forceful, “No.”

“Yeah.” She snorted. “Okay.”

###

The kid had climbed up a tree and now he wouldn’t -- or couldn’t, the clerics weren’t sure -- come down. When Hansel showed up, all heavily armed and scowly and shit, the Mother was hasty in explaining to him that they just assumed Jonn would come down on his own, and that was why they’d let him stay up there overnight instead of going up after him. Something about needing to learn his lesson.

Hansel just glared at her, rolled up his sleeves, and started climbing the tree.

It was a tall evergreen without many spreading branches, so the kid was just holding tight to the trunk, high up, shivering. He bared his teeth at Hansel and shimmied up further when he got close.

“All right, then,” Hansel said patiently, and stopped where he was. “What’re you fuckin’ doin’ up here, kid?”

Jonn didn’t answer, just looked shifty.

“Looks like you’re cold,” he pointed out. “Warmer closer to the ground, y’know.”

The kid made a noncommittal sound and all but hugged the trunk. He had to be exhausted from holding on all night and most of today -- what’d it been, then, something like twenty hours he’d been up here? -- but he was stubborn.

“Okay. How about you just c’mere,” Hansel tried, “and I won’t make you go back down, but I’ll warm you up?”

After thinking about it for a second, the kid gave a quiet, reluctant, “‘Kay,” and scooted closer. Hansel’s legs were locked around the tree, leaving his arms free to support Jonn and guide him down, and pull him close against Hansel’s chest where he’d be the warmest. The kid shivered and held himself apart, then gave in and switched to clinging to Hansel instead.

Hansel didn’t say anything for a bit, just wrapping the kid up and rubbing his arms and back to try to get his blood circulating. He was cold as death, but Hansel was blocking the chilly wind, now, at least, and he tucked Jonn into his coat.

Eventually, he asked, “So you wanna tell me why you’re up here?”

“I got scared,” Jonn said, muffled against him. Hansel frowned; he was still fucking suspicious of the clerics -- if one of them had hurt Jonn again and he’d been trying to run away -- but then the kid went on, “It’s so high up.”

Ah, all right. Yeah. Hansel glanced down. “Sure is. Y’know the way to stop being scared of how high up you are is to climb back down, though.”

“I guess.”

He nodded. It was easier to say than to do. “You want me to help you down?”

The kid shook his head fiercely, immediately. “They’re gonna be mad at me.”

“Nah, kid. It’s fine. They’re worried about you, is all. I bet Luci misses you,” he cajoled. Jonn made a little sound of frustration, and Hansel decided to let him mull that one over, and asked, “Why’d you come up in the first place, anyway, huh?”

Jonn held onto him tighter and gave a long, long sigh that shouldn’t’ve come out of such a small body. “I wanted to … I wanted to show you I could be a good lookout. On the ship. It wouldn’t be dangerous, right? If I just climbed up to the crow’s nest and I kept a look out.”

Hansel winced. “Kid, no. I told you no. No pirate shit. Plus, you know there’s a fucking ladder on the mast up to the nest, don’t you? It’s not like climbing a tree.”

“Oh.”

He kissed the top of Jonn’s head. “Listen, let’s go back down, okay, motek? I’ll tell you some stories.” Because that always got the kid’s attention.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“The thing you just said.”

It took Hansel a second. “Oh.” Motek. He hadn’t meant to say that. Just kind of came out. “Uh. S’Orcish. It’s like -- a pet name, y’know? Just means … sweetheart.” It was awkward to say it consciously, somehow. “My mom used to call me that.”

“Oh.” Jonn shifted to hold onto him more securely, nestling against him. “Will you teach me Orcish?”

“Sure. Luci too.” He kissed the kid’s head again. “We’ll all learn it together. You ready to go back down now?”

“‘Kay.”