Hansel: Achim

Hansel shambled into the galley, rubbing his face. Something smelled fucking amazing. No one else was around -- even hungover, he tended to be an early riser -- just him and, fuck, what was the guy's name? Shit. Hansel had mostly been hanging out with Elitash, and the Master Gunner Hunter seemed all right, but the crew at large didn't seem like a particularly warm bunch and the officers were frankly kind of fucking intimidating. The elves especially -- Haeth and the navigator. God, what was their fucking deal, anyway.

The cook, though, he seemed harmless. Hansel was fucking suspicious of him. He just didn't seem like a fucking pirate, or like any of the ones Hansel'd met, and he'd met a fucking lot.

He looked up from the bacon he was frying and offered Hansel a wave and a smile. He was so fucking … nice. The fuck was that all about. Hansel grunted at him and started going through the cabinets for coffee.

Kheman, that was it. Right. Calish name. Kheman -- eh, fuckin’ something. Who cared what his last name was.

Kheman went back to what he was doing -- toast and bacon for the crew -- god, it smelled so fucking good -- and Hansel was perfectly fine with them ignoring each other. He leaned over on the counter while he waited for his coffee. Usually he'd put a little sugar in it, but if he didn't, then he could get out of the galley faster. He could go up to the crow's nest and look out at the blue horizon and feel better.

“Hey. It's Hansel, right?”

For fucksake. Hansel grunted again.

“Did you, uh … did you want to heat that up after it's steeped, or …?”

“Mm.”

“It'd be better if you used boiling water, that's all.”

“Hasn't gotta be hot,” Hansel grumbled. “Just gotta be coffee.”

He thought it was weird that Kheman didn't say anything else, so he raised his head and saw the cook giving him a mildly horrified look.

###

Kheman stayed on the ship, kept out of combat. Hansel did the opposite of that, usually, but the healer's magic was depleted and she hadn't had time to rest, so Hansel was stuck with twinging ribs and Elitash told him to take a fucking knee and stay behind. He growled at her about it, but she was the fucking boss.

The crew's numbers were low after the last skirmish, and another chunk of them, like Hansel, were made to play defense when the next one cropped up. Motherfuckers ended up boarding the Blade and the bodies told to play defense ended up really having to do it, push the enemy back to their ship.

Hansel found himself in the galley, struggling with a goliath who kept managing to deflect his trident, and kept coming after him, trying to back him into a corner or just fucking exhaust him. Hansel was stumbling, losing blood. He wasn't even fucking sure where Kheman came from, but he bolted up onto a table to throw himself at the goliath with a cleaver in his hand, and he aimed for the throat and hit the chest -- enough of a distraction that Hansel got the throat with his trident, no problem.

Kheman made him sit down and he prodded at Hansel's ribs and the livid bruising, then ran off. He came back with this one-eyed half-orc girl who had a little druidic magic and had been helping Serena out, hurriedly saying, “He's bleeding out inside,” as he dragged her in. “You gotta do something.”

The little druid poked at Hansel's ribs too, and he snapped his teeth at her, but then she nodded and pressed her hand against him, and he could feel himself mending, the pain numbing. Kheman watched the door, pale, holding his cleaver, until Hansel was on his feet again. Then he fell back to sit down, looking shaky.

Hansel wondered what the hell the point of that had been. Cook just wanted to be sure someone was there to keep him safe, he guessed.

###

Hansel glared at his opponent over his cards. He'd lost a lot of fucking gold in this bar tonight. He was sick of this shit.

Kheman looked back at him mildly. “You got … any fours?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Hansel said.

Kheman snickered, and Hansel did with him.

“This game's fucking dumb,” Elitash proclaimed, tossing her hand down.

“You're the one who lost all your gold,” Kheman reminded her. “Can't play poker if you haven't got gold.”

“Yeah, I hate you,” she grumbled, waving a hand at his stack of winnings.

“Gonna buy my little girl something nice,” he said proudly.

