Who: Hansel hans & Steve Rogers kidfrombrooklyn What: Not any kind of morning run Hansel has ever seen. When: Morning, Monday, April 6, right after dawn Where: Outside Hope Springs Apartments Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Foul Language? Captain America and a Witch Hunter! Status: Closed/Completed GDoc
~*~
Morning was a necessary time of day for Hansel. He'd never been able to sleep in. Most nights he slept on a hard floor or the bare ground; neither was conducive to sleeping late unless a man was bone-deep tired. There had been a few times when his sugar sickness had weighed him down into the warm embrace of Morpheus's arms. That had been terrifying on a whole new scale.
It had been the first real reminder he was going to die of that witch's curse some day.
He was outside cleaning his gun when a breeze blurred past him. Hansel had to focus hard to recognize it out to be a man on the second pass. The fellow was running faster than any man he'd ever seen run in his life. If someone had told him the very hounds of Hell were chasing that man, Hansel would have believed them. He shouldered his gun for when the fellow came up for a third pass.
Calling out loudly, he asked, "What in Hell's chasing you? Get down and I'll get a shot in, I guarantee you that!"
Hansel had hit a witch in flight before. There was no way he was missing whatever was forcing that man to run at such an inhuman pace. Could be magic driving his feet forward. Witches could do all sorts of hexes on a body. He'd seen them cause someone to eat until they burst, make a person believe their skin wasn't their skin so they peeled it off on their own, flaying themselves alive, and even once witnessed a young girl under a hex pluck her own eyes out because she thought they were looking into her soul for the sake of The Devil.
If there was something chasing this guy? Hansel was taking it down in a hurry. Could be the bastard was invisible. That happened, too. Deciding it was entirely possible, he shouted a warning before firing.
"Firing behind you! Look out!"
His gun resounded loud enough to shake the dust off the tables around him, but nothing hit the ground behind the running man. He could have scared whatever the fuck it was off. That would be its own kind of small victory. Hansel wouldn't call it a failure. He did scowl fiercely as he realized he might have let off a round for no reason at all. What was he going to do with a hex victim if the guy wasn't actually being chased and was instead cursed?
"Don't tell me you're hexed. I can't fix hexed. Not just now. I could shoot you. That's about it. Put you out of your misery. What's the problem? Let me know and I'll do you the best I can."
Poor bastard. It was likely he'd be dead before the next dawn rose with the way he was hustling around. They couldn't all be saved though. Hansel had buried enough to know that just well enough. It was why he'd offered his arms to the task of digging graves for this place. Hard labor. It was something he understood. Easy work. Honorable work. Burying the dead. Someone had to do it, why not him?
Would he be burying this fellow soon? His expression was troubled as he studied him closer.
He looked far too healthy to wind up six-feet-under.
~*~
Being in a new place wasn’t enough of a reason to skip his morning runs. He’d made it to the General Store to find some second hand clothes, which were honestly more comfortable for him than he’d ever admit to. Steve woke up around dawn every morning, give or take a bit, changed into his shorts and t-shirt, and went running. Depending on his mood and, sometimes, the weather, Steve would vary his route longer or shorter, but he’d been sticking pretty consistently to around the park a few times, around a few blocks in the city itself, and then a handful of times around the apartment building. Sometimes he’d run more vigorously than others, but it all depended on his mood. His path on this run looped him around the park twice, around a good 10 blocks twice, and then five times around the apartment complex. His third time around, someone shouted something at him, but Steve was running too fast to catch it. It wasn’t until the gun went off that he wobbled his stride and came to a halt yards away from the man with the gun.
“Hey, stop shooting. You could hurt someone!” Steve called indignantly, staring in disbelief at the man. He shook his head slightly and trotted over, taking his time to calm his heavily beating heart. “I just run fast. There isn’t anyone chasing me,” he explained, looking at the man critically. The clothes and weapon were all wrong, not to mention the way he talked, otherwise Steve would’ve recognized Clint right away.
“This place probably isn’t too much like wherever you’re from. Please just...don’t shoot at people or near people. I know a couple of folks who wouldn’t react well,” he cautioned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m Steve Rogers.” He extended his other hand out to shake, figuring it would prompt either a name or Clint making fun of him. “You settling in okay?”
~*~
Shaking the hand offered him, Hansel snorted, "Run fast? Steve Rogers, I will tell you, I thought for certain a horde of fuckin' witches were after you. I shot to see if I could nail one of the evil bitches. Figured even if I couldn't see her, I could get close. I'm a damn good shot. You really aren't hexed? I was near to putting you out of your misery for being hexed. I'm Hansel. Witch Hunter. Doing as best as can be expected."
He could not for the life of him get over how fast this guy could run. Hansel looked at the guy's hand and grimaced. It wasn't smart of him to ever shake anyone's hand. His own were rarely clean. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Hansel pulled out a slice of moleskin he used to clean his blades. It could take the filth off anything besides being softer than his sister's skin.
It didn't occur to him to think about whether this man would hurt him or not. He was worried over other people getting shot at or even near. Didn't seem likely he'd be up to fighting Hansel. Putting his gun down, Hansel reached out to grasp the man's hand with the moleskin cloth, rubbing it thoroughly to get the grime off he'd put on. The fellow didn't have a working man's hands in spite of their size. Could be he was some kind of lord. They bred them big for no apparent reason Hansel could see. None of them ever did a lick of work to suit the size of their big bodies.
"Sorry about the dirt. I'm not ever thinking. Job's always been messy and at home? Water's precious. It ain't something we use to wash ourselves day in and day out the way folk do here. Can't believe how much water's going wasted in this place. Unreal. I will say it's nice to have it indoors. Private baths? That's not bad at all. I even got a bin in my room they give me where a fancy spigot shoots the water right out like rain from the side of the wall and it drains out down the floor to somewhere. Amazing. I don't shoot at random, so you know. I respect life. Work in the cemetery now. Gravedigger. Honest work."
Hansel had been accused of being less than honest in his work more times than he or Gretel could count. It pissed him off, but not nearly as much as it pissed her off. She was more liable to take someone down to their knees than Hansel. Typically he was the one setting up to get between her and whoever was needed to get between. She wouldn't hit him unless he deserved it. They had that kind of relationship.
"How you run so fast if you ain't being chased or gotten hexed? Not human?"
~*~
He did run quite fast, which was probably something he should try to moderate going forward. The last thing Steve wanted was to cause trouble, particularly if it might startle someone into shooting. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time. Not many people are up at this hour,” he offered, though he knew it was a feeble explanation. No one had really looked twice at him in DC, since people had gotten over the novelty of Captain America being alive and well. Sam had really been the first person to reach out to him without any kind of ulterior motive while he was running along the National Mall. Not many people seemed to care that there was a person behind the persona, after all.
Hansel had quite the handshake, and it left a bit of dirt behind, but that didn’t bother Steve in the slightest. He was used to being in the trenches, where clean water was a luxury they prefered to drink instead of bathe. To be honest, Steve was still stuck on ‘Witch Hunter’ when Hansel pulled out a cloth and rubbed off the dirt. “Oh, I- Thank you?” he said uncertainly. “I know how you feel, about the easy access to water. I was in a war, a few years ago, and there were a lot of long, cold nights and less rations for my men than I liked. It wasn’t the easiest of times, but we were making a difference. I’d almost prefer it to all this uncertainty.” That was sort of sad, he realized, but it was the truth.
“It is honest work. I don’t know that there are any witches here that need hunting. I took up a position at the General Store, if there’s ever anything you need,” Steve offered easily. “I uh...I’m a Super Soldier. That’s what they termed it, back home at least. Gave me better strength, endurance, and speed, among other things.” That was probably the easiest way to explain it. “Still human, just enhanced. I make the most of it, to help people and protect them. Witches must be very dangerous, in your world, for there to be hunters.”
~*~
Grunting, Hansel tried to imagine the clean-cut fellow before him being in any kind of trench ever. It was hard. Steve seemed the type to take great pride in his appearance. His hair was cut by someone who knew what they were doing, he was clean down to the shoes he was wearing to run in. There was nothing about him which screamed he was someone who'd lived through a war zone.
Appearances were hardly much to go on except where lower-grade witches were concerned. The rot made them grotesque enough to where anyone could tell them for what they were with a glance. Smell wasn't pristine either. Steve Rogers wasn't even sweating from how fast he'd been running without being chased which meant he had to be one of those with something more going for them. Absentmindedly, Hansel tucked the moleskin back into a pouch on his belt before brushing his hand over his thigh holster for his injections.
He could handle being a Super Soldier. It would be a lot better than being a sugar-sick witch hunter.
"Witches are damn evil. Very face of it. There's some good ones. White Witches. My mother was one. Grand White Witch. She gave her life to protect me and my sister. Neither of us can be touched by black magic. We're immune. Only spells work on us are white. Can't curse us, hex us, or kill us with black magic. Gotta say, it's not a bad way to live. I would much prefer a life as a Super Soldier. I got the sugar sickness from a witch when I was a boy. She was the first me and Gretel killed. I wouldn't recommend taking up witch hunting."
It wasn't like it was a fun experience. Most of the time? Hansel figured he'd die on every hunt. Each time he lived through one was another surprise for him which he got to smile about. His life had so few reasons to smile; Hansel would take every one he could get. Gretel, too. She was the kind of woman who did what needed doing yet never forgot to live while she was working.