Elitash bared her teeth at him and shoved herself up from their table. “I'm shakin’ down Mishka for some gold, then I'm comin’ back for what's mine.”

Hansel watched her. She really did go over to the table the captain and first mate had claimed, but she was laughing in a second, and Mishka was too, glancing over his shoulder at Hansel and Kheman. God, he was so fuckin’ … Hansel looked away.

“Your turn,” Kheman reminded him.

“Right, right, yeah.” He made himself stare at his cards, but then gave up and looked back to Kheman. “Hey, uh. Your kid. What is she, about sixteen, you said, right?”

“This year, yeah.” He still sounded so proud.

“What, uh.” Hansel rubbed the back of his neck. “What're you gonna get her? My kid's 'bout the same age. I wanna get him something for his birthday but I dunno what.”

“Shit, man. I don't know your kid. What's he like?”

“Dunno. Knives?”

“Hey, mine too. Hey.” He leaned in. “We oughta go out and find'em matching ones. They oughta look out for each other, or something. Be crewmates and all.”

Shit, that sounded great for some reason. “Nah,” he said regretfully. “Jonn lives at the Eldath Sanctuary outside Skyport, not in the city.”

“Ah, shit.” He leaned back again. “We should still get out in the market tomorrow and find'em both some good knives.” He grinned. “Eli's buying.”

###

Kheman patted Hansel's shoulder as Hansel looked down in dismay at the thing that was supposed to've been a cake.

“Hey,” he said. “You'll get it some day.”

###

Hansel wandered into the galley, yawning, and Kheman wasn't there.

Huh.

He wondered if maybe he should take over making breakfast, but that seemed a lot less urgent than figuring out where Kheman was. He was always fucking prompt. Something had to be going on.

They'd made port early that morning, so Hansel thought he might've gone ashore, but he checked the ship over first -- found his friend up on the fo'c’sle, sitting with his face in his hands.

“Hey, hey.” Hansel dropped down next to him; his shoulders were slumped and when Hansel got closer, he could see the crumpled paper in one hand. “What's goin’ on? You okay?”

He shook his head, and lowered his hands after a minute. He waved the paper -- Hansel could make out the smudged ink, but not what it said. “Larkin almost died,” he said hoarsely. “My brother's wedding, it all … She …” Then he just shook his head again, dropping his face back to his hands.

Hansel didn't know what to do about that, so he shifted beside Kheman and awkwardly hugged him with one arm. “Hey. She's all right, yeah? You said almost. She's all right.”

“And I'm two weeks away,” Kheman muttered. “And god fucking knows how long this letter's been waiting for me. Time we get back, it's just … What's the point, by then? I wasn't there.” He kept shaking his head. “I wasn't there.”

Hansel frowned. He didn't really -- Kheman was right, was the thing. He wanted to say something comforting, but he didn't really get why Kheman didn't spend more time with his kid. Seemed like he liked sailing more than he liked her. And Hansel couldn't say shit, he knew that, but he felt like it was different -- Larkin being Kheman's blood, Jonn and Luci being some kids Hansel'd picked up after he'd already become a pirate.

“She's all right,” he said anyway. “Hey, she's a tough fucking kid, right? And your brother takes care of her.”

Kheman laughed hollowly. Hansel wouldn't really understand why for a while.

###

The ship bucked under them. The seasickness Hansel thought he'd shed years ago came back on him, on his empty stomach -- he gagged but there was nothing to come out.

Kheman parcelled out what little food they had left. Hunter tried to give her share to Serena, and Serena refused it, and they argued listlessly and held each other and cried. Elitash scowled at hers. Hansel ate silently, mechanically, stared down at his last bite -- the last bite.

He was sure Kheman's share was smaller than the rest. They were all just too starving to call him out for it.

“Achi,” he said. “Hey. Hey, I'm not fuckin’ hungry anymore.” He shoved the bit of hardtack into Kheman's hands. “You eat it.”

Kheman stared at him absently, but he took it. He was pale, shivering. Hansel moved over to sit next to him, leaning back against the bulkhead, and pushed Kheman's hand up to his mouth to make him actually eat.

“Hey.” He nudged Kheman with his elbow. “We get back to Skyport, y'know, we oughta finally get our kids together. Jonn lives in the city now, and all. Oughta take'em both out somewhere. Have a fuckin’ … family day, or some shit.”

He got a bit of a smile. “They're fucking adults. I don't think they wanna spend the day hanging out with their dads and having a playdate.”

“Nah, nah, nah.” Hansel waved it off. “Jonn'd love it. Bet you anything Larkin would too.”

That earned a weak laugh. “You've never even met her.”

“Yeah? Well, feels like I have. Hey, eat the goddamn bread, achi.”

###

Hansel carried Elitash into the galley. It was over quick. He'd done that much. Painless as he knew how, and fast, and she was all right, now, and he wouldn't be again. His best friend's blood was all over his arm and his chest.

He just stared at Kheman and opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Put -- put her on the table,” Kheman said after a moment, pushing himself up.

Hansel did. Then he stood there and held her body's hand, like there was anything left of her in it to care. Kheman tugged him away.

“You oughta -- you oughta go. Let me do this.”

Hansel shook his head. He wanted to be here, wanted to be with her. Those weren't the same thing, anymore, though. His eyes fell on the blood staining his front, and then he was more light-headed than before, and he went down like a sack of bricks.

“Hansel, hey, hey, Hansel, Hansel.” Kheman gripped his shoulders, shaking him a little to make him look up.

“I can't,” Hansel heard himself mumbling. “I can't, I can't.”

“Okay. Hey. I'm gonna take care of her.”

Kheman disappeared for a moment and came back with Serena, saying, “You gotta -- gotta get him out of here,” as he pulled her in. “He can't be in here for this.”

Serena made Hansel really look at her, and quietly said that Eli would want him to be kind to himself. The two of them got him back to his feet and Kheman helped get him to the door, watching closely until he was sure that Serena had Hansel.

“Don't be afraid, my friend,” she said quietly. She kept saying that, like a prayer, like the only one she had left after her magic failed her when she wasn't able to rest anymore. “Don't be afraid.”

###

There was nothing left of his brother. Not a goddamn scrap of flesh. Hansel climbed up into the crow's nest, after the storm, and held himself and shuddered and sobbed. There was nothing fucking left.

###

“So … the things Kheman said.” Mishka looked up at Hansel from the other side of the gate. “Those were true.”

Hansel almost fucking broke. “Kheman’s alive?”

###

“Hey, kid.” Hansel acted like he didn’t know who she fucking was. Like he had this entire time. He’d fucking wanted to talk to her, or something, but he’d never managed to -- never known what to say. He tapped the ship’s wheel. “You want a turn?”

Kheman had never taken her sailing. Always said he would, but never managed to, somehow. Couldn’t fucking do it now, and Hansel didn’t know if he was being kind or being a fucking bastard by having that moment with her, instead -- seeing her grin as she took the wheel, seeing that look on her face that was just like Kheman’s when he sat out on the bowsprit and looked out to sea. He should have taken her sailing. He fucking should have.

Too late, now, Hansel guessed.

“I just thought maybe you've met him,” Larkin said. “His name is Kheman. Tall, black hair. Calisham type.”

He acted like he didn’t know exactly who Kheman was. Like he was just another fucking crewmate. Like they hadn’t been family -- like Hansel hadn’t thought of Larkin as his family, too, well before he’d ever met her. Like he hadn’t pitched in gold for her birthday gifts, and scrapped with gamblers over Kheman’s winnings to make sure he’d have enough, like he hadn’t seen the drawing of her that Kheman kept with him all the time, like he hadn’t gripped the onyx necklace Jonn brought back from the wreckage of the Albatross so tightly it bit into his hand.