Hansel wondered if Steve could say the same. From the looks of him? He hadn't been much touched by life.
"We do what needs doing. Try to live as much as we can while doing it. You? You get much free time from Super Soldier work? It's hard to imagine you down in some trench. I'll say that. You look a lot less touched by life than most those I know. Life's harder where we're from. Older world. This is all---the future to us. Something fantastical. Way more than magic."
~*~
Steve could appreciate that witches were a very real and present danger in Hansel’s world. He found himself grateful that the other man had protection against the black magic he faced on a fairly frequent basis. “The serum I got, it enhances everything, good and bad. There was another fellow who had the serum, and it didn’t end up so well for him. It’s a...it’s a blessing and a curse, I have to admit. I think that’s the same as any experimental treatment. It died with the man who created it, and a lot of people have gotten hurt because they were trying to recreate it. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Steve could very clearly remember finding out about how Bruce found himself saddled with the Other Guy. He could appreciate that Bruce and the Hulk had made the best of a bad situation, but that was a big load to carry. If Steve had a way of making it better, he would have. There was nothing he could do though, aside from being there as a friend and team leader.
Sugar sickness caught his interest though. It sounded familiar, too. “If you don’t mind my saying, I would go to the hospital here, if I were you. They might be able to find a way to treat your sugar sickness in a different way than what you’re used to, where you’re from.” It was fairly obvious that Hansel came from a time that wasn’t as technologically developed as they were in now, and Steve could understand that. “When I was a kid, there weren’t many good treatments for all the things that were wrong with me. I think they didn’t even have names, for some of it. Nowadays, there’s a diagnosis and treatment for just about everything. It might- It might make your life a little easier, while you’re here.”
“I was frozen for seventy years, so I know the feeling. It’s amazing, the sort of advancements people can make in almost a century. Let’s hope there’s not an occasion for me to prove my military record,” Steve replied, managing a small smile even though he felt like there really wasn’t all that much to smile about on the whole. Having Bucky around was a blessing, and so was having Natasha, Clint, Pepper, and even Tony, but it all just didn’t sit right with him. Something felt off, and that weighed heavily on Steve’s mind. It was part of why he ran so much, so hard and fast. It helped him think.
“Try to be more careful about shooting at things, Hansel. Even witches. Places like this, people might not be all they seem,” he cautioned.
~*~
Advice was always something to be taken with a grain of salt. Hansel knew most of it was similar to someone offering their two-pence on the subject. They wanted to tell whatever anecdote related to them, make it seem as if they cared or knew something, but this fellow? He seemed serious about his suggestions. Sincerity nearly dripped from him. Hansel would have sworn the guy was blessed with white magic if he didn't know better seeing as men weren't usually the source of magic themselves.
He tried to imagine a world in which his sugar sickness could be treated better. What if he didn't have to set his dial for a reminder on the regular? What if he could be cured? Was that a possibility? Curing him of sugar sickness? Hansel knew some got over it with age, but he wasn't a young man any longer and he still had the sickness. It hadn't gotten better with age for him, only worse. Could this place have enough science or medicine to cure him? If they did, what would something like that cost?
Hansel had a feeling he wouldn't be able to afford it if it existed.
Giving a half-smile to Steve, he allowed, "I'd like to be free of this curse. Sickness is a weakness where I'm from as much as I'm sure it was back when you were sick otherwise you wouldn't've wanted to be cured with some serum. Me? I want to be better so's there's less likelihood I'll leave my sister fighting alone. The reason I gave you a warning before shooting was on account I know things aren't always what they seem."
Witches came in so many different guises. Magic could be hidden in something as insignificant as a thimble. What did this guy know about what things seemed? He might have lived what seemed to be an impossible number of years to Hansel, but he was still only a man. Witches were their own breed of evil. Hansel had seen evil from them in ways this man had never imagined. His smile alone said he didn't know true evil. No one could be as earnest as him if they'd seen a child baked alive for some evil bitch's dinner.
"Incidentally? I'm always careful when I shoot. If I wanted to hit you? You'd have been hit. I don't miss. Not without extenuating circumstances."
Hansel tossed up a shit-eating grin at the guy because he wasn't educated, sure, but he knew his way around a few words. He and Gretel made their living convincing people to pay them for impossible-sounding tasks. They had to be good with the gab if they wanted to live. It was the only way they survived. He'd gotten very, very good at learning all the smartest words he could. Some of them he might not have on the proper, but did he know them? Sure. He knew them enough to get by which was all what mattered.
"You just be careful where you're running. I don't want the next grave I dig to be yours."
He shouldered his gun to walk away, considering contacting Gretel to go with him to find the healers in this place about his sickness. They might get something good out of this place yet.