###

He stood with Luci and watched Kheman across the courtyard, shaded and half-hiding behind a pillar. He didn’t tell her what was going on, but she was a smart fucking kid. She knew something was up by the way he was holding himself back. Fuck, he wanted to -- to do something to make this better. To help his brother. Fucking ached to go to him, but what the fuck would he do then? Kheman was terrified of him. Should be.

There wasn’t anything Hansel could do but suffer.

Larkin told him, “Look, Hansel. Here's what's going to happen,” she said: “I'm going to write a letter to my uncle in Skyport. Renar Basha. Maybe you've heard of him. I'm going to tell him exactly what happened to his brother and I'll have to put a name in there so he knows who to hunt down and cut apart piece by piece. And it'll have to be your name unless you give me a damn good reason not to. So what I need is your version of the story.”

“Let it be my name,” he said.

Be easier if she just killed him. Be easier if Ombre had fireballed him. Be easier if Mishka had done it right. Be easier if he just fucking killed himself after the storm, like he’d wanted, like he’d been too afraid to; be easier if he’d done it once he’d had enough strength to, once he came in from sea. Be fucking better for everyone if he’d done it before, if he’d been fucking brave enough to step up and take someone else’s place in the lottery. Some of them would be alive, then. Wouldn’t’ve gone through what Kheman had gone through in the storm.

He all but fucking begged her to do it.

She said, “No. Don’t think so.” She said, “Seems to me, being alive is far worse punishment for you.”

And he laughed because she was so fucking right, had such a good fucking read on him already. Like she knew him. Fucking perfect. Fucking great.

He deserved this.

###

He made her the hangover tea her dad had taught him to make. First time was after they’d faked a bar fight, like he used to do with the crew.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked him, all suspicious. “We’re not … friends. You realize there's a pretty good chance I'm gonna be trying to kill you sooner or later, right?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

The fuck else was he going to do? They’d been through some shit together, Diva and all. They were crewmates, now. Maybe she’d kill him. Shit, he kind of still hoped she would, sometimes. Maybe not, though. No reason to be unpleasant to her.

He fucking liked her, after all.

The second time was after Raef’s wedding. Goro had already made her ginger tea, and they sat outside in the grass as she drank it, both still drunk as hell -- him more than her, which was why he kept trying to hug her, and she kept squirming away. She kind of stopped, at some point. After the tea.

But before it, she said, “What d'you want me to say? Guess you already know I don't fucking hate you like I should,” and he wanted to be pleased about it, and he wanted to do something fucking awful to make her hate him again, like she should, like he’d wanted her to for so fucking long. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what his fucking goal was, here, anymore.

She said, “I’m your enemy,” and he remembered fighting Diva in the sewers, shielding her body with his, taking half the hit. She said, “I like you, y'know, but fuck, I'm your goddamn enemy,” and he thought about her diving deep into the harbour to try to drag him to the surface when she thought he was drowning.

And she flopped back in the grass and asked him, “If I'm friends with you, how's that not fucking betraying Pa?”

He didn’t know what to tell her, because he was selfish, and he just wanted her to fucking … like him. He wanted her to be his family. Part of him felt like he was just fucking clinging to the ghost of Kheman, but goddamn, he really thought Larkin was excellent, with her sharp elbows and horns, and her crossbow she was such a quick shot with, and her tendency to say the most biting, vicious shit. God, he fucking loved her. That wasn’t because he was drunk. He just fucking did.

But if she gave a shit about him, it was betraying his brother. He got it. He did. No one fucked with Hansel’s family and got off easy, either, but he was the person who’d fucked with his family, and someone needed to hold him accountable for it. He wanted her to. It just gave him a headache, not being sure if he wanted that more than he wanted her to be his family, too -- like Kheman had always talked about:

Someday, someday, the two of them and their sharp, stabby kids -- goddamn grown adults, now -- going out for a day in Skyport. Like how someday, someday, Kheman was going to take Larkin sailing. And someday, someday, she was going to have to kill Hansel.

He made her tea and told her to go to bed, like Kheman had always done for him. Kheman couldn’t carry him around and make him do shit, except with a stern, reproachful tone of voice, but he could do that for her -- make her take care of herself.

“Hansel,” she said, “you’re not my fucking mother.”

He slurred out, “Lissen. We’re fuckin’ achim now, whether you fuckin’ like it or not.” Brothers. She didn’t know orcish. He thought he might’ve told her it meant crewmates, or comrades. He’d have to come clean on that sooner or later. “I ain’t gotta be your fuckin’ mom to wanna take care of you.”

She let him carry her upstairs and didn’t even complain about it.

###

He became slowly aware of the fact that there were a lot more tieflings than usual in the bar. Pirate tieflings.

He’d come into Skyport with Luci, to meet up with Jonn -- have some time in the city with his kids. It was Luci’s first time being back in Skyport since she was a fucking baby, and she was nervous about it, but she liked the harbour so they stopped in one of the portside bars for something to eat.

Hansel heard them talking. Difficult to not fucking hear them, actually. Definitely Jones’s crew. Something about a captive. Something about Jonesy’s revenge. He thought*, Fuckin’ Goro, again*, first, but Jonn slipped closer to them and came back saying they were talking about getting to Mishka through one of his old crewmates.

“Didn’t all your crew, uh. Die?” Jonn asked.

Luci sat up straighter.

Shit. Shit. The Siren was going to be in port for a while, judging by the amount her crew was drinking. There was time, and Hansel had the Sending Bead. He didn’t think they could beat Jones in an outright attack, though. A shitload of her bodies were ashore -- maybe he could slip past the guards, or take them out quiet. Shit, Jonn was here. He was good at this kind of thing.

He could Send to Larkin. She was, too.

Or maybe he could just … fucking do this, for her, and for Kheman -- for his achim -- and maybe they could --

Luci absolutely fucking refused to not go with them. He tried to tell Jonn to stay behind, then, both of them to, but the kid got fucking stubborn about it.

“No. I wanna help,” he said sharply. “It’s Larkin’s dad. I wanna help.”

Somehow Hansel was leading two of his fucking kids into the belly of a ship that belonged to a woman who wanted him dead. He and Jonn took out the sentries, no problem -- Jonn climbing the crow’s nest and slitting a throat, Hansel covering mouths and driving his trident through chests, throwing all the bodies into the bay. Luci’s magic helped them stay stealthy as they crept their way down to the hold.

Then they had to pause and deliberate for a moment, because Kheman was right there -- he was right goddamn there -- but he was being guarded, and if these pirates sounded an alarm and the others that Hansel had passed by on the way down came for them, they’d be cornered, and Hansel couldn’t fight them all off. Maybe they’d recognize him as one of the people Jones was trying to lure in, and they’d leave him alive for her, or maybe they wouldn’t, and either way, the kids --

He couldn’t see a way out of this where he got to save his brother, and his kids, too. Shouldn’t’ve brought them, he was thinking, should have made them stay behind somehow, the stubborn little fucks, even if it meant the guard in the crow’s nest would have spotted him, or his feet wouldn’t have been as light making it down here; even if he got caught, fuck it, at least they would be safe. He’d fucked up. He just gotten this goddamn close and felt the first twinge of hope that this shit was going to work out, for once he was going to goddamn fix a problem he had caused, and the chance was falling away from him into the deep.

Thing was, Hansel kept forgetting he had other achim, now. He didn’t know how they’d known to find him -- or if Larkin had heard about her dad, maybe -- but they showed up. Always showed up. Always had his back.

###

Luci said Kheman would be fine. He’d wake up in a few hours. She stayed with him, and Hansel hung around until he started getting nervous about Kheman waking up and seeing him. He’d make things worse.

He just tried to stay away. That was the only way to make things better. The only way he could help his brother. Just to fuck off, and leave him alone.